May friends increase; may none betray;

May love perpetual give you light, And hope bring days that fear no night; While peace of mind makes all things bright. Such prayers of heart and soul I send To greet your day of birth, dear friend!

MAY your morning of life be fresh and fair,
Your noonday be radiant with love-
Your evening of years bring no sorrow or tears,
Your night-be your Birthday above!
FANNIE ROCHAT.

S. C. HALL.

TO MY DAUGHTER.

So may'st thou live, dear! many years, In all the bliss that life endears,

Not without smiles, nor yet from tears Too strictly kept :

When first thy infant littleness

I folded in my fond caress,

The greatest proof of happiness
Was this - I wept.

THOMAS HOOD.

Poetical Works. (Ward, Lock, and Co.)

YOUR birthday! Take the flowers I bring:
They make of every season Spring.
And let the buds and blossoms tell
Of friends, dear friends, who love you well:
Then choose the flower you love the best,
And let it speak for all the rest.
And this is what the flower will say,
We come to WISH YOU JOY, to-day.

S. C. HALL.

MAIDEN, when such a soul as thine is born, The morning stars their ancient music make, And, joyful, once again their song awake, Long silent now with melancholy scorn; And thou, not mindless of so blest a morn, By no least deed its harmony shalt break, But shalt to that high chime thy footsteps take, Through life's most darksome passes unforlorn ; Therefore from thy pure faith thou shalt not fall, Therefore shalt thou be ever fair and free, And in thine every motion musical As summer air, majestic as the sea, A mystery to those who creep and crawl Through Time, and part it from Eternity.

J. R. LOWELL. Poetical Works. (Ward, Lock, and Co.)

THY Birthday is it, Friend? Well, art thou sad
That thou art hasting o'er the road of life?
Or do the cares, the turmoil and the strife,
So chafe thy gentle soul, that thou art glad
So much of earth's drear desert has been trod,
And that thou art far nearer than before
The Heights of Bliss, the Dwelling-Place of God,
Where weary pilgrims rest for evermore?

Is the way rough and thorny to thy feet,
And sinks thy fainting heart with many a fear?
Hark! thro' the gloom there comes a whisper

sweet,

"Be not afraid, for I thy Lord am near,

To guide and guard thee till thy journey's o'er,
Then lead thee joyful to th' eternal shore."
M. A. ROBERTS.
Life and Work. (D. Douglas, Edinburgh.)

A BIRTHDAY SONG. WHAT shall I say to my dearest dear, On the sweetest day of the whole sweet year? Shall I tell her how dainty she is and sweet, From her golden head to her silver feet? Love of my loves, shall I say to her

Till the breeze catch tune and the birds repeat The chime of my song-thou art bright and rare, (Eyes of the gray and amber hair)

Who is so white as my love, my sweet?

Who is so sweet and fair?

Ah, no! for my song would faint and die,
Faint with a moan and a happy sigh,

For a kiss of her lips so clear and red,
For a touch of her dainty gold-wrought head,
And a look of her tender eye!

And even the words, if words there were said, Would fail for the sound of her lovely name, Till the very birds should flout them to shame, That they strove to render silver with lead, To image with snow the flame!