[Footnote 5: Copyright, 1884, by Frances C. Sparhawk.]
* * * * *
GROWING OLD.
Growing old! The pulses' measure
Keeps its even tenor still;
Eye and hand nor fail nor falter,
And the brain obeys the will;
Only by the whitening tresses,
And the deepening wrinkles told,
Youth has passed away like vapor;
Prime is gone, and I grow old.
Laughter hushes at my presence,
Gay young voices whisper lower,
If I dare to linger by it,
All the streams or life run slower.
Though I love the mirth of children,
Though I prize youth's virgin gold,
What have I to do with either!
Time is telling--I grow old.
Not so dread the gloomy river
That I shrank from so of yore;
All my first of love and friendship
Gather on the further shore.
Were it not the best to join them
Ere I feel the blood run cold?
Ere I hear it said too harshly,
"Stand back from us--you are old!"
_--All the Year Round_.
* * * * *
EDITOR'S TABLE.
Many a valuable work has been produced in manuscript by students and
other persons of experience in special fields of practice which have
never yet been put into type, and perhaps never will, solely because of
the poverty of their writers or of the disinclination of publishers in
general to take hold of books which do not at the start promise a
remuneration.
Pages:
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182