THE OLDEN TIME.

O! well I mind the olden time, The sweet, sweet olden time; When I did long for eve all day, And watch'd upon the new-mown grass

The shadows slowly eastward pass, And o'er the meadows glide away, Till I could steal, with heart elate, Unto the little cottage-gate,

In the sweet, sweet olden time. O! well I mind the olden time, The sweet, sweet olden time; How all the night I long'd for morn,

And bless'd the thrush whose early note The silver chords of silence smote With greetings to the day new-born; For then again, with heart elate,

I hoped to meet her at the gate, In the sweet, sweet olden time. But now hath pass'd the olden time, That sweet, sweet olden time;

And there is neither morn nor night That bears a freight of hopes and fears, To bless my soul in coming years With any harvest of delight;

For never more, with heart elate, Can I behold her at the gate, As in the sweet, sweet olden time. For the sake of that dear olden time,

That sweet, sweet olden time, I look forth ever sadly still, And hope the time may come again, When Life hath borne its meed of pain,

And stoutly struggled up the hill, When I once more, with heart elate, May meet her at another gate, Beyond the blighting breath of fate,

That chill'd the sweet, sweet olden time.