_Old Letters._

The house was silent, and the light Was fading from the western glow; I read, till tears had dimmed my sight, Some letters written long ago.

The voices that have passed away, The faces that have turned to mould, Were round me in the room to-day, And laughed and chatted as of old.

The thoughts that youth was wont to think, The hopes now dead for evermore, Came from the lines of faded ink, As sweet and earnest as of yore.

I laid the letters by and dreamed The dear dead past to life again; The present and its purpose seemed A fading vision full of pain.

Then, with a sudden shout of glee, The children burst into the room, Their little faces were to me As sunrise in the cloud of gloom.

The world was full of meaning still, For love will live though loved ones die; I turned upon life’s darkened hill And gloried in the morning sky.