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An Illustrated Monthly Rural Magazine 
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FOR EVERY 
ONE WHO PLANTS A SEED OR TILLS A PLANT 
Subscriptions 50 cents per year. - :o: Advertising space $5.40 per inch. 
Vol. 6. JUNE, 1885. No. 0. 
Tlie Golden Wedding. 
BY LUCY DEWEY CLAY. 
I mind me of the time, good wife, 
A happy, pleasant time, 
When you were young and fair, good wife, 
And I was in my prime; 
Tis when the preacher said the words 
So solemnly and slow. 
That made us one in heart and hand, 
Just fifty years ago. 
Our hearts were light and joyous then, 
For we were young and strong, 
Our daily toil we brightened, wife, 
With many a cheerful song; 
'Twas then we learned to love and praise 
The God who blessed us so, 
And who has led us all the way, 
Since fifty years ago. 
And as the years have rolled slong, 
They’ve brought things new and strange; 
Among our friends, and in our home, 
There’s been full many a change. 
We’ve had our joys and sorrows, wife, 
Our hearts have ached with woe. 
At trials that we dreamed not of, 
Some fiifty years ago. 
UNKNOWN IS BEST. 
If the dead, lying under the grasses. 
Unseen linger near the bereft, 
Having knowledge and sense of what passes 
In the hearts and the homes they have left. 
What tear-drops, than sea waters salter, 
Must fall as they watch all the strife— 
When they see how we fail, how we falter. 
How we miss in the duties of life. 
If the great, who go out with their faces 
Bedewed by a weeping world’s tears. 
Stand near and can see how their places 
Are filled, while the multitude cheers^ 
If the parent, whose back is bent double 
With delving for riches and gold, 
Lends an ear to the wrankle and trouble 
About him before he is cold; 
If the wife, who left weeping and sorrow 
Behind her, bends down from above, 
And beholds the tears dried on the morrow. 
And the eyes newly burning with love; 
If the gracious and royal-souled mother. 
From the silence and hush of her tomb. 
Can hear the harsh voice of another 
Slow blighting the fruit of her womb; 
Old time has changed us some, good wife, 
He’s brought us toil and care, 
The luster of our eyes he’s dimmed, 
There’s silver in our hair. 
But our hearts are just the same, dear wife, 
And this I’m sure we know, 
We love each other better now, 
Than fifty years ago. 
And now together as we glide 
Adown the stream of life, 
Oh, may our hearts be raised above 
The world’s vain toil and strife. 
And when our time has come, dear wife, 
And v e are called to go, 
We'll trust the Lord we learned to love 
Some fifty years ago. 
If the old hear their early begotten 
Rejoicing that burdens are gone; 
If the young know how soon they’re forgotten, 
While the mirth and the revel go on— 
What sighing of sorrow and anguish 
Must sound through the chambers of space! 
What desolate spirits must languish 
In that mystic and undescribed place! 
Then life was a farce with its burden, 
And Death but a terrible jest. 
But they can not. The grave gives its guerdon 
Of silence and beautiful rest. 
—Ella Wheeler , in the Chicago Tribune, 
