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MY BOYS AND I.

HEY have left me again to-day,

As they often have left me before,

When each, with his trunk and play box, Return'd to his school-boy lore.

Each time they went they look'd bigger,
Whilst I seem'd standing still,

Watching them climbing to reach me,
On the summit of life's long hill.

But, to-day, as I parted from them,
And saw their manly growth,

I said, I was taller than either,
And now I'm o'ertopp'd by both.

I see I'm no longer standing

On the summit of life's long hill, But I must be passing downward, Whilst they will be mounting still.

Oh, could I, my sons, but fling you

One gift ere I quit the height,

It would nerve you with strength and courage
For your coming toil and fight;

Could I give you the full experience

Of a father's life bygone,

It would be the noblest heritage
That ever befell a son.

But I have begun descending
The side of the hill, where gloom
And silence obscure the figures

Of age from the young in bloom.

And you upon life must enter,
Whilst we must prepare to go,
And the wisdom we try to utter

Is borne on the winds that blow.

Young ears will not accept it,

Young hearts will not believe;

The son must fight his own battle, Which the father may see and grieve.

But I hope that my boys will conquer, That their hearts are true and brave;

The self within is their foeman,

And they must not be his slave.

If they offer a firm resistance

To every foolish plea

Of a bad and fallen nature,

They may always continue free.

For a Father, who never grows older,
Is always nigh, if they will
But hold His hand in ascending

The summit of life's long hill.

Alfred Gatty, D.D.

THE ROWAN TREE.

H! rowan tree, oh! rowan tree, thou❜lt aye

be dear to me;

Entwined thou art wi' mony ties o' hame

and infancy,

Thy leaves were aye the first o' spring, thy flow'rs

the simmer's pride;

There was na sic a bonnie tree in a' the country

side,

Oh! rowan tree.

How fair wert thou in simmer time, wi' a' thy clusters white;

How rich and gay thy autumn dress, wi' berries red and bright;

On thy fair stem were mony names which now nae mair I see,

But they're engraven on my heart, forgot they ne'er

can be!

Oh! rowan tree.

We sat aneath thy spreading shade, the bairnies round thee ran,

They pu'd thy bonnie berries red, and necklaces

they strang,

My mither, oh! I see her still, she smiled our sports

to see,

Wi' little Jeanie on her lap, and Jamie at her knee. Oh! rowan tree.

Oh, there arose my father's prayer, in holy evening's

calm,

How sweet was my mither's voice, in the martyr's

psalm!

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