THE HEART'S FINE GOLD. 225

THE HEART'S FINE GOLD.

I SAW a little girl

W. O. BOurne.

That shivered by my side,

And the sparkling snow, with a whiff and a whirl, Wove a frosty wreath in her hanging curl,

As she pushed her hair aside.

I saw her tearful eye,

That spoke in tender power,

And the throbbing heart, with a throe and a sigh, Were the speaking tongue, that assured me why She came in that chilly hour.

I asked what brought her there.
In accents low and sad,

She asked for some food, for crust was the fare,
Of mother and babe, mid the heart's despair;
In rags they were thinly clad.

Her father with the dead

Had gone to take his rest;

He had struggled long with the toil and dread
Of the life in which the laborers tread,

And had always done his best.

Her simple tale I heard,

Nor did she speak in vain;

For the prayerful tone, and the sigh, and the word

Of the pale, thin lips, all my pity stirred,

As she spoke in tears again.

226

THE OLD FOLKS' ROOM.

Her wants I well supplied

With such as I could spare;

And the poor girl wept in her soul's grateful tide,
For her heart was full, and she vainly tried
To utter its promptings there.

My heart grew rich that day,

My soul more noble grew,

For her tears that fell were pearls in the ray
Of the great love sun that shall chase away
The night and its gloom-born dew.

I would that I could spend

My life in joys like this;

I would gather gems, and the gold with them blend
Of a thousand hearts, till my life should end
In a heaven of love's pure bliss.

THE OLD FOLKS' ROOM.

ANON.

THE old man sat by the chimney side;

His face was wrinkled and wan;

And he leaned both hands on his stout oak cane,

As if all work were done.

His coat was of good old-fashioned gray;

The pockets were deep and wide,

227

THE OLD FOLKS' ROOM.

Where his "specs" and his steel tobacco box
Lay snugly side by side.

The old man liked to stir the fire,

So near him the tongs were kept;

Sometimes he mused as he gazed at the coals,
Sometimes he sat and wept.

What saw he in the embers there?
Ah! pictures of other years;

And now and then they wakened smiles,
But oftener started tears.

His good wife sat on the other side,
In a high-back, flag-seat chair;
I see 'neath the pile of her muslin cap
The sheen of her silvery hair.

There's a happy look on her aged face,
As she busily knits for him,

And Nillie takes up the stitches dropped,
For grandmother's eyes are dim.

Their children come and read the news
To pass the time, each day;

How it stirs the blood in an old man's heart
To hear of the world away!

'Tis a homely scene, I told you so,

But pleasant it is to view;

At least I thought it so myself,

And sketched it down for you.

228

THE RIVER PATH.

Be kind unto the old, my friend;

They're worn with this world's strife, Though bravely once perchance they fought The stern, fierce battle of life.

They taught our youthful feet to climb

Upward life's rugged steep;
Then let us lead them gently down
To where the weary sleep.

THE RIVER PATH.

WHITTIER.

No bird-song floated down the hill;
The tangled bank below was still;

No rustle from the birchen stem,
No ripple from the water's hem.

The dusk of twilight round us grew;
We felt the falling of the dew.

For, from us, ere the day was done,
The wooded hills shut out the sun.

But on the river's farther side
We saw the hill-tops glorified.

A tender glow, exceeding fair,
A dream of day, without its glare.

THE RIVER PATH.

With us the damp, the chill, the gloom;
With them the sunset's rosy bloom;

While dark, through willowy vistas seen,
The river rolled in shade between.

From out the darkness where we trod
We gazed upon those hills of God,

Whose light seemed not of moon or sun;
We spake not, but our thought was one.

We paused, as if from that bright shore
Beckoned our dear ones gone before;

And still our beating hearts to hear
The voices lost to mortal ear!

Sudden our pathway turned from night;
The hills swung open to the light;

229

Through their green gates the sunshine showed A long slant splendor downward flowed.

Down glade and glen and bank it rolled;
It bridged the shady stream with gold;

And, borne on piers of mist, allied
The shadowy with the sunlit side!

“So,” prayed we, "when our feet draw near

The river dark, with mortal fear,