God pity me, I'd most forgot Are somewhere on the sea, Who hear the breakin' bar an' think O' Jerry home an’—me. Hiram Rich [?] "DON'T BE SORROWFUL, DARLING" O DON'T be sorrowful, darling! Taking the year together, my dear, 'Tis rainy weather, my darling; We are old folks now, my darling, But taking the year all round, my dear, We have had our May, my darling, And the time of the year is coming, my dear, For the silent night and the snow. But God is God, my darling, Of the night as well as the day; And we feel and know that we can go Wherever He leads the way. A God of the night, my darling, Of the night of death so grim; The gate that leads out of life, good wife, Is the gate that leads to Him. Rembrandt Peale [1778-1860] Winifreda 1187 WINIFREDA AWAY! let naught to love displeasing, What though no grants of royal donors Our name, while virtue thus we tender, What though, from fortune's lavish bounty, Still shall each kind returning season And that's the only life to live. Through youth and age, in love excelling, How should I love the pretty creatures, And when with envy time transported And I'll go wooing in my boys. Unknown AN OLD MAN'S IDYL By the waters of Life we sat together, When skies were purple and breath was praise, When the heart kept tune to the carol of birds, And the birds kept tune to the songs which ran Through shimmer of flowers on grassy swards, And trees with voices æolian. By the rivers of Life we walked together, And lighter than any linnet's feather A sound that seemed like a marriage chime. In the meadows of Life we strayed together, And under the benison of the Father Our hearts, like the lambs, skipped to and fro; Who was with us, and what was round us, Out from the heavens with crowns of rest; The Poet's Song to His Wife 1189 Only we knew that something bright Lingered lovingly where we stood, Oh, the riches Love doth inherit! Into sanctities rare and strange! Laugh at the footsteps of decay. Harms of the world have come unto us, And we hear the tread of the years move by, But my darling does not fear to die, So we sit by our household fires together, And now the valleys are laid in snow; The wind blows cold,-'tis growing late; Well, well! we have garnered all our sheaves, I and my darling, and we wait. Richard Realf [1834-1878] THE POET'S SONG TO HIS WIFE How many summers, love, Have I been thine? Time, like the winged wind Some weight of thought, though loth, On thee he leaves; Some lines of care round both Perhaps he weaves; Some fears, a soft regret For joys scarce known; Sweet looks we half forget; All else is flown! Ah!-With what thankless heart I mourn and sing! Look, where our children start, Like sudden Spring! With tongues all sweet and low, Like a pleasant rhyme, They tell how much I owe To thee and Time! Bryan Waller Procter [1787-1874] JOHN ANDERSON JOHN ANDERSON my jo, John, John Anderson my jo, John, |