How many a tie that once was sweet Has been cruelly snapp'd by a slanderer's tongue ! How many a friend, whom we used to meet With welcoming words, and to whom we clung In joy or in sorrow, in pleasure or pain, Has suddenly seemed to be false and untrue: How oft should we find that our doubts were unkind, If we only knew ?--if we only knew? There are some will sigh and whisper low Of a love that is changeless, and deep and pure : And we think-do we not ?-as they tell us so That of somebody's heart, at least, we are sure. But Fancy is apt to wander about, And to sip from a hundred flowers the dew: Would our love be as deep, would our jealousy sleep, If we only knew?-if we only knew? Then comes the time when the knot is tied: How many would pause at the very church doors This world is composed of rich and poor, For the rich man may sigh, as the peasant goes by, A tradesman fails and his credit is gone! He has hardly a shilling to call his own. But his prospects are blighted-prosperity town. We are ever too apt to be hard on a man We strive to render his chances less. A kindly word, or a friendly hand, May help him-who knows?-to pull easily through : It's each for himself and the weak to the wall! So runs the world for ever and aye : The stout hearts advance-while the feebler ones fall To perish alone in the world's highway, Let us succour the frail ones, bearing in mind That though in this world we meet not our due, For a kind act done, a crown may be won In the world to come-if we only knew! M. B. S. SPurr. THE GAME OF LIFE. BY JOHN F. COLES. (With instrumental accompaniment.) This life is but a game of cards, which mortals have to learn; Some shuffle with a practised hand, and pick their cards/with care, So they may know, when they are dealt, where all the leaders are; Thus fools are made the dupes of rogues, while rogues (each other cheat, And he is very wise indeed who never meets defeat. When playing some throw out the ace, the counting cards to save, Some play the deuce, and some the ten, but many/play the knave; Some play for money, some for fun, and some for worldly fame, But not until the game's played out can they count up their game. When hearts are trumps we play for love, and pleasure rules the hour, No thoughts of sorrow check our joy in beauty's rosy bower; We sing, we dance, sweet verses make, our cards at random play, And while our trump remains on toplour game's a holiday. When diamonds chance to crown the pack, the players stake their gold, And heavy sums are lost and won by gamblers, young and old; Intent on winning, each his game doth watch with eager eye; How he may see his neighbour's cards, and beat him on the sly. When clubs are trumps, look out for war on ocean and on land; For bloody horrors always come when clubs are held in hand; Then lives are stoked instead of gold, the dogs of war are freed; There's sorrow in every land when clubs have got the lead. Last game of all is when the spade is turn'd by hand of Time; saves, The spade will finish up the game, and dig the player's grave. THE SPINNING-WHEEL JOHN F. WALLER. SONG. (With instrumental accompaniment.) Mellow the moonlight to shine is beginning; ""Tis the ivy, dear mother, against the glass flapping." "'Tis the sound, mother dear, of the summer wind dying." Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring, Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the foot's stirring ; Sprightly and lightly, and airily ringing, Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden singing. "What's that noise that I hear at the window, I wonder?" ""Tis the little birds chirping the holly-bush under." "What makes you be shoving and moving your stool on, And singing all wrong that ould song of 'The Coolun' ?"There's a form at the casement-the form of her true-loveAnd he whispers, with face bent, "I'm waiting for you, love; Get up on the stool! through the lattice step lightly! We'll rove in the grove while the moon's shining brightly." Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring, Swings the reel, spins the wheel, while the foot's stirring; Sprightly and lightly, and airily ringing, Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden singing. The maid shakes her head, on her lip lays her fingers, Slowly and lowly is heard now the reel's sound; Noiseless and light to the lattice above her The maid steps-then leaps to the arms of her lover! Ere the reel and the wheel stop their ringing and movingThrough the grove the young lovers by moonlight are roving. THE EAGLE'S ROCK. 'Twas the Golden Eagle's rock, craggy and wild and lone, Where he sat in state, with his royal mate, on his undisputed throne, High on the dizzy steep did their blood stained eyrie lie, Where the white bones told who had robb'd the fold when the shepherd was not by ; Well might the spoilers gloat at ease in their fortress grey, half-way. And the Golden Eagle stood eyeing the noonday sun Till the clamouring cry of his nestlings nigh charged him with work undone ; And his mighty wings are spread, and he sweepeth down chasms wide, And his fierce eyes gleam by the mountain stream, and he scours the hill's green side; Then over a shady glen doth the bold marauder sail, Where villagers gay hold a festal day down in their verdant dale. Apart from a joyous group a mother her darling bears, With happy smiles at his baby wiles, his innocent mirth she shares; There she sits on the velvet sward, shaded by trees at noon, And rocks him to rest on her loving breast, singing a low sweet tuna; HH |