THE FRIENDS OF MAN.
The young babe sat on its mother's knee,
Shaking its coral and bells with glee,
When Hope drew near with a seraph smile
To kiss the lips that had breath'd no guile
Nor spoke the words of sorrow:
Its little sister brought a flower,
And Hope still lingering nigh
With sunny tress and sparkling eye
Whisper'd of one in a brighter bower
It might pluck for itself to-morrow.
The boy came in from the wintry snow,
And mus'd by the parlor-fire,
But ere the evening lamps did glow,
A stranger came, and bending low
Kiss'd his fair and ruddy brow;
"What is that in your hand?" she said:
"My New-Year's Gift, with its covers red."
"Bring hither the book, my boy, and see,
The magic spell of Memory,
That page hath gold, and a way I'll find
To lock it safe in your docile mind;
For books have honey, the sages say,
That is sweet to the taste, when the hair is grey."
The youth, at midnight sought his bed,
But ere he clos'd his eyes,
Two forms drew near with gentle tread,
In meek and saintly guise,
