SILVER AND GOLD.

SILVER or golden, which is the best— Which with God’s love is most richly blest? Which is the fairer I cannot tell, Grandfather dear or my baby Bel. The soft twilight hour, when shadows fall, To little Bel seems the best of all; Then grandfather lays aside his book; He cannot resist the pleading look. There’s room for two in the great arm-chair; His arms enfold her with loving care; Upturned is a smiling, rosy face; Two dimpled arms have found their place. Sweet eyes of hazel, so clear and bright, Look up with a happy, loving light; The curls are golden that softly stray, While breezes amid their sunshine play. Little she dreams of sorrow and care; Life is unknown, and to her seems fair. As years roll by the face may grow old; But the loving heart will never grow cold.

When the hand of Time on her head is laid, The lustre of gold must surely fade; But lovely is even a silver frost, If truth and goodness have not been lost. Pride and passion have left no trace On the old man’s placid, saintly face; The journey so long is almost done— The strife is over, the victory won. The voice that speaks is gentle and deep; Surely it means God’s grace to keep. Eyes like the heavens so darkly blue; Surely God’s love is shining through. Forehead so noble, calm, and fair; Surely God’s peace is resting there. The snowy locks are a silver crown; Softly the blessing of God came down. Silver or golden, which is the best— Which with God’s love is most richly blest? Which is the fairer I cannot tell, Grandfather dear or my baby Bel. Ellis Gray.