LESEY.

SILVER AND GOLD.

Silver or golden, which is the best--
Which with God's love is most richly blest?
Which is the fairer I cannot tell,
Grandfather dear or my baby Bel.

The soft twilight hour, when shadows fall,
To little Bel seems the best of all;
Then grandfather lays aside his book;
He cannot resist the pleading look.

There's room for two in the great arm-chair;
His arms enfold her with loving care;
Upturned is a smiling, rosy face;
Two dimpled arms have found their place.

Sweet eyes of hazel, so clear and bright,
Look up with a happy, loving light;
The curls are golden that softly stray,
While breezes amid their sunshine play.

Little she dreams of sorrow and care;
Life is unknown, and to her seems fair.
As years roll by the face may grow old;
But the loving heart will never grow cold.

[Illustration: SILVER AND GOLD.]

When the hand of Time on her head is laid,
The lustre of gold must surely fade;
But lovely is even a silver frost,
If truth and goodness have not been lost.

Pride and passion have left no trace
On the old man's placid, saintly face;
The journey so long is almost done--
The strife is over, the victory won.

The voice that speaks is gentle and deep;
Surely it means God's grace to keep.
Eyes like the heavens so darkly blue;
Surely God's love is shining through.

Forehead so noble, calm, and fair;
Surely God's peace is resting there.
The snowy locks are a silver crown;
Softly the blessing of God came down.

Silver or golden, which is the best--
Which with God's love is most richly blest?
Which is the fairer I cannot tell,
Grandfather dear or my baby Bel.

ELLIS GRAY.

TWO MORNINGS.

Step softly; the baby sleeps;
Drop the curtains, and close the door;
Baby sleeps, while mother weeps--
Sleeps, never to waken more.

Not a breath disturbs his repose;
The blossom he wears has forgotten to blow.
Once his two cheeks were red as a rose;
Now they are lilies, you know.

Morning will come, with its sweet surprise,
Waken the flowers, and scatter the dew;
But never again shall the baby's eyes
Watch the sunbeams break through.

Yet in heaven his morning is growing