While the stream shall flow,
And the mill shall go,

And my garners are bravely stored:
Come all who will,

There's a welcome still

At the joyful miller's board.

Well may the miller's heart be light,
Well may his song be gay,

For the rich man's smile and the poor man's pray'r
Have been his for many a day.

And they bless the name

Of the miller's dame

In cots where the lowly mourn;
For want and woe

At her coming go,

And joy and peace return.

Fair is the miller's daughter too,
With her locks of golden hair,
With her laughing eye and sunny brow;
Still better is she than fair.

She hath lighten'd toil
With her winning smile;
And if ever his heart was sad,
Let her sing the song

He hath loved so long,

And the miller's heart was glad.

Merrily rolls the mill-stream on, &c.

MOLLY CAREW.

[SAMUEL LOVER.]

Och hone! and what will I do?

Sure my love is all crost

Like a bud in the frost;

And there's no use at all in my going to bed,

For 'tis dhrames and not sleep that comes into my

head,

And 'tis all about you,

My sweet Molly Carew

And indeed 'tis a sin and a shame!
You're complater than Nature
In every feature,

The snow can't compare

With your forehead so fair,

And I rather would see just one blink of your eye
Than the prettiest star that shines out of the sky,
And by this and by that
For the matter o' that,

You're more distant by far than that same!
Och hone! weirasthru!

I'm alone in this world without you.

Och hone! but why should I spake
Of your forehead and eyes,

When your nose it defies

Paddy Blake, the schoolmaster, to put it in rhyme, Though there's one Burke, he says, that would call it snub-lime;

And then, for your cheek!

Troth, 'twould take him a week
Its beauties to tell, as he'd rather.
Then your lips! oh, machree!
In their beautiful glow,

They a pattern might be

For the cherries to grow.

'Twas an apple that tempted our mother, we know,
For apples were scarce, suppose, long ago;
But at this time o' day,
'Pon my conscience I'll say,

Such cherries might tempt a man's father!
Och hone! weirasthru !

I'm alone in this world without you.

Och hone! by the man in the moon,

You taze me all ways

That a woman can plaze,

A

For you dance twice as high with that thief, Pat

As when

Magee,

you take share of a jig, dear, with me,
Though the piper I bate,

For fear the old chate

Wouldn't play you your favourite tune;
And when you're at mass,
My devotion you crass,
For 'tis thinking of you,
am, Molly Carew,

While you wear, on purpose, a bonnet so deep
That I can't at your sweet purty face get a peep.
Oh, lave off that bonnet,
Or else I'll lave on it
The loss of my wandherin' sowl!
Och hone! weirasthru !

Och hone! like an owl,

Day is night, dear, to me, without you!

Och hone! don't provoke me to do it;
For there's girls by the score

That loves me-and more,

And you'd look very quare if some morning you'd meet
My wedding all marching in pride down the street,
Troth, you'd open your eyes,
And you'd die with surprise
To think 'twasn't you was come to it!
And faith, Katty Naile,

And her cow, I go bail,

Would jump if I'd say

Katty Naile, name the day."

And though you're fair and fresh as a morning in May,
While she's short and dark like a cold winter's day,
Yet, if you don't repent
Before Easter, when Lent

Is over, I'll marry for spite!
Och hone! weirasthru !

And when I die for you,

My ghost will haunt you every night!

THE CHILD AND THE BUTTERFLY.

J. E. CARPENTER.]

[Music by J. W. CHERRY.

An old man saw a little child

A butterfly pursuing,

That flutter'd gaily in the sun,
Each bud and flow'ret wooing;
"Oh trifle not with time," he said,
"Life's fleeting moments treasure,
Nor waste youth's bright and rosy hours
In vain and idle pleasure.'

'Twas vain-the merry boy went on
Through meadow, vale, and wildwood;
For what has youth to do but play,
And what is time to childhood?

The laughing boy to manhood grew,
Life's battle bravely doing;
But what is oft the noblest aim
But butterflies pursuing?
Some false light glitters in our path,
Some phantom flies before us,

And, ere we've snatch'd the wish'd-for prize,

Old age comes creeping o'er us.

Ah! chide not then each idle sport
In valley, mead, or wildwood,-
Let youth be happy while it may,
Nor talk of time to childhood!

WHAT WILL TO-MORROW BRING.

W. E. STAITE.]

[Music by J. W. HOBBS

What will to-morrow bring?

Strife or repose?

Pleasure or sorrowing?

Nobody knows!

Fortune is fickle,

May smile or may frown,

Time with his sickle
May mow us all down;
Though life in security
See the day close,
Yet what its futurity,
Nobody knows!

What will to-morrow bring?
None may disclose!
Where will it find us?

Oh! nobody knows!
Here! where life's histories

Time but unrolls;

There! where no mysteries
Darken our souls;

Though earth be "no more" for us
Ere the day close!

The bliss then in store for us
Nobody knows

SMILE ON, YOUNG BRIDE.

R. W. ROWLEY.]

[Music by C. W. GLOVER,

Smile on, young bride, smile on, smile on,
Though the flowers that deck thy brow
May wither ere an hour be past,

Heed not their fading now;

Let brighter hopes and sweeter thoughts
Thy fluttering bosom fill;

Thy life has been a dream of love,

Oh! dream on, dream on still.

Earth is to thee all gladness now,
No cloud of sad'ning care

Has swept across youth's sunny sky,

But all is bright and fair;

And though perchance a change may come

When these sweet dreams have flown,

Heed not the thought, be happy now,

Smile on, young bride, smile on!