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 press 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 , Whispered of one in a brighter bower It might pluck for itself to-morrow.
The boy came in from the wintry snow, And mused by the parlour-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,
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