And in the long days waning
The skies grew rose and amber
And palest green and gold,
With a moon's white flame.
And if came wind and raining,
Gray hours I don't remember;
Nor how the warm year waxed cold,
And deathly autumn came.
Only of that young time
The bright things I remember:
How orchard bows were laden red,
And blackberries so brave
Came ere the frost and rime—
Ere the dreary, dark November,
With dripping black boughs overhead,
And dead leaves on a grave.
The years have come and gone,
And brought me many a pleasure,
And many a gift and gain
From near and from afar,
And dear work gladly done,
And dear love without measure,
And sunshine after rain,
And in the night a star.
The years have come and gone,
And one hath brought me sorrow;
Yet I shall sing to ease my pain
For the hours I must stay.
They are passing one by one,
And I wait with hope the morrow;
But indeed I am not fain
Of a long, long day.
It is well for a little child
Whose heart is blithe and merry
To find too short its golden day—
Long morn and afternoon.
So many flowers grow wild,
And many a fruit and berry:
Long day, too short for work and play,—
The night comes too soon.
It was well for that little child;
But its day is gone forever,
And a wounded heart will ache
In the sunlight gold and gay.
Oh, the night is cool and mild
To all things that smart with fever!
The older heart had time to break
In the little child's long day.
Katharine Tynan, in Merry England.
When little Willie L. first heard the braying of a mule in the South, he was greatly frightened; but, after thinking a minute, he smiled at his fear, saying, "Mamma, just hear that poor horse with the whooping-cough!"
A Little grammar is a dangerous thing: "Johnny, be a good boy, and I will take you to the circus next year."—"Take me now, pa; the circus is in the present tents."