TO MY WIFE.

[EXTRACT.]

O WHAT a priceless gift, dear wife, Thy love has been to me;

And what a bliss our married life,

In its sweet purity.

Vain worldlings sneer at married joys,
And witlings scorn its peace;
But angels bless its sacred ties,

And God gives them increase.
Thus year by year, have ours, dear wife,

In depth and beauty grown,

O'er grief, and pain, and struggling cares,

In brightening splendour shone.
Trust throws its power around our lives;
Hope makes them beautiful;
Love pours its heart-refreshing showers,
And fills our goblet full.

And now our one united prayer

Is for prolonged life,

To see each boy a noble man,

Each girl a noble wife.

Nor would we hasten then away

To Death's sweet mystery,
But still would linger here, to dance

Some grandchild on the knee.
God's will be done. In this, as all,

We welcome his command;

Yet might our prayer be heard, we'd tread

The Unknown hand in hand.

So dear to us our wedded life,

So sweet to us its ties;
Together we would die, and share

The life beyond the skies.
Dear darling wife! upon this day,

Above all days most blest,
The gentle spirit of the past

Her lips to mine has prest. And like a picture I behold Our ten years' life appear, And without effort thus recall

Its every memory dear.

One kiss, dear wife; one blessing more

On Love's fair altar lay;

One dear old smile, one dear old look,
To consecrate this day.

The season has not many flowers,

To gather, Love, so see

A wreath of hope, and trust, and love, Heart-flowers, I bring to thee.

J. A. LANGFOrd.

Poems of the Fields and the Town. (Simpkin.)

MY SOLE PROPRIETOR. WHAT can she do but love me, That little wife of mine? Her brains are far above me, For brains are in her line. I lack the airs of fashion. The lordling's lofty tone; But she returns my passion

Because I'm all her own.

I spell and cypher badly,
My aspirates I drop:
My talk-I feel it sadly—
Is not at all tip-top.

I fear my faults distress her,
But she has never shown
The least annoyance, bless her!
Because I'm all her own.

TEN YEARS AGO.

TEN years ago, ten years ago,

Life was to us a fairy scene;
And the keen blasts of worldly woe

Had sear'd not then its pathway green.
Youth and its thousand dreams were ours,
Feelings we ne'er can know again;
Unwither'd hopes, unwasted powers,

And frames unworn by mortal pain :
Such was the bright and genial flow
Of life with us-ten years ago!

Time has not blanch'd a single hair

That clusters round thy forehead now; Nor hath the cankering touch of care Left even one furrow on thy brow. Thine eyes are blue as when we met,

In love's deep truth, in earlier years,
Thy cheek of rose is blooming yet,

Though sometimes stain'd by secret tears;
But where, oh where's the spirit's glow,
That shone through all-ten years ago?

I too am changed—I scarce know why—
Can feel each flagging pulse decay;
And youth and health, and visions high,
Melt like a wreath of snow away;
Time cannot sure have wrought the ill;
Though worn in this world's sickening strife,
In soul and form, I linger still

In the first summer month of life;

Yet journey on my path below,
Oh! how unlike-ten years ago!

But look not thus:-I would not give
The wreck of hopes that thou must share,
To bid those joyous hours revive

When all around me seem'd so fair.
We've wander'd on in sunny weather,

When winds were low, and flowers in bloom, And hand in hand have kept together,

And still will keep, 'mid storm and gloom;
Endear'd by ties we could not know
When life was young- ten years ago!

Has fortune frown'd? Her frowns were vain,
For hearts like ours she could not chill;
Have friends proved false? Their love might wane,
But ours grew fonder, firmer still.

Twin barks on this world's changing wave,
Steadfast in calms, in tempests tried;
In concert still our fate we'll brave,

Together cleave life's fitful tide;
Nor mourn, whatever winds may blow,
Youth's first wild dreams-ten years ago!

Have we not knelt beside his bed,

And watch'd our first-born blossom die? Hoped, till the shade of hope had fled, Then wept till feeling's fount was dry? Was it not sweet, in that dark hour,

To think, 'mid mutual tears and sighs,
Our bud had left its earthly bower,

And burst to bloom in Paradise?
What to the thought that soothed that woe
Were heartless joys-ten years ago?

Yes, it is sweet, when heaven is bright,

To share its sunny beams with thee;
But sweeter far, 'mid clouds and blight,
To have thee near to weep with me.
Then dry those tears,-though something
changed

From what we were in earlier youth,
Time, that hath hopes and friends estranged,
Hath left us love in all its truth;
Sweet feelings we would not forego
For life's best joys-ten years ago.

ALARIC A. WATTS.

AND I have lived to kiss the tears away From those sweet eyes-to see them on me shine, Melting with love! to hear thee fondly say, "My darling," lived to be thy darling! thine! Nay more, thy husband! oh my own, my wife, This 'tis indeed to live! without thee what were life?

J. R. PLANCHÉ Songs and Poems. (Chatto and Windus.)

COME WHOAM TO THY CHILDER AN ME.

Aw've just mended th' fire wi' a cob;

Owd Swaddle has brought thi new shoon, There's some nice bacon-collops o' th hob, An' a quart o' ale posset i' th oon;

Aw've brought thi top-cwot, does ta know, For th' rain's comin' deawn very dree; An' th' har'stone's as white as new snow ;Come whoam to thi childer an' me. When aw put little Sally to bed,

Hoo cried, 'cose her feyther weren't theer;
So, aw kissed th' little thing, an' aw said
Thae'd bring her a ribbin fro' th' fair;
An' aw gav her her doll, an' some rags,
An' a nice little white cotton bo';
An' aw kissed her again; but hoo said
At hoo wanted to kiss thee an' o'.
An' Dick, too, aw'd sick wark wi' him,
Afore aw could get him upstairs;
Thae towd him thae'd bring him a drum,
He said, when he're sayin' his prayers;
Then he looked i' my face, an' he said,
"Has th' boggarts taen houd o' my
dad?"
An' he cried till his e'en were quite red ;-
He likes thee some weel, does yon lad!
At th' lung-length, aw geet 'em laid still;
An' aw hearken't folk's feet at went by ;
So aw iron't o' my clooas reet weel,

An' aw hanged 'em o' th maiden to dry;
When aw'd mended thi stockin's an' shirts,
Aw sit deawn to knit i' my cheer,
An' aw rayley did feel rather hurt,—

Mon, aw'm one-ly when theaw artn't theer. "Aw've a drum an' a trumpet for Dick;

Aw've a yard o' blue ribbin for Sal; Aw've a book full o' babs; an' a stick

An' some 'bacco an' pipes for mysel; Aw've brought thee some coffee an' tay,— Iv thae'll feel i' my pocket, thae'll see ; An' aw've bought tho a new cap to-day,— But, aw olez bring summat for thee! God bless tho, my lass; aw'll go whoam, An' aw'll kiss thee an' th' childer o' reawnd;

Thae knows, that wheerever aw roam,

Aw'm fain to get back to th' owd greawnd.

Aw can do wi' a crack o'er a glass;

Aw can do wi' a bit ov a spree ;

But aw've no gradely comfort, my lass,
Except wi' yon childer an' thee!"

EDWIN WAUGH.
Works: Poems. (Heywood.)

WHEN WE ARE OLD AND GRAY, LOVE!

WHEN we are old and gray, love,

When we are old and gray, When at last 'tis all, all over,

The turmoil of the day,

In the still soft hours of even,

In our life's fair twilight time, We'll look upon the morn, love,

Upon our early prime. "Thank God for all the sweet days,"

We'll whisper, while we may, When we are old and gray, love, When we are old and gray.

When we were young and

gay, love, When we were young and gay, When distant seemed December, And all was golden May, Amid our life's hard turmoil,

Our true love made us brave, We thought not of the morrow,

We recked not of the grave.
So far seemed life's dim twilight,

So far the close of day,
When we were young and gay, love,

When we were young and gay.

Now we are old and gray, love,
Now we are old and gray,
The night-tide shadows gather,
We have not long to stay.
The last sere leaves have fallen,

The bare bleak branches bend,
Set your dear hands in mine, love,
Thus, thus, we'll wait the end.
"Thank God for all the gladness,"
In peaceful hope we'll say,
Now we are old and gray, love,
Now we are old and gray.

F. E. WEATHERLY. Dresden China. (Diprose and Bateman.)

ON A SILVER WEDDING. OUR silver wedding, our silver wedding! Has old Time unnoticed treading, Stamped out five-and-twenty years?

Brought us all these girls and boys,
Household sorrows, household joys,
Hopes and fears-

And a silver wedding?

Our silver wedding, our silver wedding, Shall we still, life's current heading, Some day safely drift ashore,

After more years-twenty and fiveLiving, glad to be alive,

As of yore,

At our golden wedding?

This silver wedding, this silver wedding,
We the merry dances treading,
In our fireside circle stand.
Then, mayhap, we'll stand alone,
Nest all empty, nestlings flown-
Hand-in-hand,

At our golden wedding.

That golden wedding, that golden wedding,
May it find us, without dreading,
At the foot of the dark stair

Which leads up, as earth's sounds cease,
Into silence, into peace:
Love still there,

Waiting eternal wedding.

AUTHOR OF "JOHN HALIFAX,
GENTLEMAN."

Thirty Years. (Macmillan.)

Save when, accepting more than woman's share
Of pain and toil, despondency and care,
My comforter thou wert, my hope, my trust:
Ever suggesting holy thoughts and deeds
Guiding my steps on earth, through blinding dust,
Into the Heaven-lit path that Heaven-ward leads.
So has it been, from manhood unto age,
In every shifting scene of Life's sad stage,
Since-fifty years ago-a humble name

I gave to thee-which thou hast given to fame-
Rejoicing in the wife and friend to find
The woman's lesser duties-all-combined
With holiest efforts of creative mind.

And if the world has found some good in me,
The prompting and the teaching came from thee!
God so guide both that so it ever be !

So may the full fount of affection flow;
Each loving each as-fifty years ago!

We are going down the rugged hill of life,
Into the tranquil valley at its base;
But, hand in hand, and heart in heart, dear Wife:

With less of outer care and inner strife,

I look into thy mind and in thy face,
And only see the Angel coming nearer,

To make thee still more beautiful and dearer,
When from the thrall and soil of earth made free,
Thy prayer is heard for me, and mine for thee!
S. C. HALL.

LINES ON "A GOLDEN WEDDING."
THRICE-HAPPY fate! with blessing rife,-
'Mid calm and peaceful weather,

Thro' half-a-hundred years of life!
To love, and live together!

Gay flowers were blooming in the dell,
And all the fields adorning,-
When bravely rang each wedding-bell
Upon their marriage-morning.
As fairy fountains, far and near,
Their streams of music flinging,
In fancy's realm methinks I hear
Those bells still blithely ringing.

Each heart was joyous then,-and now,

(Just half-a-century after),

We banish care from every brow,

We welcome mirth and laughter.

Life's spring may be a season meet
For love, and lovers' kisses;

Yet autumn joys are doubly sweet
On such a day as this is!

When Past and Present, linked-in-one,
Their goodly stores out-spreading,
Bring back the days long past and gone
To bless a Golden Wedding.

For bride and bridegroom be our prayer,
So far as fate may spare them,—
That each the other's griefs may bear;
Their joys-that both may share them.
SAMUEL WADDINGTON.

TILL DEATH.

Two hands held in one clasp,

Two hearts bound in one chain,

Two bosoms beating warm,
Loving, beloved again.

Two smiles of fervent faith
On each caressing cheek,
Two voices soft and low,

As whispering angels speak.

Two figures kneeling glad

Before the sacred shrine, Two vows of mutual love

Exchanged in sight divine.

Two coffins, side by side,

Beneath the daisied sod, Two spirits dwelling in

The perfect rest of God.

Once a Week.

YES! we go gently down the hill of life,
And thank our God at every step we go;
The husband-lover and the sweetheart-wife.
Of creeping age what do we care or know?
Each says to each, "Our fourscore years, thrice told,
Would leave us young: " the Soul is never old!
What is the Grave to us? can it divide

The destiny of two by God made one?
We step across and reach the other side,
To know our blended Life is but begun.
These fading faculties are sent to say
Heaven is more near to-day than yesterday.

S. C. HALL.

[Written by Mr. Hall to commemorate the fifty-sixth anniversary of his wedding-day, and jointly signed on that day by himself and Mrs. Hall.]

LISTEN! I'll tell you what I think is best,

Who've dream'd all dreams for which men laugh

or weep:

Arms round you wrapp'd, a head upon your breast, Of one that loves you, nestling half-asleep.

T. ASHE.