The Old Stone Mill

Down at the foot of the village hlll, Mossy and gray, stands the oíd Stono Mili, Wlth lts sagging roof, Ha rotton flume, lts creaking wheol and lts dusty room. Groff, the miller, was old and gray ; H'd a heart of flint, and a surly way. Ris eyes were sunken, hiB nose waB red. And the hair like bristlea upon nis head. His furrowed features wcre dark and grim, And he hated the world as it hated hlm. The one fair hope, in hifl darksomo way, Was his blue-eyed grandohild, littlo filay ; And a love for her, sincere and truc, Was the only vlrtue the old man ïnow. Thn fairest flowers the world has known In the rudest places have of ten grown. The sweetest blosBoms of all tho year May soonest wither and disappear. The days went by with their toll and care - The summor rosos bloomed fresh and fair - And the winds of autumn toBsed and whirled The leayes of the woodland about tho world ; And the river ran by the old Stone Mili - But the gato was down, and the wheel stood stlll While the village children sadly said : The miller is gono, and the child is dead." ■ ■ k . ' ■ The waving willows again are groen, And the suinnier evenings once more Berone. Down at the foot of the village hlll, Mossy and gray, stands the old Stono Mili. But the miller sits in the doorway there With a kinder look than he used to wear. Grief has melted his heart of stono, Ana brought him nearer Our Father'8 Throne ; And he tella tho children who ooms that way Of tho wondrous beauty of little May.