The Argosy — page 346: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

325 A-SONG OF LIFE. WHEN on the dimpled cheek of youth Health’s blooming roses blow ; When songs of rapture, hope and truth From lips of beauty flow ; When youthful feet right gaily bound Where thorn nor tare appears, How joyously the days go round— The weeks, the months, the years. The youth beholds with fearless eye The lofty hill of fame ; And hopes upon its summit high E’er long to carve his name! Joy thrills his heart—in every sound Fame’s bugle call he hears; And merrily the days go round— The weeks, the months, the years. The lady of his love must prove A queen of beauty rare; No vain coquette—but wise in love, And true as she is fair; Amid the tender stars at night He sees her dear eyes shine, As with a trusting, fond delight He worships at her shrine. But when the furrowed cheek of age Care’s hollow wrinkles show, The old man turns his life’s last page With trembling hand and slow; Dark lower the skies—in every sound Death’s mournful dirge he hears, And wearily the days go round — The weeks, the months, the years. The old man sees through tear-blurred eye The lofty hill of fame, Where cherished hopes in ruin lie, Where none may mark his name; One little, lonely, nameless mound At every step appears, As mournfully the days go round, The weeks, the months, the years. The lady of his love, alas, Hath closed her weary eyes, With but one tiny tuft of grass To show him where she lies; ‘¢ Old wife of mine,” he whispers low, ‘¢ Above thy grave I see The star of faith, whose beams I know Shall guide me soon to thee.” FANNY FORRESTER. CORlNuELOO© SS) im