CHANGES.

Never a scornful word should grieve ye:

I'd smile on ye sweet as the angels do: Sweet as your smile on me shone ever, Douglas, Douglas, tender and true!

O to call back the days that are not!
My eyes were blinded, your words were few.
Do you know the truth now, up in Heaven,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true?

I never was worthy of you, Douglas,
Not half worthy the like of you!

Now all men beside seem to me like shadows;
I love you, Douglas, tender and true.

Stretch out your hand to me, Douglas, Douglas; Drop forgiveness from Heaven like dew,

As I lay my heart on your dead heart, Douglas: Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.

DINAH MARIA MULOCH.

CHANGES.

WHOM first we love, you know, we seldom wed.
Time rules us all. And Life, indeed, is not
The thing we planned it out ere hope was dead.
And then, we women cannot choose our lot.

CHANGES.

Much must be borne which it is hard to bear;
Much given away which it were sweet to keep.
God help us all! who need, indeed, His care.
And yet, I know the Shepherd loves his sheep.

My little boy begins to babble now

Upon my knee his earliest infant prayer.
He has his father's eager eyes, I know;
And, they say, too, his mother's sunny hair.

But when he sleeps and smiles upon my knee,
And I can feel his light breath come and go,
I think of one (Heaven help and pity me!)
Who loved me, and whom I loved, long ago:

Who might have been . . . ah what, I dare not think! We are all changed. God judges for us best.

God help us do our duty, and not shrink,

And trust in Heaven humbly for the rest!

But blame us women not, if some appear

Too cold at times; and some too gay and light.
Some griefs gnaw deep. Some woes are hard to bear.
Who knows the past? and who can judge us right?

Ah, were we judged by what we might have been,
And not by what we are

too apt to fall !

My little child-he sleeps and smiles between

These thoughts and me.

In heaven we shall know all!

ROBERT BULWER LYTTON.

LOSS AND GAIN.

WHEN the baby died, we said,
With a sudden, secret dread,
"Death, be merciful, and pass:
Leave the other!" but, alas!

While we watched he waited there,

One foot on the golden stair,

One hand beckoning at the gate,

Till the home was desolate.

Say, to ease the parting pain,

That "your loss is but their gain."

Ah! the parents think of this!

But remember more the kiss
From the little rose-red lips;
And the print of finger-tips,

Left upon a broken toy,
Will remind them how the boy
And his sister charmed the days
With their pretty, winsome ways.

THOSE EVENING BELLS.

Only Time can give relief
To the weary, lonesome grief;
God's sweet minister of pain

Then shall sing of loss and gain.

NORA PERRY.

THOSE EVENING BELLS.

THOSE evening bells! those evening bells!
How many a tale their music tells,
Of youth, and home, and that sweet time
When last I heard their soothing chime!

Those joyous hours are passed away;
And many a heart that then was gay,
Within the tomb now darkly dwells,
And hears no more those evening bells.

And so 'twill be when I am gone;
That tuneful peal will still ring on;
While other bards shall walk these dells,
And sing your praise, sweet evening bells.

THOMAS Moore.

SONG.

Ask me no more where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose;
For, in your beauty's orient deep,
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.

Ask me no more whither do stray
The golden atoms of the day;
For, in pure love, heaven did prepare
Those powders to enrich your hair.

Ask me no more whither doth haste
The nightingale when May is past;
For in your sweet, dividing throat
She winters, and keeps warm her note.

Ask me no more where those stars light
That downwards fall in dead of night;
For in your eyes they sit, and there
Fixed become, as in their sphere.

Ask me no more if east or west
The Phoenix builds her spicy nest;
For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies.

THOMAS CAREW.