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From everything about the house a mournful thought did borrow;

The very bread they had to eat was food unto their

sorrow.

Oh! poverty is a weary thing, 'tis full of grief and pain; It keepeth down the soul of man, as with an iron chain; It maketh even the little child with heavy sighs complain.

MARY HOWITT.

THE WORN WEDDING RING.

YOUR wedding ring wears thin, dear wife; ah, summers not a few,

Since I put it on your finger first, have pass'd o'er me

and you;

And, love, what changes we have seen-what cares and pleasures, too,

Since you became my own dear wife, when this old ring

was new.

O, blessings on that happy day, the happiest of my life, When, thanks to God, your low, sweet "Yes" made you my loving wife;

Your heart will say the same, I know; that day's as dear to you,

That day that made me yours, dear wife, when this old ring was new.

How well do I remember now your young sweet face that day!

How fair you were, how dear you were, my tongue could hardly say,

Nor how I doated on you; ah, how proud I was of you; But did I love you more than now, when this old ring was new?

No-no; no fairer were you then than at this hour to

me;

And, dear as life to me this day, how could you dearer

be?

As sweet your face might be that day as now it is, 'tis

true,

But did I know your heart as well, when this old ring was new?

O, partner of my gladness, wife, what care, what grief is there

For me you would not bravely face, with me you would not share?

O, what a weary want had every day, if wanting you, Wanting the love that God made mine when this old ring was new.

Years bring fresh links to bind us, wife-young voices that are here,

Young faces round our fire that make their mother's yet

more dear,

Young, loving hearts, your care each day makes yet more like to you,

More like the loving heart made mine when this old ring was new.

And bless'd be God! all He has given are with us yet; around

Our table, every precious life lent to us still is found; Though cares we've known, with hopeful hearts the worst we've struggled through;

Bless'd be His name for all His love since this old ring

was new!

The past is dear; its sweetness still our memories treasure yet;

The griefs we've borne, together borne, we would not now forget;

Whatever, wife, the future brings, heart unto heart still true,

We'll share as we have shared all else since this old ring was new.

And if God spare us 'mongst our sons and daughters to grow old,

We know His goodness will not let your heart or mine grow cold;

Your aged eyes will see in mine all they've still shown

to you,

And mine in yours all they have seen since this old ring was new.

And O, when death shall come at last to bid me to my

rest,

May I die looking in those eyes, and resting on that

breast:

O, may my parting gaze be bless'd with the dear sight

of you,

Of those fond eyes-fond as they were when this old ring was new!

W. C. BENNETT.

TRUE HEROISM;

66

BEING THE INCIDENT OF BRAVE JOHN MAYNARD."

IN North America once lived

A man unknown to fame;

Methinks that very few have heard
Of brave John Maynard's name.

A skilful pilot he was bred;

In God was his delight;

His head was clear, his hands were strong, His hopes seem'd ever bright.

Once from Detroit to Buffalo

A steamer plied her way;

And honest John stood at the helm,
That lovely summer's day.

Well filled with joyous passengers,
She cut the waters wide,
Leaving a silver line of light
Along the glancing tide.

But suddenly her Captain starts,
His cheek is white as snow;

Oh! sight of dread, light wreaths of smoke
Came curling from below!

Then rose the horrid cry of "Fire! "

Appalling, wild, and drear,

A boat the steamer carried not,

Nor human aid was near.

All hands to instant work were call'd ;

Alas! all toil was vain,

The fury of the raging flames

No effort might restrain.

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