TO MEND

N old wife sat by her bright fireside,
Swaying thoughtfully to and fro,
In an ancient chair whose creaky frame
Told a tale of long ago;
While down by'her side, on the kitchen floor,
Stood a basket of worsted balls - a score,
The good man dozed o'er the latest news,
Till the light of his pipe went out,
And, unheeded, the kitten, with cunning paws,
Rolled and tangled the balls about ;
Yet still sat the wife in the ancient chair,
Swaying to and fro in the fire-light glare.
But anon a misty tear-drop came
SIn her eye of faded blue,
Then trickled down in a furrow deep,
Like a single drop of dew ;
So deep was the channel -so silent the stream.
The good man saw naught but the dimmed eye-beam.
Yet he marvelled much that the cheerful light
Of her eye had weary grown,
And marvelled he more at the tangled balls;
So he said in a gentle tone,
"I have shared thy joys since our marriage vow,
Conceal not from me thy sorrows now."
Then she spoke of the time when the basket there
Was filled to the very brim,
And how there remained of the goodly pile
But a single pair- for him.
"Then wonder not at the dimmed eye-light,
There's but one pair of stockings to mend to-night.
"I cannot but think of the busy feet,
Whose wrappings were wont to lie
In the basket, awaiting the needle's time.
Now wandered so far away ;
How the sprightly steps, to a mother dear,
Unheeded fell on the careless ear.
For each empty nook in the basket old,
By the hearth there 's a vacant seat ;
And I miss the shadows from off the wall,
And the patter of many feet ;
'T is for this that a tear gathered over my sight
At the one pair of stockings to mend to-night.
T was said that far through the forest wild,
And over the mountains bold,
Was a land whose rivers and dark'ning caves
Were gemmed with the rarest gold ;
Then my,first.born turned from the oaken door,
And I knew the shadows were only four.
Another went forth on the foaming waves
And diminished the basket's store -

But his feet grew cold -so weary and cold-
They'll never be warm any more -
And this nook, in its emptiness, seemeth to me
To give forth no voice but the moan of the sea.
"Two others have gone toward the setting sun,
And made them a home in its light,
And fairy fingers have taken their share
To mend by the fireside bright;
Some other baskets their garments fill -
But mine ! Oh, mine is emptier still,
"Another -the dearest - the fairest - the best
Was ta'en by the angels away,
And clad in a garment that waxeth not old,
In a land of continual day.
Oh ! wonder no more at the dimmed eye-light,
While I mend the one pair of stockings to-night."
ABSENCE.
BY FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE.
I    HAT shall I do with all the days and hours
That must be counted, ere I see thy face ?
t  How shall I charm the interval that lowers
Between this time and that sweet time of grace ?
Shall I in slumber steep each weary sense
Weary with longing? Shall I flee away
Into past days, and with some fond pretence
Cheat myself to forget the present day?
Shall love for thee lay on my soul the sin
Of casting from me God's great gift of time ?
Shall I, these mists of memory locked within,
Leave and forget life's purposes sublime?
0, how, or by what means may I contrive
To bring the hour that brings thee back, more near ?
How may I teach my drooping hope to live
Until that blessed time, and thou art here ?
I'll tell thee; for thy sake, I will lay hold
Of all good aims, and consecrate to thee,
In worthy deeds, each moment that is told,
While thou, beloved one! art far from me.
For thee, I willarouse my thoughts to try
All heavenward flights, all high and holy strains;
For thy dear sake, I will walk patiently
Through these long hours, por call their minutes pains.
I will this dreary blank of absence make
A noble task-time ; and will therein strive
To follow excellence, and to o'ertake
More good than I have won, since yet I live.
So may this doomned time build up in me
A thousand graces, which shall thus be thine;
So may my love and longing hallowed be,
And thy dear thought, an influence divine.

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