The OLD MAN'S COMFORTS.

And how he gained them.

You are old, Father William, the young man cried,
The few locks which are left you are grey;
You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man,
Now tell me the reason I pray.

In the days of my youth, Father William replied,
I remember'd that youth would fly fast,
And abused not my health and my vigour at first
That I never might need them at last.

You are old, Father William, the young man cried,
And pleasures with youth pass away,

And yet you lament not the days that are gone,
Now tell me the reason I pray.

In the days of my youth, Father William replied,

I remember'd that youth could not last;

I thought of the future whatever I did,
That I never might grieve for the past.

You are old, Father William, the young man cried, And life must be hastening away;

You are chearful, and love to converse upon death! Now tell me the reason I pray.

I am chearful, young man, Father William replied, Let the cause thy attention engage;

In the days of my youth I remember'd my God! And He hath not forgotten my age.

I

The EBB TIDE.

Slowly thy flowing tide

Came in, old Avon! scarcely did mine eyes, As watchfully I roam'd thy green-wood side, Behold the gentle rise.

With many a stroke and strong The labouring boatmen upward plied their oars, And yet the eye beheld them labouring long Between thy winding shores.

Now down thine ebbing tide The unlaboured boat falls rapidly along; The solitary helms-man sits to guide And sings an idle song.

Now o'er the rocks, that lay

So silent late, the shallow current roars ;
Fast flow thy waters on their sea-ward way
Thro' wider-spreading shores.

Avon! I gaze and know

The wisdom emblemed in thy varying way;
It speaks of human joys that rise so slow,
So rapidly decay.

Kingdoms that long have stood

And slow to strength and power attain'd at last, Thus from the summit of high fortune's flood Ebb to their ruin fast.

So tardily appears

The course of time to manhood's envied stage;
Alas! how hurryingly the ebbing years
Then hasten to old age!

The HOLLY TREE.

O Reader! hast thou ever stood to see

The Holly Tree?

The eye that contemplates it well perceives
Its glossy leaves

Ordered by an intelligence so wise,

As might confound the Atheists sophistries.

Below, a circling fence, its leaves are seen
Wrinkled and keen;

No grazing cattle thro' their prickly round
Can reach to wound;

But as they grow where nothing is to fear,
Smooth and unarm'd the pointless leaves appear.