I LOVE TO SEE OLD FACES.

J. WILCE.]

I LOVE to see old faces,

[Music by T. DISTIN.

That, beaming with a smile,
Rob time of half his sadness,
And care's dull thoughts beguile;
I love them in the moments

When hope-buds sweetly bloom,
And, oh! how welcome are they
When troubles darkly loom;
I love to see old faces,

That, beaming with a smile,
Rob time of half his sadness,
And care's dull thoughts beguile.

I love to see old faces,

That shed their kindly light,
Like crimson-tinted sun-rays
On winter's robe of white;
They oft recall sweet mem'ries,
The passing hour they cheer;
I love to see old faces,

To me they're ever dear.
Yes! welcome are old faces,

I love the genial smile

That fills the heart with gladness,

And care doth still beguile.

AN HONEST HEART TO GUIDE US.

S. LOVER.]

As day by day

We hold our way

[Music by LOVER.

Through this wide world below, boys,

With roads to cross

We're at a loss

To know which way to go, boys;

And choice so vex'd,
When man's perplex'd,

And many a doubt has tried him,
It is not long

He'll wander wrong

With an honest heart to guide him.
When rough the way,
And dark the day,

More steadfastly we tread, boys,
Than when by flowers
In wayside bowers

We from the path are led, boys.
Oh! then, beware!

The serpent there
Is gliding close beside us !
"Twere death to stay;
So speed the way,

With an honest heart to guide us.
If fortune's gale

Should fill our sail,

While others lose the wind, boys,
Look kindly back
Upon the track

Of luckless mates behind, boys.
If we wont heed

A friend in need,
May rocks ahead abide us!

Let's rather brave

Both wind and wave,

With an honest heart to guide us!

THE LAST GREEN LEAF.

T. HAYNES BAYLY.]

[Air-Irish, "The jug of punch."
THE last green leaf hangs lonely now,
Its summer friends have left the bough;
Yet, though they wither'd one by one,
The last still flutters in the sun!

And so it is with us to-day,

The bowl is filled, we must be gay;
We sing old songs again, and yet
We've lost old friends since last we met !

But could some lost one now return,
Aud view us here, he would discern
Some lips that press the goblet's brim,
To hide the sigh that's breathed for him.
We do not meet to banish thought;
Yet, though regrets will come unsought,
We will not waste in sighs of grief
Life's lingering joy-the last green leaf.

J. WILCE.]

DOWN TO THE BUTTON.

[Music by T. DISTIN. [Among the Scandinavians their drinking cup was formed from the bull's horn; on the side were placed studs or buttons, down to which each warrior was in his turn expected to drink.]

IN the days when this old earth was young,
And Thor swung his hammer of might,
They feasted right well, and they merrily sung,
And they drank through the live-long night.
At the tales of fierce strife still they laugh'd,
And sat till the blushing of morn,

And down to the button each warrior quaff'd
The ale from the bull's curved horn.

And they sung of the lands o'er the sea
They reap'd with their conquering sword,
When they drank the rich wine of fair Gasconie,
And robb'd the fat monks of their hoard.
And still louder and louder they laugh'd-
They spoke of their foemen with scorn;
And down to the button each warrior quaff'd
The ale from the bull's curved horn.

And the roof rang with shouts as they told
Of glances from dark eyes so bright;
And they sung of the rich yellow gold

They won from the foe in the fight.

When their bards spoke of love, stiil they laugh'd—
Their hearts ne'er with love were forlorn;
For down to the bottom each warrior quaff'd
The ale from the bull's curved horn.

OH! HOW DELIGHTFUL!

ARTHUR SKETCHLEY.]

[Music by J. L. MOLLOY.

OH! how delightful! oh! how entrancing!
From this drear thraldom soon to be free;
With wildest joy, then, my heart is dancing,
Dancing so gaily now with glee.
From morn till night imprisoned here,
Passed we our days in gloom and fear ;
No joys to cheer us, no delight,

All was dreary-nothing bright.

Oh! how delightful, &c.

Oft when dark shadows are o'er us creeping,
And check the throbbing of youthful hearts,
Hope, like a sunbeam, watch near us keeping,
Breaks through the gloom and joy imparts.
No longer shall we droop and pine

In dreary hours our lives away;

When clouds are darkest oft doth shine
Softly and brightly hope's cheering ray.
Yes, how delightful, &c.

THE FLOWER SHE LOVES.

H. GLOVER.]

[Music by H. GLOVER.

BESIDE her lattice ev'ry night

Some gentle flow'rets sweetly bloom,
Oh! who would scale that giddy height
In darkness' thickest gloom?

Who brings these flow'rs with toil and pain,
Departs, and leaves no trace?
Who could those lofty turrets gain,
And why such dangers face?
Nor armed guard nor lofty wall,
With fear his bosom moves;
Heedless he climbs, with joy risks all,
To bring the flow'r she loves.

She nothing knows, but still will take
The tender tribute to her breast,
And all the joy these flowers make
To no one is confess'd;

A letter, too, lay once conceal'd
'Mid leaves of the bouquet,

Yet its contents were ne'er reveal'd,
Nor was it cast away.

OH, WHO WOULD BE A LANDSMAN?

WILLIAM SAWYER.]

[Music by CHARLES BRAID. OH, who would be a landsman in the spring-time of

the year?

When hearts are light as birds of flight that know not care or fear;

When the breeze is salt upon the lips and cool upon the brow,

And the ship goes driving, driving on, as she is driving now.

A landsman! a landsman !

That I will never be,

While there's a home in the swirl and foam
Of the salt, salt sea.

Oh, who would be a landsman in the summer-time of year?

When under skies like woman's eyes the trusty ship we steer;