And some day when skies are fair, Prints to look at, books to read, That is lost, that is lost! Once, when I was pure and young, Or a wrinkle creased my brow, Evermore, evermore! ROBERT BARRY COFFIN A PETITION TO TIME. TOUCH us gently, Time! Let us glide adown thy stream Gently, as we sometimes glide Through a quiet dream! Humble voyagers are we, Husband, wife, and children three,— (One is lost, an angel, fled To the azure overhead). Touch us gently, Time! We've not proud nor soaring wings; Lies in simple things. Humble voyagers are we O'er life's dim, unsounded sea, Seeking only some calm clime;— Touch us gently, gentle Time! BRYAN WALLER PROCTER HOME, SWEET HOME. 'MID pleasures and palaces though we may roam, Home, home, sweet, sweet home! An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain; all. Home, sweet, sweet, sweet home! There's no place like home! JOHN HOWARD PAYNE, KEN YE THE LAN'? (After Goethe's Song of Mignon.) KEN ye the lan' o' the laigh gray skies, Whaur the green pine nods, an' the wild bird cries ; Whaur the heather blooms an' the gowan grows, An' sweet is the scent o' the briar-rose? Ken ye the 'an'? I am fain, I am sain, Tae see the blue hills o' my ain lan' again. Ken ye the path ow'r the weary sea, Wi' the loupin' waves an' the blawing bree?— But the east fornenst wi' the dawn is bricht. I am fain, I am fain, Tae feel the saut win' i' my face again. Ken ye the fowk i' the mirk, alane, Whase ears are gleg for the stap o' their ain? Their words may be cauld, but their hearts are aflame; "Ye've been lang awa'; ye are welcome hame." Ken ye the fowk? I am fain, I am fain, Tae see the dear licht o' their faces again. JOHN T. NAPIER. A WISH. MINE be a cot beside the hill; A beehive's hum shall soothe my ear; |