BY G. W. VAN WEIGHS.

Just sixty years ago today
Mine eyes first saw the light;

Now age, with ever onward tread,
Presages coming night.

Ah! is it night? Or shall it be
That morning's light shall break,

And from my soul such music bring
As earth could never wake?

Where are the friends of earlier years—
Sleep they to wake no more?

Or do they walk with joyful tread
Heaven's ever radiant shore?

If death is but oblivion's gate,
Why younger grows the soul with years?

Whose are the faces that we see
When melts the hearts in tears?

Oh, whence the strains the soul can hear
When all is hushed in sleep,

And none, save God and angels, near
When souls their vigils keep?

Is all religion but a myth?
Are all our hopes in vain?

Is heaven affectation's child,
Born of disordered brain?

Tell me not such bolts and bars
Can keep me from the skies;

I'd sooner deem yon blushing rose
A satyr in disguise.