--Yet her prime pleasure seem'd at wintry eve Tho' storms might fall, when from its branching arms The antique candelabra shed fair light On polished wainscot and rich curtains dropp'd Close o'er the casements, she might draw her seat Near to her aged friend and take her hand And frame her voice to join some tuneful song, Treasuring whate'er of wise remark distill'd From those loved lips. Then, as her Mentor spoke Of God's great goodness in this mortal life, Teaching us both by sorrow and by joy, And how we ought to yield it back with trust And not with dread, whenever He should call, Having such precious promises, through Christ Of gain unspeakable, beyond the grave, The listening pupil felt her heart expand With reverent love. Friendship, 'tween youth and age Is gain to both,--nor least to that which finds The germs of knowledge and experience drop And twine themselves around the unfrosted locks, A fadeless coronet. In this sweet home The lengthen'd day seem'd short for their delights, And wintry evening brief. The historic page Made vocal, brought large wealth to memory. The lore of distant climes, that rose and fell Ere our New World, like Lazarus came forth, The napkin round her forehead, and sate down Beside her startled sisters. Last of all, The large time-honor'd Bible loos'd its clasps And shed its manna on their waiting souls; Then rose the sacred hymn in blended tones, By Bertha's parlor-organ made intense In melody of praise, and fervent Prayer Set its pure crown upon the parted day, And kiss'd the Angel, Sleep. Yet ere they rose From bended knee, there was a lingering pause, A silent orison for one whose name But seldom pass'd their lips, though in their hearts His image with its faults and sorrows dwelt, Invoking pity of a pardoning God. --Thus fled the years away, the cultured glebe Stirr'd by the vernal plough-share, yielding charms To Summer, pouring wealth o'er Autumn's breast, Pausing from weary toil, when Winter comes, Bringing its Sabbath, as the man of eld With snow upon his temples, peaceful sits In his arm-chair, to ruminate and rest. * * * * * Once, at that season when the ices shrink Befere the vernal equinox, at morn There was no movement in the Lady's room, Who prized the early hours like molten gold, And ever rose before the kingly Sun.