still,
Warm heart; he comes--to clasp his bride.

WOMAN'S LOVE.

POETRY BY ANON.

MUSIC BY MATHIAS KELLER.

COPYRIGHTED BY J. C. SMITH, NO. 215 CHESNUT STREET, PHILADELPHIA.

[Music/Illustration:

Allegretto.

Fine.

A Wo-man's love, deep in the heart, Is like the vio-let

flow'r, That lifts its mo-dest head a-part, In

some se-ques-ter'd bow'r. And blest is he who

Ritardando. A tempo.

finds that bloom, Who sips its gen-tle sweets; He

heeds not life's op-pres-sive gloom, Nor all the care he meets

D. C.]

SECOND VERSE.

A woman's love is like the spring
Amid the wild alone;
A burning wild o'er which the wing
Of cloud is seldom thrown;
And blest is he who meets that fount,
Beneath the sultry day;
How gladly should his spirit mount,
How pleasant be his way.

THIRD VERSE.

A woman's love is like the rock,
That every tempest braves,
And stands secure amid the shock
Of ocean's wildest waves;
And blest is he to whom repose
Within its shade is given--
The world, with all its cares and woes,
Seems less like earth than heaven.

YEARS AGO.--A BALLAD.

WRITTEN EXPRESSLY FOR MRS. C. E. HORN.

BY GEORGE P. MORRIS.

On the banks of that sweet river
Where the water-lilies grow,
Breathed the fairest flower that ever
Bloomed and faded years ago.

How we met and loved and parted,
None on earth can ever know,
Nor how pure and gentle-hearted
Beamed the mourned one years ago.

Like the stream with lilies laden,
Will life's future current flow,
Till in heaven I meet the maiden
Fondly cherished years ago.

Hearts that truly love forget not--
They're the same in weal or wo--
And that star of memory set not
In the grave of years ago.

TO MY WIFE.

BY ROBT. T. CONRAD.

When that chaste blush suffused thy cheek and brow,
Whitened anon with a pale maiden fear,
Thou shrank'st in uttering what I burned to hear:
And yet I loved thee, love, not then as now.
Years and their snows have come and gone, and graves,
Of thine and mine, have opened; and the sod
Is thick above the wealth we gave to God:
Over my brightest hopes the nightshade waves;
And wrongs and wrestlings with a wretched world,
Gray hairs, and saddened hours, and thoughts of gloom,
Troop upon troop, dark-browed, have been my doom;
And to the earth each hope-reared turret hurled!
And yet that blush, suff