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

stroy

O! 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 endure

I 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;