banish'd hateful crimes,
The latest age of gold.

Not now a brother fears to tread
The way a brother goes,
Not now the wife's sad heart is fed,
On brutal cuffs and blows.

Not now the human eye is fierce
With cruel thirst of gore;
Not now the angry spear doth pierce
The bosom. Such are o'er.

This scene become a Paradise,
A scene of peace and love,
Wherein each living being tries
To work for God above.

The Bible fills the mighty world,
The end is drawing nigh,
When, earth in burning fragments hurl'd,
The soul shall rise on high.

The promis'd years, the better times,
By God himself foretold,
Have dawned with their triumphal chimes,
On the sweet air unroll'd.

TO A POET'S WIFE.

Thou art indeed a happy one,
And hast a charmed life,
A noble triumph thou hast won,
A bright-eyed Poet's wife.

His fancy plucks all glittering gems
From mountain caves and sea,
To form that best of diadems,
He proudly gives to thee.

That realm that doth thy power obey,
Is richer far than these,
More sweet its nights, more bright its day,
More bland its wandering breeze.

And gentle creatures move and kiss
The sceptre in thy hand,
And gather garlands, wreaths of bliss,
Amid thy fairy land.

The Angels' song comes down at times,
And flows into his song,
Like the triumphal, silver chimes,
That steal the heavens along.

LILLY LANE.

Come to my calling,
Lilly Lane,
Like music falling,
Come again.

The earth is dreary,
Sorrow's reign,
My thoughts are weary,
Come again.

The flowers upspringing,
Bring me pain,
My thoughts are winging
To thee again.

Come to my sorrow,
Come again,
Give night a morrow,
Yet again.

Oh! birds are singing
Many a strain,
The woodlands ringing,
Come again.

Yet I am weeping,
E'er with pain,
Grief's vigil keeping,
Come again.

The dawn gleams brightly
O'er the plain,
The airs come lightly
O'er the main.

They ne'er shall wake thee,
Lilly Lane,
All things forsake thee,
Lilly Lane.

I'll not bereave thee
Lilly Lane!
I'll never leave thee,
Lilly Lane.

On thy grave I'll mutter
"Lilly Lane!"
With a frantic, dove-like flutter,
"Lilly Lane!"

Around thy tomb I'll hover,
Near the main,
Like a bleeding dying plover,
"Lilly Lane!"

A SONG OF THE OLDEN TIME.

To-day my gay and happy heart,
Was lost in pleasant dreaming;
And I had won a loving pa