OLDEN MEMORIES.

In our days of mirth and gladness
We may spurn their faint control,
But they come, in hours of sadness,

Like sweet music to the soul;
And in sorrow, o'er us stealing
With their gentleness and calm,
They are leaves of precious healing,
They are fruits of choicest balm.
Ever till, when life departs,

Death from dross the spirit frees, Cherish, in thine heart of hearts,

All thine "Olden Memories!"

15

TO MY MOTHER.

MOTHER! they say to me, that thou

Beginest to grow old;

That Time, in furrows on thy brow, Hath placed his impress cold. 'Tis so!-yet dost thou still appear young and fair to me,

As

As when an infant, Mother dear,
I played upon thy knee!

They tell me, Mother! that thy cheek Hath lost that ruddy glow,

Of which so oft I've heard those speak Who knew thee long ago.

It may be so!-yet will I press

That cheek with love as strong

As when in childhood's first embrace, Upon thy neck I hung!

TO MY MOTHER.

They tell me many a charm, once fair,

Begineth to decay;

That thy once glossy, raven hair,

Is turning fast to gray.

Yet I each hoary tress revere,
Each charm, by thee possess'd,
As fair to me doth still appear,
As first my sight it bless'd!

And yet I know 'tis even so,
For time is hurrying on ;
And those who live to bless us now,
Alas! will soon be gone.

And, Mother dear, it grieves my soul
To think that, day by day,
Thou'rt reaching nearer to thy goal,
And soon must pass away!

Mother! in sooth it filleth me

With sorrow, sharp and keen,
When I look back and think, to thee
How wayward I have been.
Oh! could I but live o'er again
My life from infancy,

I think how much of care and pain,

Mother! I'd spare to thee!

17

Ah! vain the wish!-for time, once gone,

Can never more return;

And, as it still is hurrying on,

Still onward we are borne.

And deeds once done, are done for aye,
Whate'er they may betoken;
And we may utter words to day,

Can never be unspoken!

But, Mother! though I cannot now
Recall the years long past,-
Remove the shadows from thy brow,
That time and grief have cast,-
Yet it may be my sweetest care
Each care of thine t'assuage;
And soothe thine every future year

Of earthly pilgrimage!

A MOTHER'S LOVE.

"There is a religion in all deep love, but the love of a MOTHER is the veil of softer light between the heart and the Heavenly Father!"

COLERIDGE.

A MOTHER'S LOVE!-Oh! never, sure,
Did sweeter or more tender feeling-

A love from earthly dross so pure,
Upon this sinful earth find dwelling:

A coin so free from base alloy-
Light emanating from above;
Angels might covet to enjoy
A Mother's holy Love!

A Mother's Love!-Oh! who can know
That depth of love a Mother feels,
When, bending in devotion low,

For her beloved ones she kneels.