SATURDAY AFTERNOON. (A PICTURE.) I LOVE to look on a scene like this, Of wild and careless play, And persuade myself that I am not old, And my locks are not yet gray; For it stirs the blood in an old man's heart, And makes his pulses fly, To catch the thrill of a happy voice, And the light of a pleasant eye. I have walked the world for fourscore years; And they say that I am old, And my heart is ripe for the reaper, Death, And my years are well nigh told. It is very true; it is very true; I'm old, and " I 'bide my time :" But my heart will leap at a scene like this Play on, play on; I am with you there, I hide with you in the fragrant hay, I am willing to die when my time shall come, And I shall be glad to go; For the world is at best a weary place, And my pulse is getting low; But the grave is dark, and the heart will fail In treading its gloomy way; And it wiles my heart from its dreariness, To see the young so gay. A CHILD'S FIRST IMPRESSION OF A STAR. SHE had been told that God made all the stars As if it were a new and perfect world, And this were its first eve. She stood alone A CHILD'S FIRST IMPRESSION OF A STAR. 205 Filled her young heart with gladness, and the eve Of sunset, where the blue was melted in |