No close-shaved lawn, where night and dawn
The mowers ply their ceaseless toil,

But grassy plot, where childhood sought
Its first flower friends, gifts of the soil;
Fair childhood's flower.

Sweet Clover fair, thou too wert there,
With honey tubes to lure the bee
To stay and sup; bright buttercup
Thy golden lamps lit hill and lea,
Wee childhood's gold.

The hot-house grand wealth may command, And crowd with orchid's costly bloom; But memory comes, the bee still hums— And the old heart still findeth room

For childhood's flower!

DEATH IS THE FRIEND OF THE WEARY.

Faint not, tired one, on life's road,

Though the way be dark and dreary! There comes an Angel to meet us all— Death is the friend of the weary.

Voices are hushed that lured thee on

With their tones so bright and cheery;

An angel will lead thee where they are goneDeath is the friend of the weary.

On the mount of Faith, 'bove doubt and pain,
Let the spirit build her eyry!

Faith will show us the land where we live again!
Oh! who would always on earth remain
When death is the friend of the weary?

SPRING.

We had laid the Spring away, away,
With her flowers white and flowers red;
With her sunny eyes, as asleep she lay
Vanished from sight in our garden bed.

We saw the Autumn there strewing his leaves;
We heard the wind in the trees above
Chanting a dirge-as the spirit grieves
Vainly, oh! vainly, its buried love!

'Tis said Love called back the soul that fled!
Our love must surely sweet Spring recall,
For, restless she stirs in our garden bed;
Will she burst the bonds of her winter pall?

A soft wind is sighing above the earth-
And lo! a few violets burst from the sod;

The snow-drops are nodding and dancing with mirth;
Grass-blades are stirring in every clod.

"Sweet Spring is returning, she breathes on the gale." Who wrote it, who felt it, so long, long ago? Who will in the future be telling the tale,

When our eyes that love her are lying so low?

“COULD'ST THOU NOT WATCH ONE HOUR?"

When life looks dim,

And those we loved have passed away ;
And morning's song and evening's hymn
Herald no joy, nor close a happy day ;-

We hear His words of old come back with power: "Could'st thou not watch one hour?

When sorrows press

And few remain to aid or cheer,

To give us love and tenderness,

And make life's passing moments dear ;— We hear His words of old come back with power :Can ye not watch one hour?

One hour? O God!

Its lagging moments seem so long-
Though 'tis the path our Saviour trod

And bore His heavy cross along!

Oh! let His words come back with healing power—

'Tis but-'tis but one hour!

IN MEMORIAM.

MY BROTHER WASHINGTON.

He died in April, in the month of tears,

When Heaven sent down its gentle, pitying rain; When o'er the earth the grass' green, tender spears Inwove with flowers, were clothing hill and plain; When early birds, like messengers of love,

Seemed winging forth from Heaven's just opened door,

Bearing glad tidings, like the old-time dove,

That for one soul earth's weary waves were o'er ;— Those weary waves of Life that round us beat,

Rolling grief's surges on Time's rocky shore; Casting like withered flowers beneath our feet Those early hopes that fade to bloom no more. O happy Soul! to pass like his away,

To change (unbowed by years) our night for day!

PART II.