BY GEO. W. H. HARRISON.

Years and years have passed away
Since last we met, my darling wife;

Oft have I felt the tooth of pain
Gnaw at the vitals of my life.

The brow thy hand has oft caressed
With such sweet, hypnotic power,

The lines of care and grief has traced
And wrinkled, like a withered flower.

The dark brown locks you loved so well,
Now interspersed with silver thread,

Shows plainly that the march of time
Has left its footprints on my head.

The deep gray eyes that once could flash
With passion's fire, or melt in love,

Have lost the wanted fires of youth,
Like some poor offcast, limpsy glove.

Yet in my breast there beats a heart
That never will nor can grow old;

Thy image keeps its pulses warm
With love that never shall grow cold.

Thy grace and beauty won that heart
Long years ago, when thou wert young:

Thy gentle, generous, faithful care
Has bred a love I cannot tongue.

Heaven can grant no sweeter bliss,
To crown the evening of my life,

Than Iulu's sweet, enraptured kiss,
When time restores me to my wife.