I am willing to die when my time shall come, For the world, at best, is a weary place, But the grave is dark, and the heart will fail And it wiles my heart from its dreariness, 'Tis bleak December, cold and drear; Aweary, weary, old, and grey. The Christmas chime, in olden time, Aweary, weary, old, and grey. I miss the happy faces now That circled round our festive board, When pleasure lighted every brow, And every touch wak'd friendship's chord; Whilst now, like harp of shattered string, Whose melody hath passed away, I drop, a faded, soulless thing, Forsaken, weary, old, and grey Aweary, weary, old, and grey. But, hush! what sounds come stealing o'er, That I alone am old and grey, Aweary, weary, old, and grey. ASPIRATIONS OF YOUTH. HIGHER, higher, will we climb Deeper, deeper, let us toil Onward, onward, may we press Minds are of celestial birth- Closer, closer, let us knit Hearts and hands together; O! they wander wide who roam, Nearer, dearer, bands of love THE CROCUS'S SOLILOQUY. Down in my solitude, under the snow, I will not despair, nor be idle, nor frown, My leaves shall run up, and my roots shall run down, While the bud in my bosom is swelling. Soon as the frost will get out of my bed, Then from my heart will young petals diverge, Gaily array'd in my yellow and green, Many, perhaps, from so simple a flower Patient to-day, through its gloomiest hour, THE STORMY PETREL. Procter. A THOUSAND miles from land are we, The sails are scattered abroad like weeds; The strong mast shake like quivering reeds; The mighty cables and iron chains, The hull, which all earthly strength disdainsThey strain and they crack, and hearts like stone Their natural hard proud strength disown. Up and down! up and down! From the base of the wave to the billow's crown; And 'midst the flashing and feathery foam, The stormy-petrel finds a home. A home, if such a place may be, For her who lives on the wide, wide sea- And only seeketh her rocky lair To warm her young, and to teach them to spring At once on the waves on their stormy |