Come, Willie, call the other boys,
Ere falls the evening dew;"

And then another little voice,

Soft pleading, said: "Me, too!"

O childish heart, that could not bear
Her name should be forgot!

O childish love, that longed to share
With all the common lot!

Such tone should ne'er be heard in vain,
So tremulous and true;

A link in that sweet household chain,
She claimed her right—“Me, too!"

But not alone in childhood's years
The heart gives out this cry;
'Tis heard amid the silent tears

Of life's deep agony.

The lonely soul, athirst for love,

Will cry as infants do;

And lift, all other tones above,

Its passionate-“Me, too!”

Formed by one hand, we live and die;

Before one throne we kneel;

The longings of humanity

Send up one deep appeal.

GROWING OLD.

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Our nature's tendrils intertwine,

Fed by one common dew;
None seek in solitude to pine,

Each heart throb says: "Me, too!"

God teach us, then, in rank to stand,
Firm as brave spirits should;
Joined heart to heart, and hand to hand,
In holy brotherhood;

And casting off the ice of pride,

Wear warm hearts, mild and true;

Nor from the weakest turn aside

Who feebly cries—“Me, too!”

GROWING OLD.

SOFTLY, oh softly, the years have swept by thee,
Touching thee lightly with tenderest care;
Sorrow and death did they often bring nigh thee,
Yet they have left thee but beauty to wear.
Growing old gracefully,
Gracefully fair.

Far from the storms that are lashing the ocean,

Nearer each day to the pleasant home light;

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GROWING OLD.

Far from the waves that are big with commotion,
Under full sail, and the harbor in sight.

Growing old cheerfully,

Cheerful and bright.

Past all the winds that were adverse and chilling,
Past all the islands that lured thee to rest,

Past all the currents that wooed thee unwilling
Far from the port and the land of the blest.
Growing old peacefully,

Peaceful and blest.

Never a feeling of envy or sorrow

When the bright faces of children are seen;

Never a year from their youth wouldst thou borrow; Thou dost remember what lieth between.

Growing old willingly,
Gladly, I ween.

Rich in experience that angels might covet,
Rich in a faith that has grown with thy years,
Rich in the love that grew from and above it,
Soothing thy sorrows and hushing thy fears.
Growing old wealthily,

Loving and dear.

GROWING OLD.

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Hearts at the sound of thy coming are lightened;
Ready and willing thy hand to relieve;

Many a face at thy kind words has brightened

“It is more blessed to give than receive.” Growing old happily,

Blest, we believe.

Eyes that grow dim to the earth and its glory
See but the brighter the heavenly glow!

Ears that are dull to the world and its story
Drink in the songs that from Paradise flow;
All their sweet recompense

Youth cannot know.

Fourscore! But softly the years have swept by thee, Touching thee lightly with tenderest care;

Sorrow and death they did often bring nigh thee,

Yet they have left thee but beauty to wear.

Growing old gracefully,

Graceful and fair.

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WORDS OF A POET.

WORDS OF A POET.

If a pilgrim has been shaded
By a tree that I have nursed;
If a can of clear cold water,
I have raised to lips athirst;
If I've planted one sweet flower
By an else too barren way;
If I've whispered in the midnight
One sweet word to tell of day;
If in one poor bleeding bosom

I a woe-swept chord have stilled;

If a dark and restless spirit

I with hope of heaven have filled;

If I've made for life's hard battle

One faint heart grow brave and strong, Then, my God, I thank Thee, bless Thee, For the precious gift of song.