Thou wilt weep for it in vain,
When the sun is on thy path;

But as sometimes in mid June,

Coolness lingers through the day,

Bathing the hot brow of noon,
Shadowing the dusty way;

So mayst thou as life comes on,
Still the grace of childhood prove,
Keeping, though its bloom be gone,
All its light, and faith, and love.

"I FEEL dependent for a vigorous and hopeful spirit on now and then a kind word, the merry laugh of a child, or the silent greeting of a flower."

DR. FOLLEN.

"A BABE in a house is a well-spring of pleasure."

PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY.

"I DESPISE the man who can think lightly of his early days. The pranks and plans of infancy are the airy effervescence of uncalculating single-heartedness. They are shed from the young spirit's beauty, like the sweet perfume of a flower."

MY EARLY DAYS.

THRENODY.

"Hearts are dust, heart's loves remain,
Heart's love will meet thee again."

AND whither now, my truant wise and sweet,
O, whither tend thy feet?

I had the right, few days ago,

Thy steps to watch, thy place to know;

How have I forfeited the right?

Hast thou forgot me in a new delight?

I hearken for thy household cheer,
O eloquent child!

Whose voice, an equal messenger,
Conveyed thy meaning mild.

What though the pains and joys
Whereof it spoke were toys

Fitting his age and ken,

Yet fairest dames and bearded men,

Who heard the sweet request,

So gentle, wise, and grave,
Blended with joy to his behest,
And let the world's affairs go by,
Awhile to share his cordial game,
Or mend his wicker wagon-frame,

Still plotting how their hungry ear
That winsome voice again might hear;
For his lips could well pronounce
Words that were persuasions,
Gentlest guardians marked serene
His early hope, his liberal mien ;
Took counsel from his guiding eyes
To make this wisdom earthly wise.
Ah, vainly do these eyes recall
The school-march, each day's festival,
When every morn my bosom glowed.
To watch the convoy on the road;
The babe in willow wagon closed,
With rolling eyes and face composed;
With children forward and behind,
Like cupids studiously inclined;
And he, the chieftain, paced beside,
The centre of the troop allied,
With sunny face of sweet repose,
To guard the babe from fancied foes.
The little captain innocent

Took the eye with him as he went;
Each village senior paused to scan
And speak the lovely caravan.

From the window I look out
To mark thy beautiful parade,
Stately marching in cap and coat
To some tune by fairies played;
A music heard by thee alone

To works as noble led thee on.

Now Love and Pride, alas! in vain,
Up and down their glances strain.
The painted sled stands where it stood;
The kennel by the corded wood;
The gathered sticks to stanch the wall
Of the snow-tower, when snow should fall,
The ominous hole he dug in the sand,
And childhood's castles built or planned;
His daily haunts I well discern,

The poultry-yard, the shed, the barn,—
And every inch of garden ground
Paced by the blessed feet around,

From the roadside to the brook

Whereinto he loved to look.

Step the meek birds where erst they ranged;

The wintry garden lies unchanged;

The brook into the stream runs on;

But the deep-eyed boy is gone.

HOUSEHOLD TREASURES.

WHAT are they? gold and silver?
Or what such ore can buy?
The pride of silken luxury,
Rich robes of Tyrian dye?
Or are they daintiest meats
Served up on silver fine?
Or golden cups o'erbrimmed
With rich Sabrucian wine?

O no! they are not these! or else

God help the poor man's need!

Then, sitting 'mid his little ones

He would be poor indeed!

They are not these,

Belongs not to degree,

our household wealth

It is the love within our souls, —

The children at our homes!

My heart is filled with gladness

When I behold how fair,

How bright are rich men's children
With their thick and golden hair!
For I know 'mid countless treasures
Gleaned from the East and West

These luring, loving human things