The happy or the lonely home,

The heavenly or the earthly birth, Life's morn or Death's dark seeming night.

Welcome, New Year! Time leads us on.
How many millions hath he led

In all the new years come and gone!
The loves, the lives now vanished—
Now buried in the mighty Past.

Welcome, New Year! Thou wilt be old
Full soon-as all things earthly are!
We start with thee, thy hand we hold ;
Thou canst not lead us very far.
We leave thee where we left the old.

IN MEMORIAM.

MRS. SARAH S. BROWNE

Passed from earth, Oct. 28, 1885.

Dear Friend, thy steps have moved along The lonely way that all must tread; Methinks thou passed with joy and songFor pain had chained thee down so long, When freed-thou must have joyous sped. Dear gentle Heart! that still could bless While Suffering claimed thee for her own. Whose hand could give the kind caress

Whose voice ne'er lost its happy tone.
Sweetness and patience, truth and love,
As dowers to thee on earth were given;
And wheresoe'er thy steps now move,
There, as on earth, with thee, is Heaven!

THE COMING SPRING.

The spring time is coming,

When bees will be humming,
And blossoms a-nodding from every tree;
When bright birds are singing,

Their clear voices ringing;

Will joy then be coming to you and to me?

When warm grows the sunshine,

And brooks as they run shine

With sparkles and ripples of innocent glee; When green grass is springing,

And nature is bringing

Her joy-will it come then to you and to me?

When white clouds are scudding,

And flowers are budding,

And Nature seems laughing again in her glee, When soft rains are falling,

And love notes are calling,

Will joy then be coming to you and to me?

When winter bonds breaking,
With new life awaking,

A glad resurrection again we shall see,
The life stirring round us

Shall break chains that bound us,
And joy will be coming to you and to me.

BIRTHDAY IN HEAVEN.
November 27, 1885.

Her Birth Day still-Birth Day in Heaven!
She thinks of those she left so late,
With all the new powers to her given,
'Mid all the joys that round her wait.
Birth Day in Heaven!

She greets it not 'mid pain and cross-
With weary day, and restless night.

Her gain it is our earthly loss.

Her steadfast Faith has changed to sight.
Birth Day in Heaven!

To part from some, and meet the rest-
To know we come, in God's good time,―
The farewell sad-the meeting blest

Beyond this life's cold, changeful clime!
Birth Day in Heaven.

BURIAL IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

I would not lie, O Abbey, 'neath thy roof,
But where the forest boughs sway to and fro
And 'gainst heaven's blue stretch out a verdant woof,
Where gentle gales at will could come and go.

I would not change Spring's carpet for the stones That tell of ashes and of slow decay;

But I would love that flowers should nod and bloom, And gentle hands should pluck them where I lay.

Though England's best were near for company,
Lo! England's worst are also side by side.
E'en death would feel the haunting memory—
Kings and their murdered victims-lust and pride.

The greatest poem born of human mind,

Gray's "Elegy," came not at sight of thee;

But where the earth took back each humble child And breathed to him of lowly ministry.

The meanest spot that holds the sleeping clay
Tells kindlier tales of human weal and woe;
The village churchyard with its grassy mounds,
Where friends and neighbors daily come and go.

Stand up, O pile, full proudly 'gainst the sky,
To tell where genius, innocence repose!

But every stone forevermore shall cry

Of guilty deeds Time's burdened memory knows.

PASS OVER, TRAVELLER.

"Said Jesus (whose name be Peace) this world is a bridge; pass thou over it, but do not build upon it."

Pass over, Traveller! beneath, Time's stream

Rushes how quickly, like a troubled dream.

Full many a shipwreck have those dark waves known-
Night comes, with gloom her garments all astir.
Pass over, Traveller!

Thou canst not build, the planks are thin and frail,
A firm, strong structure; men have tried,-all fail.
There is a land beyond thou canst not see-
Oh! linger not a moment, nor demur;
Pass over, Traveller !

Lo! here and there they raise a house of clay
For winds and waves how soon to sweep away.
Oh! seek afar from here a home of light!
Darkness or light, which doth thy soul prefer?
Pass over, Traveller !

THE HOME IN BETHANY.

Sweet must it have been at the close of day,
When length'ning shadows paved the dusty way,
To seek the quiet home in Bethany.

There to abide and wash the tired feet;

Weary and worn, those friendly eyes to meet;

Grieving and sad, their welcome words to greet.