V. We've lived together fifty years: it seems but one long day, One quiet Sabbath of the heart, till he was called away; And as we bring from Meeting-time a sweet contentment home, So, Hannah, I have store of peace for all the days to come. VI. I mind (for I can tell thee now) how hard it was to know If I had heard the spirit right, that told me I should go; For father had a deep concern upon his mind that Then she was still they sat awhile: at last she spoke again, "The Lord incline thee to the right!" and "Thou shalt have him, Jane!" My father said. I cried. Indeed, 't was not the least of shocks, For Benjamin was Hicksite, and father Orthodox. VIII. I thought of this ten years ago, when daughter Ruth we lost : Her husband's of the world, and yet I could not see her crossed. She wears, thee knows, the gayest gowns, she hears a hireling priest Ah, dear! the cross was ours: her life's a happy one, at least. My wedding-gown was ashen silk, too simple for my taste: I wanted lace around the neck, and a ribbon at the waist. X. How strange it seemed to sit with him upon the women's side! I did not dare to lift my eyes: I felt more fear than pride, Till, "in the presence of the Lord," he said, and then there came A holy strength upon my heart, and I could say the same. XI. I used to blush when he came near, but then I showed no sign; With all the meeting looking on, I held his hand in mine. It seemed my bashfulness was gone, now I was his for life: Thee knows the feeling, Hannah,— thee, too, hast been a wife. XII. As home we rode, I saw no fields look half so green as ours; The woods were coming into leaf, the meadows full of flowers; The neighbors met us in the lane, and every face was kind, 'Tis strange how lively everything comes back upon my mind. XIII. I see, as plain as thee sits there, the weddingdinner spread: At our own table we were guests, with father at the head, And Dinah Passmore helped us both, -'t was she stood up with me, And Abner Jones with Benjamin, - and now they're gone, all three ! XIV. It is not right to wish for death; the Lord disposes best. His Spirit comes to quiet hearts, and fits them for His rest; And that He halved our little flock was merciful, I see: For Benjamin has two in heaven, and two are left with me. XV. Eusebius never cared to farm, -'t was not his call, in truth, And I must rent the dear old place, and go to daughter Ruth. Thee 'll say her ways are not like mine, — young people now-a-days Have fallen sadly off, I think, from all the good old ways. XVI. But Ruth is still a Friend at heart; she keeps the simple tongue, The cheerful, kindly nature we loved when she was young; And it was brought upon my mind, remembering her, of late, That we on dress and outward things perhaps lay too much weight. XVII. I once heard Jesse Kersey say, a spirit clothed with grace, And pure, almost, as angels are, may have a homely face. And dress may be of less account: the Lord will look within : The soul it is that testifies of righteousness or sin. XVIII. Thee must n't be too hard on Ruth: she's anxious I should go, And she will do her duty as a daughter should, I know. 'Tis hard to change so late in life, but we must be resigned: The Lord looks down contentedly upon a willing mind. ANASTASIA. 700 pure thy lips for passion's kiss; Too fair thy cheek love's rose to be: The brightest dream of Beauty's bliss Is dark beside the dream of thee. Thine eyes were lit from other skies; Thy limbs are made of purer clay; And wandering airs of Paradise Before thee breathe the mists away. Go, Angel! on thy path serene, THE PALM AND THE PINE. HEN Peter led the First Crusade, He loved her lithe and palmy grace, And the dark beauty of her face: She loved his cheeks, so ruddy fair, |