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THE LOVE THAT EVER GUIDES MY

SOUL TO THINE. Sweet thing of beauty! life would be

A waste devoid of all things fair, Did not my bosom leap to thee,

The soother of its grief and care : For woman's head and woman's heart

Can minister a healing balm-
Snatch from the soul the quiv'ring dart,

And breathe o'er all a halcyon calm :
A ministering angel she
To lighten mortal misery !

Life is a changeful scene; and we

May scarce have felt its sorrows yet ; But still, whate'er the prospect be,

The path howe'er with thorns beset, Still, true to thee and heaven above,

I shall not seek another shrine For solace, but hold fast the love

That ever guides my soul to thine : Still shall I to thy breast repair, And find my consolation there! Anon.

Oh, when I first beheld thy face,

And press’d in mine thy gentle hand, Thy blooming cheek and modest grace

Waved o'er my soul a magic wand; Thy kindly tone, thy playful smile,

Bespeaking innocence and love, The lustre of thine eyes the while,

That beam'd like angel-orbs above, All join'd upon my heart to pour A joyance never felt before !

HARMONIOUS CONCORD IN MARRIAGE. For still where the strong is betrothed to the

weak, And the stern in sweet marriage is blent with

the meek, Rings the concord harmonious, both tender and strong

Schiller.

I deem'd the bosom must be blest

That lean'd confidingly on thine ; But honour then the wish suppress'd

That e'er such blessing might be mine. I saw thee bloom, a floral gem,

Such as the earth has rarely shownHow beauteous on its graceful stem !

And yet between us was there thrown A passless bar! But that is past; Sweet rosebud, thou art mine at last !

And oh, the ardours of my soul

At our first happy interview Know no abatement, but control

My bosom wholly as when new, I then but knew the garniture

That lent its beauty to the rose; But now I taste the essence pure

That from its core divinely flows, Absorbing all those bitter tears That follow in the wake of years !

AN ANGEL IN THE PATHS OF LIFE. Yet she was pale- and sooth a tear

Was trembling in her lucent eye,
As though some thought to memory dear

Was rising with a rising sigh;
And thoughts most dear they were that rose;

For though her heart was seald on one, Yet never can the heart's leaves close

On kindness past, or memory shun. For she had left the home of years,

The nestling place of infant days; And she had set her foot where tears

Too often mar sweet woman's ways; And she had laid a fond warm heart

As ever beat at love's bright shrine, With murmur'd vows—“till death do part,

Devotedly thine, only thine.”
The chain of gold around her flung,

The cluster'd jewels on her hand,
Were gather'd where hot tears are wrung

From toil at wealth's untamed command; Then ne'er can those meet emblems be

To show the wealth which they enfold; For hand and heart, where love is free,

Cast shade on jewels, gems, and gold. In joyous hour, or worldly strife,

In cloud or sunshine, she will stand, An angel in the paths of life,

To scatter blessings from her hand. And say not woman's love is light,

Her constancy oft worn in pride; For never was she first to slight The vows of love which seald her-bride.

Anon.

Perchance thine eyes are dimmer now,

Thy step less light, thy cheek less fair; More grave thy voice and smile : but thou

Art still the soother of my care. Now from thy lips a current flows

Of meek intelligence and truth, And kindness in thy bosom glows

More sweet than all the charms of youth; And dovelike thither would I bound When troubled waters rage around.

A BRIDEGROOM'S SONG. Am I not in blessed case,

Treasure and Pleasure to possesse ? I would not wishe no better place,

If I may still have welthiness :
And to enjoye in perfect peace

My Lady, Lady:
My pleasaunt pleasure shall encrease,

My deare Lady.
Helene may not compared be,

Nor Creseda that was so bright; These cannot staine the shine of thee,

Nor yet Minerua of great might.
Thou passest Venus farre away,

Lady, Lady:
Loue thee I will both night and day,

My deare Lady.
My mouse, my nobs, my cony sweete,

My hope and ioye, my whole delight;
Dame Nature may fall at thy feete,

And yeelde to thee her crowne of righte. I will thy body now embrace,

Lady, Lady;
And kiss thy swete and pleasaunt face,

My deare Lady.
Enterlude of the Triall of Treasure (1567).

GAYEST FLOWERS BEFORE HER FLING.

Forth the lovely bride ye bring;
Gayest flowers before her fling,
From your high-piled baskets spread,
Maidens of the fairy tread!
Strew them far, and wide, and high,
A rosy shower 'twixt earth and sky,

Strew about! strew about !
Bright jonquil, in golden pride,
Fair carnation, freak'd and dyed,

Strew about! strew about !
Dark-eyed pinks, with fringes light,
Rich geraniums, clustering bright,

Strew about! strew about !
Flaunting pea, and harebell blue,
And damask-rose of deepest hue,
And purest lilies, maidens strew,

Strew about! strew about !
Home the lovely bird ye bring,
Choicest flowers before her fling,
Till dizzying streams of rich perfume
Fill the lofty banquet-room !
Strew the tender citron there,
The crush'd magnolia proud and rare,

Strew about! strew about !
Orange blossoms, newly dropp’d,
Chains from high acacia cropp'd,

Strew about! strew about !
Pale musk-rose, so light and fine,
Cloves, and stars of jessamine,
Tops of myrtle, wet with dew,
Nipp'd where the leaflets sprout anew,
Fragrant bay-leaves, maidens, strew,
Strew about! strew about !

Miss Mitford.

A HEAVENLY PAIR. Go, heavenly pair ! and with your dazzling

virtues, Your courage, truth, your innocence and

love, Amaze and charm mankind. Alex. Smith.

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HUSBAND AND WIFE.

Confirmd then I resolve,
Adam shall share uith me in bliss or woe:
So dear I love him, that with him all deaths
I could endure, without him live no life.

Milton.

By my modesty (The jewel in my dower), I would not wish Any companion in the world but you.

SHAKESPEARE.

Oh, thou art dearer to me
Than all the comforts ever yet blest man.
Born for my joy, and no pains felt, when near thee.

OTWAY.

The rose we wear upon our hcarls
Should have no thorn to wound us.

LORD LYTTON.

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A RING TO WED THEE O'ER AGAIN.

“ Thee, Mary, with this ring I wed,"
So sixteen years ago I said.
Behold another ring—for what?
To wed thee o'er again, why not?
With that first ring I married youth,
Grace, beauty, innocence and truth,
Taste long admired, sense long revered,
And all my Mary then appear'd.
If she, by merit since disclosed,
Prove twice the woman I supposed,
I plead that double merit now,
To justify a double vow.
Here, then, to-day (with faith as sure,
With ardour as intense and pure,
As when, amidst the rites divine,
I took thy troth and plighted mine),
To thee, sweet wife, my second ring,
A token and a pledge I bring :

With this I wed, till death us part,
Thy riper virtues to my heart;
Those virtues, which, before untries,
The wife has added to the bride :
Those virtues, whose progressive claim,
Endearing wedlock's very name,
My soul enjoys, my song approves,
For conscience' sake, as well as love's.
For why ?—they show me hour by hour,
Honour's high thought, affection's power,
Discretion's deed, sound judgment's sentence,
And teach me all things--but repentance.

Rev. 1. Bishop.

Mine own self's better part ; Mine eye's dear eye, my dear heart's dearer

heart; My food, my fortune, and my sweet hope's aim, My sole earth's heaven, and my heaven's claim.

Shakespeare.

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