To be young before the heart grows old!

THE LOWER ROOM.

How soft the lamplight falls
On pictures, books,
And pleasant coloured walls
And curtains drawn!
How happily one looks
On glowing flame and ember;
Ah, why should one remember
Dew and dawn!

Here age and wisdom sit
Calm and discreet,
Life and the fruit of it
Are here in truth,
Whose gathering once was sweet--
Wisdom and age! Well met!
Yet neither can forget
Folly and youth!

SONG.

THE summer down the garden walks
Swept in her garments bright;
She touched the pale still lily stalks
And crowned them with delight;
She breathed upon the rose's head
And filled its heart with fire,