The kindly deeds men do in life their own reward will bring;
But where they come with trumpet-words, their sweetness bears a sting:
The silent giver 's most beloved right-thinking folks among;
So when you do a kindly thing, be sure you hold your tongue.
Hold your tongue--hold your tongue: you'll ne'er be thought a dunce:
Hold your tongue and think twice before you loose it once:
Hold your tongue--for quiet folks are oft reputed wise:
Hold your tongue, but open wide your ears and your eyes.

Yes: hold your tongue, except in life when days of sorrow come;
Then speak to raise a drooping heart, or cheer a darksome home.
If none of these--let silence be the burden of your song:
He holds his own, nor hurts his friend, who learns to hold his tongue.
Hold your tongue--hold your tongue; you'll ne'er be thought a dunce:
Hold your tongue and think twice before you loose it once:
Hold your tongue--for quiet folks are oft reputed wise:
Hold your tongue, but open wide your ears and your eyes.

MY MOTHER'S PORTRAIT.

SET TO MUSIC AND PUBLISHED.

Ah! Well can I remember:
"She'll come no more," they said.
Her last sweet words, they told me,
Were blessings on my head.
Ah! Well can I remember
What sadness all things wore
In childhood, when they told me
"She'll come--she'll come no more!"
Awake or asleep,
Sweet prize above all other;
Close to my heart I'll keep
The likeness of my mother.

Ah! Well can I remember,
Those eyes were filled with tears--
The face that smiled upon me
Seemed sad with many fears:
"Who'll care for thee, my sweet one?"
"Who'll love thee now?" she cried:
Then from her arms they bore me--
'Twas then, they said, she died.
Awake or asleep,
Sweet prize above all other:
Close to my heart I'll keep
The likeness of my mother.

What though, through cloud and sunshine,
Bright thoughts around me cling:
Though friends in kindness greet me,
No mother's love they bring.
I see her form before me;
I see the sad, sweet smile;
And yet my heart is lonely,
So lonely, all the while.
Awake or asleep,
Sweet prize above all other:
Close to my heart I'll keep
The likeness of my mother.

NEVER MORE.

FOR MUSIC.

A tear-drop glistened on her cheek,
Then died upon the sand.
With ach