Tne week has gone with thetroubles That welgh opoD hearl and bruin; Ihe cares thut are worse than sorrow, ■me task lliat is worse than rain; Tne toil fr a hard-won pittance, Tlie sooff a"d the bitter sneer, ThU yet must bo borue iu silence- Uh, woulü Uie eud w:is near ! Bul rest comes now. It Is midnighi. And I slt by ih? hearthalone, And drcam of int days departed, And lliink of a youtli long íIowd; Tlie days wheu a sunny radiance Surrounded the future years. Wben hiippineisseemed socertaln, And life had no thought of tears. Ah, well ! we have all our vlslons Wlien the pulses of youtli are stlrred, Naught dreamtng of coming sorrow, Ur the slckuess of "hope deferred. How the ties that bind in the morning May break ere the san is low. And our dearest pass from our presence, Aud we- we must let them go. Love, liapplness, death and sorrow, 1 horns ever amld the flowers ; It must beso. In a clrcle Moves onward this llfe of ours. But I thiuk tbat 1 sliould Dot murmur lf I kuew it was near ils close; If to-Dlght I sbould near thesummons; Perhaps It may come- who knows ?