KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



Ill 



Again, — whilst commending the elegant 

 Almond Tumblers, exhibited by Mr. Jones 

 and others, you named one of the exhibitors 

 as " Payne." Suum cuique ! Mr. Editor. 

 His ' proper name ' is Pyne, and he resides 

 in Lambeth. 



By " rendering unto Caesar that which is 

 Caesar's" — a point of honor which I know 

 attaches to the principles of our Journal, 

 you will oblige, Sir, your obedient servant, 



F. Esquilant, 



Secretary. 

 February 20, 1853. 



DOMESTIC LAYS. — NO. IV. 



BY A HAPPY HUSBAND, 



ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF HIS MARRIAGE. 



One year, beloved wife, hath flown, 

 Since first I claimed thee as mine own ; 

 And had my; harp the skill to fling 

 In glowing numbers from its string 

 That tender love and sweet esteem 

 Which makes my life a gentle dream, — 

 I'd breathe a fond and grateful lay 

 To greet this dear and blessed day ; 

 A day which made me one with thee ; 

 The first of joy's reality, — 

 Of joy so calm, and yet so deep, 

 So like the dreamy bliss of sleep, 

 That till thy gentle hand I feel 

 My spirit almost doubts it real ; 

 And trembles lest it pass away 

 Like dew-drops with the noontide ray. 



A year has pass'd — a blessed year, 

 Beloved, thou hast borne my name ; 



Still in our calm domestic sphere 



As brightly burns love's hallowed flame. 



No idle strifes or cares have come 



To chill its warmth in our sweet home. 



Home ! Oh ! it is a holy ground ; 



A soil where fairest buds are found, — 



Not such as win a vain world's eye, 



To flaunt awhile, then droop and die, 



Leaving no memories enshrined, 



No grateful perfume on the mind. 



Home's blossoms are not such as these : 



Their names are Hope, Love, Joy, and Peace ; 



Flowers of the heart, in mercy made 



To bloom alike in sun or shade. 



And still, as fond affection blends 



These sister-blossoms, time but lends 



A deeper charm to all that tells 



Of that dear home where " my love" dwells. 



My heart, belov'd, was as a barque, 

 Fast drifting on despair's rude coast. 



Around it, all grew drear and dark ; 

 Its compass gone, its rudder lost. 



When o'er the waste a beacon shone, 



Which bade me boldly struggle on. 



Hope sprung aloft, and to the gale 



Unfurled her renovated sail. 



Love seized the helm, and o'er life's sea 



In safety ^steered my soul to thee. 



All sorrows hushed, all perils past, 

 My weary heart found peace at last ; 

 And, on the haven of thy breast, 

 Secure from storms, a blissful rest. 

 Shall I not bless that beacon-light 

 Which shone athwart my bosom's night ; 

 Which led me to the hallowed shrine 

 Of wedded love, and made thee mine ? 

 Oh ! when I look within my breast 



And see the change existent there, 

 And feel 'twas thou its cares represt, 



Thy tenderness that dried each tear ; 

 While still to thee alone I owe 

 That calm and deep and tranquil flow 

 Of happy thought, which like the sun, 

 Steeps all in light it shines upon — 

 How can I bless enough the hour 

 That brought with thee so rich a dower ! 



My gentle wife ! the cares of earth 



Fall lightly on my spirit now ; 

 My heart is filled with that sweet mirth 



Which wedded love can only know. 

 To thee I turn, whose every look, 

 Instinct with love, becomes a book 

 Where I some joyous tale may read, 

 Whose language makes me bless'd indeed! 

 For oh ! it is a precious thing, 

 To be to those we love the spring 

 Of those pure feelings, which invest 

 With light and joy life's barren road ; 

 Feelings which sanctify the breast, 

 And draw us nearer Heaven and God. 



A year, this morn, in joy and pride 

 I press'd thy cheek a blushing bride ; 

 A year, this morn, we vowed to prove 

 Each other's solace, stay, and love. 

 Have we not kept that tender oath ; 

 Hath God in each not blest us both ? 

 I've heard it said, " one passing year 

 Oft makes the nuptial smile a tear — 

 That marriage joys decay full soon, 

 Nay, perish with the honey-moon." 

 We know not this — time has but bound 

 Our spirits in love's magic round ; 

 More closely knit each tender tie 

 With hopes of sweet futurity — 

 Shut out all discontent and strife, 

 And made a honey-moon of Life. 



LOVE, THE LAMP OF LIFE. 



Let Love feed the Lamp of Life, 



Love is Life's chief beauty ; 

 In its sorrow and its strife, 

 Love is the World's faithful wife, 

 Doing virtuous duty. 



Love, alike to soothe or save, 



Kindly watches o'er us 

 From the cradle to the grave ; 

 And, with every tossing wave, 



Soars and sings in chorus. 



Love is Life's pervading charm, 



In bright or angry weather; 

 Let the pure flame keep us warm, 

 And light us all from hate and harm, 

 In brotherhood together ! 



