A BIRTHDAY.

Fifteen years have come and gone,

Maiden since thy large, brown eyes

Opened first and looked upon

Wintry English skies.

Fifteen treasure ships they were,

Sailing on life's sunlit sea,

Bearing frankincense and myrrh

Sent from heaven to thee:

Fifteen pilgrims, old and gray,

Mounted upon moments fleet,

Who have seen thee but to lay

Pleasure at thy feet:

Fifteen maids who, like a queen,

Decked thee, Sweet, with beauty rare,

Till the world hath never seen

Maiden half so fair.

And a sixteenth year to-day

Brings a wreath of budding hours,

Saying: “Let not one decay;

All must grow to flowers.”

All have not the self-same needs;

Loving smiles are life to some,

Others but by kindly deeds.

To perfection come.

Some are quickened by a tear,

Some by hopes and pleasures dead;

Take them, Bright Eyes, without fear,

God is overhead.