purpose, though burdened with life's care,
The silvered tints of starlight matched threads in gold-brown hair.

CHORUS.
But her heart and the waves grew restless,
As she thought of years gone by,
Of him she once loved truly—
Cried, waters, tell me why,
Thou waters tell me why!

Aged rocks lend me thy power 'gainst winds and tempest wild:
A woman's strife before me, I fain would be a child.
Long since 'twas said at parting, "Forever, love, good-bye."
And life merged into duty, Oh, waters, tell me why!

While plaintive seas are calling, my heart for one doth yearn,
"Find love in kindly service," sweet fern leaves sighed, "Return."
Sad waves then cease thy moaning—let hope's resplendent rays
Imbue my heart with courage—God's love's with me always.

Voices Hushed.

stood in the mossy gateway, And thought of years gone by; Then tapped on latticed windows, Heard naught only my sigh. The house was cold and empty— A stranger's home, they say; The voices hushed of dear ones, Loved footprints passed away. In fancy then I peopled The place with moving life, The halls again resounded, With laughter, song and fife. In father's arms I nestle, Caressing soft, dark hair; I beg for one more story, Or breathe my childhood's prayer. My heart cries out, when fancy Brings mother back to me, Her loving care o'er shadows The past sweet memory. The house now grows resplendent With joys of former scene, My brothers loved so dearly, And life a happy dream. Our uncle, kind and tender, The cousins, buoyant, gay; My playmates calling for me, To school we his away. Awakened from my dreaming, Time speaks of saddened years, Two-score more, and voices hushed. Flow now, ye pent-up tears! Oh, voices hushed, where art thou? A stranger lone I stand. Good-bye, good-bye, old homestead; Farewell, sweet mystic band.

Why I Love Them.

would tell thee of Stella, how she made glad the hours, So oft calling mother with strewn wreaths and flowers, Blue eyes fondly glancing, and gleefully dance, While singing so gayly or skipping, perchance. Then comes my son Ernest, an affectionate boy, So true and so thoughtful, never aught but a joy, E'er steady and happy, eyes earnest and clear; His dear voice so merry, methinks I still hear. I would say of Marie, that she is very fair, With ways of a lady, and golden-waved hair; She scolds and laughs sweetly, while people all tell, With curls and long lashes, she'll yet be a belle. Then rosy-cheeked Bertha, whose housewifely care And womanly habits call forth praises rare; Small, winsome maiden, whose large, tender heart, To blame makes thee timid, thy tears swift to start. Tall, slender Celesta, whose spiritual face, And excelling talents could a palace well grace; Five faces so pretty, eyes brighter than gems, And hearts kind and loving is why I love them.

My First Gray Hair.

ne day amid brown tresses there gleamed a silvery thread, Life pages, past and present I wonderingly then read. I saw a blithsome maiden, a child serenely fair, A woman heavey laden now lifts her first gray hair. CHORUS. O silvery strand, thou soft kiss of time, The beauties of youth are now past, are now past. For evening of life are pleasures unknown, 'Tis love, only love, that will last, that will last. Upon the shadowy threshold the small gray strand did lay, And told the old, old story of ever changing day; Within the mystic portals of life's near ending stream I stood and pondered vaguely, if death were but a dream. I viewed the snow-white message and thought of bygone years, The hopes, the waging conflicts, joys mingled oft' with tears. Tell me, thou thing of pearl hue, what will the future greet? Will paths be strewn with roses, or thistles tear my feet? A whisper floated near me in accents sweet and low, "My child, what'er thy portion, if tares for thee will grow, Thy soul keep pure and stainless, a crown thy brow shall wear, 'Twill shine with whitest tresses, that once was nut-brown hair."

Life's Curtain Unrolled.

lad boyish voices with merriment ring, Two children with nought, as gayly they sing Of burdensome care, their hearts as the bird To mountains oft' soar in freedom, unstirred By future, and what it furtively brings Of pleasures, or grief, or life's bitter stings. The shadowed cross e'er failing to see, Thoughts flitting as bubbles on oft' changing sea. From childhood spring youths with fair open brows, Surrounded by all earth ever allows Of conquering fame, while life's deepest charm They sip from the fount of love's laden balm. Of treasures untold to reap they aspire, At vanity's fair rich harvests acquire, Over this vision in mystery toss, A shadow that lifts, unveiling a cross. In wonder they gaze at spectre so white, As softly it beams in silvery light, 'Mid silence it pleads—they pause all aghast— 'Tis Jesus who calls, His Cross in their path, Cross misty with tears, with sacrifice fraught, While deeply inlaid with sorrows 'tis wrought, Divided from world by widening stream It leadeth through pain earth's conquests a gleam. Shall I? Shall I not? Self-questioned each youth, Take up this Cross all laden with truth? Shall lingering fear of poverty's vale, The scoffing of friends if honors should fail, Bar us accepting a promise of love By way of the Cross—the gift from above? Silently each life's curtain unfurled, One bends to his Cross, one flees to the world.