ike a glorious rainbow, then,
The future all appeared?
No care or sorrow then we knew,
No disappointment feared.
The world's rude waves had not begun
Across our path to sweep,
We never--save from happiness--
Had cause to sigh or weep.

But many weary years have passed
Since that bright April eve,
And you have learned since then to weep,
And I have learned to grieve;
And on thy brow, unfurrowed then,
Time, and his sister, Care,
Have set their wrinkled seal, and strewed
Their silver in thy hair.

Nor Time, nor Care, nor world's rude waves,
Have had the power to chill
The holy love which then we vowed,
That is unclouded still;
And until Death--the reaper--comes,
It ne'er shall flow away--
Our tide of love which first began
Upon that April day.

HUMAN LONGINGS FOR PEACE AND REST.

THERE are few whose idea of happiness does not include peace as
essential. Most men have been so tempest-tossed, and not comforted,
that they long for a closing of all excitements at last in peace.
Hence the images of the haven receiving the shattered bark, of the
rural vale remote from the noise of towns, have always been dear to
human fancy. Hence, too, the decline of life away from severe toil,
rapid motion, and passionate action, has often a charm even beyond
the kindling enterprise of youth. The cold grave itself repels not
altogether, but somewhat allures the imagination.

"How still and peaceful is the grave!"

Especially has heaven risen to the religious mind in this complexion
of tranquillity. It is generally conceived as free from all
disturbance, broken by not a sound save of harmonious anthems,
which, like murmuring water, give deeper peace than could be found
in silence.

But man so longs for rest and peace, that he not only soothes
himself with these images from afar, but hopes to foretaste their
substance. And what are his views to this end? He means to retire
from business to some spot where he can calmly enjoy what he has in
vain panted for in the race of life. Perhaps he tries the
experiment, but finds himself restless still, and learns the great
lesson at last, that peace is not in the landscape, but only in the
soul; and the calm sky, the horizon's circle, the steady stars, are
only its language, not itself.

Perhaps he seeks peace in his home. Everything there is made soft to
the feet; each chair and couch receives him softly; ag