Therc i no time iike the oíd time, when you and I were young, When the buds of April blossomed and birds of 8pring-time Rung! The garden's brightest glories by Summa nun are nursed; But, O! the swect, sweet violeta, the flowers that opened fírst! There is no place Iike the oíd place, w here you and I were born, Where we lifted up uur eyelids on the splendora of the morn ! From the milk-white breast that warmed us; from the clinging arms that bore, Where the dear eyes glistened o'er us that will look on us no more. There is no friend Iike the oíd friend, who has shared our morning dayB No greeting like his welcome n homage like his praise ! Fame is the scentless flower, with gaudy crown of gold; But friendship is the breathing rose, with sweets in every f oíd. 'L'here is no love use tne om, tnat c conrteu in our pride ; Though oar leaves are falling, falling, and we re fading side by side, There are blossoma all around us with the colors of the dawn, And we live in borrowed sunshine -when the liaht of day is gone. There are no times Iike the oíd times - they shall never be forgot! Tbere is no place Iike the oíd place - keep green the dear oíd spot! There ate no f rienda Iike the oíd f riends - may Fin. ven prolong their Uves! There are no loves Iike the oíd loyes - God bless our loving wives!