II.

Such as some lovely girl we knew;
Such as some touching song we heard;
Such as some evening spent, when flew
The hours as swift as passing bird.

III.

Such as some well-tried friend we had;
Such as some acts of kindness done,
Yet rising up to make us glad,
And so will rise when years are gone.

IV.

Despair not! still be innocent;
Admire the beautiful, the good,
And when the cry of woe is sent,
Turn to relieve, in pitying mood.

V.

So shall the present, when 'tis past,
Rich with harmonious scenes appear,
No gloomy shadows o'er it cast,
No spectres there, to make thee fear.

E. G.

THE HEARTH OF HOME.

BY MARY E. HEWITT.

The storm around my dwelling sweeps,
And while the dry boughs fierce it reaps,
My heart within a vigil keeps,
The warm and cheering hearth beside;
And as I mark the kindling glow
Brightly o'er all its radiance throw,
Back to the years my memories flow,
When Rome sat on her hills in pride;
When every stream and grove and tree
And fountain had its deity.

The hearth was then, 'mong low and great,
Unto the Lares consecrate:
The youth arrived to man's estate
There offered up his golden heart;
Thither, when overwhelmed with dread,
The stranger still for refuge fled,
Was kindly cheered, and warmed, and fed,
Till he might fearless thence depart:
And there the slave, a slave no more,
Hung reverent up the chain he wore.

Full many a change the hearth hath known;
The Druid fire, the curfew's tone,
The log that bright at yule-tide shone,
The merry sports of Hallow-e'en;
Yet still where'er a home is found,
Gather the warm affections round,
And there the notes of mirth resound,
The voice of wisdom heard between:
And welcomed there with words of grace,
The stranger finds a resting place.

Oh! wheresoe'er our feet may roam,
Still sacred is the hearth of home;
Whether beneath the princely dome,
Or peasant's lowly roof it be,
For home the wanderer ever yearns;
Backward to where its hearth-fire burns,
Like to the wife of old, he turns
Ever the eyes of memory.
Back where his heart he offered first--
Back where his fond young hopes he nursed.

My humble hearth though all disdain,
Here may I cast aside the chain
The world hath coldly on