YOUR

YOUR wedding-ring wears thin, dear wife; ah, summers not a few,

Since I put it on your finger first, nave passed o'er me and you;

And love, what changes we have seen-what cares and pleasures too,

Since you became my own dear wife, when this old ring was new!

O, blessings on that happy day, the happiest of my life,

When, thanks to God, your low, sweet "Yes" made you my loving wife!

Your heart will say the same, I know, that day s as dear to you,—

That day made me yours, dear wife, when this old ring was new.

How well do I remember now your young, sweet face that day!

How fair you were, how dear you were, my tongue could hardly say;

Nor how I doted on you. O, how proud I was of you!

But did I love you more than now, when this old ring was new?

No-no! no fairer were you then than at this hour to me;

And, dear as life to me this day, how could you dearer be?

As sweet your face might be that day as now it is, 'tis true;

But did I know your heart as well when this old ring was new?

O, partner of my gladness, wife, what care, what grief is there

For me you would not bravely face, with me you would not share?

O, what a weary want had every day, if wanting

you,

Wanting the love that God made mine, when this old ring was new?

But most I like it, as it tells

The tale of well requited love; How youthful fondness persevered, And youthful faith disdain'd to roveHow warmly he his suit preferr'd, Though she, unpitying, long denied, Till, softened and subdued at last,

He won his "fair and blooming bride."

How, till the appointed day arrived,

They blamed the lazy-footed hoursHow, then, the white-robed maiden train Strew'd their glad way with freshest flowersAnd how, before the holy man,

They stood in all their youthful pride, And spoke those words, and vow'd those vows, Which bind the husband to his bride :

All this it tells; the plighted trothThe gift of every earthly thingThe hand in hand-the heart in heart For this I like that ancient ring.

I like its old and quaint device;

"Two blended hearts"-though time may wear them,

No mortal change, no mortal chance,

"Till death," shall e'er in sunder tear them.

Year after year, 'neath sun and storm,

Their hope in heaven, their trust in God,

In changeless, heartfelt, holy love,

These two the world's rough pathway trod. Age might impair their youthful fires,

Their strength might fail, 'mid life's bleak weather,

Still hand in hand, they travel'd on-
Kind souls! they slumber now together.

I like its simple poesy, too,

"Mine own dear love, this heart is thine! Thine, when the dark storm howls along,

As when the cloudless sunbeams shine, "This heart is thine, mine own dear love!"

Thine, and thine only, and forever: Thine, till the springs of life shall fail;

Thine till the cords of life shall sever; Remnant of days departed long, Emblem of plighted troth unbroken, Pledge of devoted faithfulness,

Of heartfelt, holy love, the token : What varied feelings round it cling! For these, I like that ancient ring. -George Washington Doane.

You give your coffee to the cat,

You stroke the dog for coming,

And all your face grows kinder at

The little brown bee's humming.

But when he haunts your door,-the town
Marks coming and marks going,—

You seem to have stitched your eyelids down
To that long piece of sewing!

You never give a look, not you,

Nor drop him a "Good-morning,"

To keep his long day warm and blue,
So fretted by your scorning.

She shook her head: "The mouse and bee
For crumb or flower will linger;
The dog is happy at my knee,

The cat purrs at my finger.

"But he to him, the least thing given
Means great things at a distance;

He wants my world, my sun, my heaven,
Soul, body, whole existence.

"They say love gives as well as takes;
But I'm a simple maiden,—

My mother's first smile when she wakes
I still have smiled and prayed in.

"I only know my mother's love
Which gives all and asks nothing,
And this new loving sets the groove
Too much the way of loathing.
"Unless he gives me all in change,
I forfeit all things by him:

The risk is terrible and strange

I tremble, doubt,-deny him.

"He's a sweetest friend, or hardest foe,

Best angel or worse devil;

I either hate or love him so,

I can't be merely civil !

"You trust a woman who puts forth

Her blossoms thick as summers? You think she dreams what love is worth Who casts it to new-comers?

"Such love's a cowslip-ball to fling, A moment's pretty pastime;

I give all me, if anything,

The first time and the last time.

"Dear neighbor of the trellised house,
A man should murmur never,
Though treated worse than dog or mouse
Till doted on forever!"

-Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

UT Enoch yearned to see her face again;

BUT

"If I might look on her sweet face again And know that she is happy." So the thought

Haunted and harassed him, and drove him forth
At evening when the dull November day
Was growing duller twilight, to the hill.