The City has, in name, its gates, as well; Alleys and courts named after saints and angels. The City has no Roads. But here, however,— And round about this capital of Time; This mighty MOTHER CITY of the nations, Where will you find an alley long and narrow? No-we have Roads, wide Roads, with beauty border'd, With gardens neat, and trim, and fair, and flowery ; Quiet and Country-looking. Yet, even here, There's not a Quarterday of all the four, In any year, that does not see Removals; And there, and then, in that event we find— OLD LETTERS. OLD letters in bundles that long since were tied, What words have ye yet of the young and the strong, Come forth and let memory wander among Here letters, of friendship in youth, yet remain; They bring back the feeling of life-loving youth, Its freedom from desolate care; The peace and the pleasure, the trust and the truth, But some of the writers have written their last, They met with the tempest, and fell in the blast; Hence letters from them come no more. Some bosoms that heaved with affectionate breath, Here some of the letters of love yet remain, To tell of a time of delight, When splendour of pleasure approaching to pain, Ruled almost with rapture too bright. Then the light of the look of the beautiful came, In letters yet lingers the glow of the flame, Here some of the letters of wisdom are found, They tell how the spirit may rise from the ground, Oh! if in old letters fair lessons remain, As rose-leaves tho' wither'd sweet odours retain, To tell us in winter of May, How then can the spirits whose teachings are here, Be number'd with nothing but night? They live in the land of the loved and the dear,— They reign in the realm of delight. A WORD OF CHEER. How welcome-how welcome a word of cheer! It cometh like warble of morning clear, It lighteth the face with a beam of grace, And helpeth the heart to a heavenly place, O give the well-doer a word of cheer, That calleth for culture is hard; Yet there is not a moment of all his toil In the field of humanity, widely have seeds, That the enemy's hand hath done. O let the well-doer have right good cheer, From pestilent plant and weed; Who toileth that bloom of the lovely and true With glory that Eden the innocent knew, He loveth the grace of the snowdrop fair, And to witness the summer of manhood bear And the angels of heaven in golden strains Then give the good worker a word of cheer, And be the word willingly given, In spirit of cheerfulness meet for the ear Of the heart in the service of heaven. Good wishes go with him who laboureth well, Great peace with his spirit shall be; But his honour eternity only can tell, When from his loved labour set free. H |