To-Day. Let dotards grieve for childhood’s days, And only those look back Whose wasted wealth or shattered health Betrays a shameless track : I cannot join in mourning time For ever passed away— For whilst I look on Nature’s book I’m thankful for to-day ! The trees are still as fresh and green As ever branches were, And still, in primal vigour seen, They wave their arms in air ; The rivers sing the self-same song That they have sung for aye, Whose burden, as they glide along, Is, ‘ God is here to-day !’ There’s not a bird upon the bough, Or leaf upon the tree, But in the summer twilight now As sweetly sings to me : The bleakest wind that winter blows Can chase disease away, And shower blessings in the snows That hide the earth to-day. And everywhere a thousand gifts Invite us to rejoice— To grieve no more the days of yore, But raise a thankful voice : That tell us, though the world were fair In years removed for aye, The earth and sky, and sea and air, As lovely are to-day. Then tell me not that childhood’s days Alone are fraught with joy— That manhood’s fancy cannot raise The structures of the boy : The childish mind is lost in dreams Of pictures far away, But man beholds majestic themes In wonders of to-day. Oh ye whose eyes upbraiding rise, Pronouncing fate unjust— Who walk the earth with cherished hopes Low trailing in the dust— Discard a false unmanly thrall, Nor own so weak a sway, But hope in Him who gave you all, And thank Him for to-day ! Charles Wilton .