THE OLD FOLKS' ROOM.

His coat was of good old-fashioned gray,
The pockets were deep and wide,

Where his "specks" and his steel tobacco-box,
Lay snugly side by side.

The old man liked to stir the fire,

So, near him the tongs were kept;

Sometimes he mused as he gazed at the coals,
Sometimes he sat and slept.

What saw he in the embers there?
Ah! pictures of other years;
And now and then they wakened smiles,
But oftener started tears.

His good wife sat on the other side,
In a high-backed, flag-seat chair;
I see 'neath the pile of her muslin cap
The sheen of her silvery hair.

There's a happy look on her aged face,
As she busily knits for him,

And Nellie takes up the stitches dropped,
For grandmother's eyes are dim.

Their children come and read the news,
To pass the time each day;

How it stirs the blood in an old man's heart,
To hear of the world away.

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GOOD FROM EVIL.

"T is a homely scene, I told you so,
But pleasant it is to view;
At least I thought it so myself,
And sketched it down for you.

Be kind unto the old, my friend,

They 're worn with this world's strife, Though bravely once perchance they fought The stern, fierce battle of life.

They taught our youthful feet to climb

Upward life's rugged steep;

Then let us gently lead them down
To where the weary sleep.

GOOD FROM EVIL.

THE clouds which rise with thunder, slake
Our thirsty souls with rain;

The blow most dreaded falls to break
From off our limbs a chain;
And wrongs of man to man but make
The love of God more plain.
As through the shadowy lens of even
The eye looks farthest into heaven,
On gleams of star and depths of blue
The glaring sunshine never knew!

J. G. WHITTIER.

I SLEPT
I woke

BEAUTY AND DUTY.

and dreamed that life was beauty; and found that life was duty. Was my dream, then, a shadowy lie? Toil on, sad heart, courageously; And thou shalt find thy dream shall be A noonday light and truth to thee.

LUCY HOOPER.

EXCELSIOR.

THE shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore 'mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!

His brow was sad; his eye beneath,
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath,
And like a silver clarion rung

The accents of that unknown tongue,
Excelsior!

In happy homes he saw the light

Of household fires gleam warm and bright;

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EXCELSIOR.

Above, the spectral glaciers shone,
And from his lips escaped a groan,
Excelsior!

66

Try not the Pass!" the old man said; "Dark lowers the tempest overhead, The roaring torrent is deep and wide!" And loud that clarion voice replied, Excelsior!

"O stay," the maiden said, "and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast!"
A tear stood in his bright blue eye,
But still he answered with a sigh,
Excelsior!

"Beware the pine-tree's withered branch!
Beware the fearful avalanche !"
This was the peasant's last good-night;
A voice replied, far up the height,
Excelsior!

At break of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of Saint Bernard
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,
A voice cried through the startled air,
Excelsior!

A traveller, by the faithful hound,
Half buried in the snow was found,

A FAREWELL.

Still grasping in his hand of ice
That banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!

There in the twilight cold and gray,
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay,
And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star,
Excelsior!

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LONGFELLOW.

A FAREWELL.

My fairest child, I have no song to give you ;
No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray :
Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you
For every day.

Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever; Do noble things, not dream them, all day long; And so make life, death, and that vast Forever One grand, sweet song.

CHARLES KINGSLEY.