And Jock his Sunday coat;

And mak their shoon as black as slæes,

Their hose as white as snaw;

It's a' to please my ain gudeman,
For he's been long awa'.

There's twa fat hens upo' the bauk,

They've fed this month and mair; Mak haste and thraw their necks about, That Colin weel may fare;

And spread the table neat and clean,
Gar ilka thing look braw,

For wha can tell how Colin fared

When he was far awa'?

Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech, His breath like caller air;

His very foot has music in't

As he comes up the stair,—
And will I see his face again?
And will I hear him speak?
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet !

The cauld blast o' the winter wind,
That thirled through my heart,
They're a' blown by, I hae him safe,
Till death we'll never part.
But what puts parting in my head?
It may be far awa';

The present moment is our ain
The neist we never saw.

Years bring fresh links to bind us, wife-young

voices that are here;

Young faces round our fire that make their mother's yet more dear;

Young loving hearts your care each day makes yet more like to you,

More like the loving heart made mine, when this old ring was new.

And, blessed be God! all he has given are with us yet; around

Our table every precious life lent to us still is found.

Though cares we've known, with hopeful hearts the worst we've struggled through;

Blessed be his name for all his love since this old ring was new!

-William Cox Bennett.

66T was our wedding-day

A month ago, " dear heart, I hear you say. If months, or years, or ages since have passed, I know not: I have ceased to question Time.

I only know that once there pealed a chime

Of joyous bells, and then I held you fast,
And all stood back, and none my right denied,
And forth we walked; the world was free and wide
Before us. Since that day

I count my life: the Past is washed away.

It was no dream, that vow:

It was the voice that woke me from a dream

A happy dream, I think; but I am waking now
And drink the splendor of a sun supreme
That turns the mist of former tears to gold
Within these arms I hold

The fleeting promise, chased so long in vain :
Ah, weary bird! thou wilt not fly again: [part,-
Thy wings are clipped, thou canst no more de-
Thy nest is builded in my heart!

I was the crescent; thou

The silver phantom of the perfect sphere,
Held in its bosom : in one glory now
Our lives united shine, and many a year-
Not the sweet moon of bridal only-we

One luster, ever at the full, shall be:

One pure and rounded light, one planet whole,
One life developed, one completed soul!
For I in thee, and thou in me,

Unite our cloven halves of destiny.

God knew his chosen time.

He bade me slowly ripen to my prime,

And from my boughs withheld the promised frưz.
Till storm and sun gave vigor to the root.
Secure, O Love! secure

Thy blessing is: I have thee day and night :
Thou art become my blood, my life, my light:
God's mercy thou, and therefore shalt endure.
-Bayard Taylor.

But most I like it, as it tells

The tale of well requited love; How youthful fondness persevered, And youthful faith disdain'd to roveHow warmly he his suit preferr'd, Though she, unpitying, long denied, Till, softened and subdued at last,

He won his "fair and blooming bride."

How, till the appointed day arrived,

They blamed the lazy-footed hoursHow, then, the white-robed maiden train Strew'd their glad way with freshest flowersAnd how, before the holy man,

They stood in all their youthful pride, And spoke those words, and vow'd those vows, Which bind the husband to his bride:

All this it tells; the plighted trothThe gift of every earthly thingThe hand in hand-the heart in heart For this I like that ancient ring.

I like its old and quaint device;

"Two blended hearts"-though time may wear them,

No mortal change, no mortal chance,

"Till death," shall e'er in sunder tear them.

Year after year, 'neath sun and storm,

Their hope in heaven, their trust in God,

In changeless, heartfelt, holy love,

These two the world's rough pathway trod.

Age might impair their youthful fires,

Their strength might fail, 'mid life's bleak weather,

Still hand in hand, they travel'd on-
Kind souls! they slumber now together.

I like its simple poesy, too,

"Mine own dear love, this heart is thine! Thine, when the dark storm howls along,

As when the cloudless sunbeams shine, "This heart is thine, mine own dear love !"

Thine, and thine only, and forever:
Thine, till the springs of life shall fail ;

Thine till the cords of life shall sever;
Remnant of days departed long,
Emblem of plighted troth unbroken,
Pledge of devoted faithfulness,

Of heartfelt, holy love, the token:
What varied feelings round it cling!
For these, I like that ancient ring.

-George Washington Doane.