Strange feelings rise within my soul,
  My eyes o’erflow with tears,
As backward I attempt to roll
  The flood of by-gone years.

This honored pair we come to greet,
  For five-and-forty years
Through winter’s cold and summer’s heat,
  Have worn the nuptial gears.

The heat and burden of the day
  They honestly have borne,
Until their heads are growing gray,
  Their limbs with toil are worn.

In all the ups and downs of life—­
  Of which they’ve had their share—­
They never knew domestic strife,
  Or, if at all, ’twas rare.

They now seem standing on the verge
  Of that unfathomed sea,
Just waiting for the final surge
  That opes eternity.

When comes that surge, or soon or late,
  May they in peace depart;
And meet within the shining gate,
  No more to grieve or part.

THE DONATION VISIT.

    The following poem was read upon the occasion of a donation visit by
    the Head of Christiana congregation to their pastor, Rev. James I.
    Vallandigham.

Fair ladies dear, and gentlemen. 
  I thought not to be here to-day: 
But I’m a slave, and therefore, when
  My muse commands, I must obey.

I’ve struggled hard against her power,
  And dashed her yoke in scorn away,
And then returned, within an hour,
  And meekly bowed and owned her sway.

I know the ground on which I stand
  And tremble like an aspen when
I see around, on every hand,
  Such learned and such gifted men,

Who really have been to college,
  And know the Latin and the Greek;
And are so charged with general knowledge
  That it requires no little cheek

In an obscure and modest bard
  To meet a galaxy so bright,—­
Indeed, I find it rather hard
  To face the music here to-night.

Dear friends, we’ve met, as it is meet
  That we should meet at such a time,
Each other and our host to greet,—­
  Or guest, ’tis all the same in rhyme.

No king nor queen do I revere;
  The majesty of God I own. 
An honest man, though poor, is peer
  To him that sits upon a throne.

I long to see the coming day
  When wicked wars and strifes shall cease,
And ignorance and crime give way
  Before the march of truth and peace.

That welcome day is drawing near;
  I sometimes think I see its dawn;
The trampling of the hosts I hear,
  By science, truth and love led on.

I see the murderous cannon fused,
  With its death-dealing shot and shell,
For making railway carwheels used,
  Or civil railway tracks as well.

And small arms, too, will then be wrought
  Into machines for cutting wheat;
While those who used them will be taught
  To labor for their bread and meat.