Of her ready tongue?
Does he love her dearly
As when he was young?
Yes--she was the sunshine
Of his youthful day,
And her light laugh cheers him
Now he's growing gray.
Happy little woman,
That time cannot tame;
Happy sober husband,
Loving still the same.
Happy in her lightness
When life's morn was bright,
Happy in her brightness
As draws on the night.

Passing Events.

Passing events,--tell, what are they I pray?
Are they some novelty?--Nay, nay, nay!
Ever since the world its course began,
Since the breath of life was breathed into man,
Still rolling on with the wane of time,
Through every nation, in every clime;
In every spot where man has his home,
Ever they long for events to come.

Hours or days or years it may be,
Before hopes realization they see;
And no sooner it comes than it hastes away,
And others rush after no longer to stay.
And there scarcely is time to know its in sight,
E'er its found to be leaving with marvellous flight,
And what had been longed for with eager intent,
Is chronicled but as a passing event.

Hope's joys are uncertain;--anxiety rules,
Expectancy's paradise, peopled by fools;
And the present has oft so much bustle and care,
That the joys spread around we have no time to share.
He is surer of peace who leaves future to fate,
And the present joy snatches before it's too late;
But he's safest by far, who in mem'ry holds fast,
The sweet tastes and joys of events that are past.

Those Days have Gone.

Those days have gone, those happy days,
When we two loved to roam,
Beside the rivulet that strays,
Near by my rustic home.
Yes, they have fled, and in the past,
We've left them far behind,
Yet dear I hold, those days of old,
When you were true and kind.

You dreamed not then of wealth or fame,
The world was bright and fair,
I seldom knew a grief or game,
That you, too, did not share.
And though I mourn my hapless fate,
In mem'ry's store I find,
And dearly hold those days of old,
When you were true and kind.

Say, can the wealth you now possess,
Such happiness procure,
As did our youthful pleasures bless,
When both our hearts were pure?
No,--and though wandering apart,
I strive to be resigned;
And dearer hold those days of old,
When you were true and kind.

And if your thoughts should turn to me,
With one pang of regret,
Know that this heart, still beats for thee,
And never will forget;