If so, good-bye grim doubt and fear: 
  Adieu to arid sand. 
All Hail!  Oh prospect bright and clear! 
  All Hail, oasis grand! 
Hand joined in hand, heart linked with heart,
  Come joy, come hope, come glee! 
United, ne’er on earth to part,
  I’ll always think of thee.

If not, Good-bye!  The spirit breaks;
  The fountain soon must dry. 
If not, good God!  The temple shakes;
  It totters!  What am I? 
A wreck of hope!—­An aimless thing! 
  A helmless ship at sea
To whose last spar love still must cling,
  And sigh:—­Alas!—­for thee.

MRS. ANNIE McCARER DARLINGTON.

Annie McCarer Darlington, the daughter of Charles Biles and Catharine Ross Biles, was born July 20th, 1836, at Willow Grove, in Cecil county, about four miles east of the village of Brick Meeting House, and near the old Blue Ball Tavern.  She is a cousin of Mrs. Ida McCormick, whose poetry may be found in this book, their mothers being sisters.  Miss Biles was married November 20th, 1860, to Francis James Darlington, of West Chester, Pa., and spent the next five years of her life on a farm near Unionville, formerly the property of the sculptor, Marshall Swayne.  The family then removed to their present residence near Westtown Friends’ Boarding School, where they spend the Summer season.  The Winters are spent with their seven children, in a quiet little home in the town of Melrose, on the banks of the beautiful Lake Santa Fe, in Florida.  Miss Biles began to write poetry when about eighteen years of age, and for the ensuing five years was a frequent contributor to The Cecil Democrat, under the nom de plume of “Gertrude St. Orme.”

A BIRTHDAY GREETING

TO MY LITTLE NEPHEW.

[JULY 4TH, 1886.]

I know a happy little boy,
  They call him Charlie Gray,
Whose face is bright, because you know,
  He’s six years old to-day.

I scarce can think six years have passed
  Since Charlie really came,
I well remember long ago,
  We never heard his name.

But here he is, almost a man,
  With knickerbockers on,
And baby dresses packed away,
  You’ll find them, every one.

And every year as time rolls on,
  And Charlie’s birthdays come,
The world goes out to celebrate
  With banner, fife, and drum.

At sunrise on those happy days
  The cannon’s deaf’ning roar,
Reminded us that Charlie Gray
  Was two, or three, or four.

But now those landmarks all are passed,
  He’s getting fast away,
The boy’s a man, no baby now,
  He’s six years old to-day.

Just think of it, ye many friends
  Who wish him worlds of joy,
That Charlie Gray is six to-day,
  A patriotic boy.

And if he sometimes noisy grows,
  What matter, if he’s right? 
Give me the boys that make a noise
  And play with all their might.