THE COTTAGE DOOR.

BY CHARLES WEST THOMSON.

THERE's a festive group by the cottage door

Of playful children, elate with joy ; Whom care's dark cloud has not come o'er The freshness of childhood's sweet dawn to de

stroyO! there's bliss in the laugh of those bright young

hearts, A bliss which from after years departs.

Ye are gay-ye are gay—a happy band !

O! I envy your pleasure, so perfect and pure; 'Tis a beautiful gift from the heavenly land,

But alas ! a gift that will not endureI see the wing of misfortune stoop O'er the years that are coming, ye joyous group!

The hours of childhood must pass away,

And you will forsake the cottage door;