  By B. W. PROCTOR. Touch us gently, Time! Let us glide adown thy stream Gently,—as we sometimes glide Through a quiet dream! Humble voyagers are we, Husband, wife, and children three— (One is lost,—an angel, fled To the azure overhead!) Touch us gently, Time! We’ve not proud nor soaring wings: Our ambition, our content Lies in simple things. Humble voyagers are we, O’er Life’s dim unsounded sea, Seeking only some calm clime:— Touch us gently, gentle Time! decorative line
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