volving years;
Still sweeping onward from Youth's sunny ground,
Still changed and chequered with my joys and fears,
And colored from the past, where Thought careers,
Shadowing the ashes in pale Memory's urn;
Where perished buds were laid, with frequent tears,
That on the cheek of Disappointment burn,
As blessed hours roll on, that never may return.

What have they seen, those changed and vanish'd years?
Uplifted, soaring thoughts, all quelled by fate;
Affection, mournful in its gushing tears;
And midst the crowd that at the funeral wait,
A widowed mother's heart made desolate
O'er a war-honor'd Sire's low place of rest;
These are the tales that Memory may relate:
They have a moral for the aspiring breast,
A lesson of Decay on earthliness impress'd.

Yet Hope still chaunts unto the listening ear
The witching music of her treacherous song;
Still paints the Future eloquent and clear,
And sees the tide of Life roll calm along,
Where glittering phantoms rise, a luring throng;
And voiceful Fame holds out the laurel bough:
Where rapturous applause is loud and long,
Frail guerdon for the heart!--which lights the brow
With the ephemeral smile of Mind's triumphant glow.

C.

THE HOUSEHOLDER.

BY JOHN WATERS.

'For the kingdom of Heaven is like unto a man that is an
householder, which went out early in the morning to hire labourers
into his vineyard. And when he had agreed with the labourers for a
penny a day, he sent them into his vineyard. And he went out about
the third hour, and saw others standing in the market-place, and
said unto them; Go ye also into the vineyard, and whatsoever is
right I will give you; and they went their way. Again he went out
about the sixth and ninth hour, and did likewise. And about the
eleventh hour he went out and found others standing idle, and
saith unto them, Why stand ye here all the day idle? They say unto
him, Because no man hath hired us. He saith unto them. Go ye also
into the vineyard; and whatsoever is right that shall ye
receive.'--ST. MATTHEW: XX, 1-7.

O thou blest Householder! the starry dawn,
The light crepuscular, the roseate morn,
Long since had melted into day!
Long since the glow of Youth's THIRD hour,
And the bird's song, and Fancy's