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But never doubt the proof sincere
That glistens in the starting tear;
And never doubt that truth can live
In hearts that suffer and forgive!


G. She does not meet you as of old,

As friends less cherished meet you; You think her glance is calm and cold,

To welcome or to greet you.

Her sighs ne'er follow where you move,
Nor tell what others' sighs do,

Her lips have never said--“ I love,"
But can't you see her eyes do?

L. Because the gift was small, you thought

'Twas not the gift of love,
But if you view it as you ought

No lack of love 'twill prove;
Not want of heart, but want of art

It was that made it small,

Then loving heart, take hearty love,
To make amends for all;

Take gift with heart, and heart with gift,
Let will supply the want;

For willing heart, nor hearty will
Nor is, nor shall be scant.


G.-Although you smile and try to sing,
'Tis in a saddened strain,



For well you know your heart forebodes
You ne'er will meet again.

Be true to him;

Long years may pass, and life seem dark and dreary,
And thou may'st droop with spirit sad and weary;
But still hope on, and dream of coming gladness,
When clouds no more shall shade thy soul with sadness.
Be true to him.

Be true to him;

And to his bosom, glad, he yet shall hold thee,
With joyous heart within his arms enfold thee;
And while thine eyes with Tove's pure light are gleam-


Murmur-" Reality is here, away with dreaming."
Be true to him. Allie Vernon.


G. She is a being of the gentlest mould

Whose sweet emotions ever can be swayed
By tender words, as reeds by summer wind.
Her heart is like a moss-grown forest-spring,
Upon whose brink the fair anemone,
And trembling violets look mutely up,
With lips apart until the fount shall give
To each its daily spray-drop; even thus
Life's holiest charities around it grow;
Nor do they ever droop or fade away,
For want of the fresh spirit-dew of love.


L-His heart is prone to pity's throe,
To angel kindness so akin,
The faintest sigh of human woe
Is answered ere it well begin.

G.-Chiefly to kneel at Fashion's shrine,
To court the gay and proud,
Whose chief desire is to outshine

The gayest of the crowd.


G.-A woman's tongue is all that comes,

L-A flattering painter who makes it his care

To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are.

W. P. P.

You'll gain that loud and restless thing!
They call for trumpets, fifes, and drums,

When war's fell storm is gathering;
But when did trumpet, drum, or fife,
Bassoon or bag-pipe ever yet
Avail like this in scenes of strife?

A woman's tongue is what you'll get!

L.-The right to watch, the right to weep;
The right to wake when others sleep;
The right to comfort in distress;
The right to soothe, the right to bless;

J. B. Lyons.

The right to love when others scorn,
And faults conceal the while you mourn;


The right a happy home to make
In any clime for his dear sake.
And when all other friends have flown,

And left the sufferer alone,

The right to shed new joys on earth,
The right to teach the soul's high worth,
The right to lead that soul to God,
Along the path the Saviour trod-
The path of meekness and of love,
The path of faith that leads above,
The path of patience under wrong,
The path in which the weak grow strong;
Such fortune thine! but God will bless
And crown thy efforts with success.

Mrs. B. Littls.


G-A being formed by God for thee,
Thy stay and comforter to be,
A stable mind, a trusting heart,
A soul attuned in every part

To noble thoughts, and true;
A form of fair and gentle grace,
A beaming eye, a sparkling face,
Lips whose sole dialect is love,

Where smiles and blessings grow,
As if an influence from above
Were always breathing through.
L.-In person fine-with stable mind,
And purpose sire and steady,


To proper industry inclined,
For business always ready.


When April's warmth, unlocks the clod,
Softened by gentle showers,

When the violet pierces through the sod,
And blossoms, first of flowers;

Then wilt thou give thy hand to one
Who'll lead thee to the bowers

Where Joy and Peace have made their home, And sorrow never lowers.


Most certainly, for who so sweet could smile, And not ere long some worthy heart beguile


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