HAPPY WOMEN.

Her fingers flew the faster

As she sang a soft, low song;

It seemed like a prayer for the child so fair
As it thrilled the air along.

Happy Women.

MPATIENT women, as you wait,

In cheerful homes to-night, to hear
The sound of steps that, soon or late,
Shall come as music to your ear.

Forget yourselves a little while,

And think in pity of the pain

Of women who will never smile
To hear a coming step again.

With babes that in their cradles sleep,
Or cling to you in perfect trust,
Think of the mothers left to weep
Their infants lying in the dust.

And when the step you wait for comes,

And all your world is full of light,

O women safe in happy homes,

Pray for all lonesome souls to-night!

.123.

Young America.

OME hither, you madcap darling!"

I said to my four-year-old.

"Pray what shall be done to the bad, bad girl Who will not do as she's told?

Too well you love your own wee way,
While little you love to mind;
But mamma knows what is best for you,
And isn't she always kind?"

So I told her of "Casabianca,"

And the fearful burning ship.

"Do you think," said I, "such a child as that His mother would have to whip?"

And my heart went out with the story sad

Of this boy so nobly brave,

Who would not dare to disobey,

Even his life to save.

Then her eyes grew bright as the morning,
And they seemed to look me through.
Ah-ah, thought I, you understand

The lesson I have in view.

"Now what do you think of this lad, my love? Tell all that is in your heart."

"I fink," she said, "he was drefful good,

But he wasn't the least bit smart.

Never Grow Old.

HOU wilt never grow old,

Nor weary, nor sad, in the home of thy birth; My beautiful lily, thy leaves will unfold

In a clime that is purer and brighter than earth.

O holy and fair, I rejoice thou art there,

In that kingdom of light, with its cities of gold;
Where the air thrills with angel hosannas, and where
Thou wilt never grow old, sweet,
Never grow old!

I am a pilgrim, with sorrow and sin
Haunting my footsteps wherever I go;
Life is a warfare my title to win

Well will it be if it end not in woe.

Pray for me, sweet, I am laden with care,

Dark are my garments with mildew and mold;
Thou, my bright angel, art sinless and fair,
And wilt never grow old, sweet,
Never grow old!

Now, canst thou hear from thy home in the skies,
All the fond words I am whispering to thee?
Dost thou look down on me with the soft eyes,
Greeting me oft ere thy spirit was free?
So I believe, though the shadows of time

Hide the bright spirit I yet shall behold;
Thou wilt still love me, and—pleasure sublime
Thou wilt never grow old, sweet,
Never grow old!

Thus wilt thou be when the pilgrim, grown gray,

Weeps when the vines from the hearthstone are riven; Faith shall behold thee as pure as the day

Thou wert torn from the earth and transplanted to heaven,

O holy and fair, I rejoice thou art there,

In that kingdom of light, with its cities of gold,
Where the air thrills with angel hosannas, and where
Thou wilt never grow old, sweet,
Never grow old!

Two Pictures.

N old farmhouse, with meadows wide
And sweet with clover on each side;
A bright-eyed boy, who looks from out
The door the woodbine wreathed about,
And wishes this one thought all day:
"Oh, if I could but fly away

From this dull spot, the world to see,
How happy, happy, happy,
How happy I would be!"

Amid the city's constant din,

A man who round the world has been,

Is thinking, thinking, all day long:
"Oh, if I could only trace once more

The field-path to the farmhouse door,
The old green meadows could I see,
How happy, happy, happy,
How happy I would be!"

The Boys.

[Delivered by Holmes on the meeting of his class thirty years after graduation.]

AS there any old fellow got mixed with the boys?
If there has, take him out, without making a noise.
Hang the almanac's cheat and the catalogue's spite!
Old Time is a liar! we're twenty to-night?

We're twenty! We're twenty! Who says we are more?
He's tipsy, young jackanapes! Show him the door!
"Gray temples at twenty?" Yes! white if we please;
Where the snow-flakes fall thickest there's nothing can freeze!

Was it snowing I spoke of? Excuse the mistake!
Look close, you will see not a sign of a flake !
We want some new garlands for those we have shed,
And these are white roses in place of the red.

We've a trick, we young fellows, you may have been told,
Of talking-in public-as if we were old;
That boy, we call "Doctor," and this, we call "Judge;"
It's a neat little fiction,- of course it's all fudge.

That fellow's the "Speaker," the one on the right;

"Mr. Mayor," my young one, how are you to-night?

That's our "Member of Congress," we say, when we chaff;

There's the "Reverend "-what's his name?-don't make me laugh.

That boy with the grave, mathematical look

Made believe he had written a wonderful book,