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All, all was bright!—at times like this
No sight or sound comes in amiss;

But things around appear to win
A colour from the mood within.

:

The earth laughed into flower the sky
Cleared off the cloud from its brow on high;
And God-the God of grace-unfurled
His flag of peace o'er a fallen world.

These youthful days are past and gone;
The autumn of my years comes on;

I much am changed in mind and frame;

Yet Spring, sweet Spring, comes still the same.

I grow young with the young year then ;

I live my past lot o'er again;

And in these hours of song and bloom

See types of those beyond the tomb.

O! spring-time now will soon be here, The spring of Heaven's millennial year; When God again o'er nature's night, Shall say, "Be light," and there is light.

O Thou that into glorious birth

Shalt wake at last this fallen earth,

While humbler things Thy influence share, Be not the soul forgotten there!

Rise, Sun of Glory! rise, and shine.
Within this wintry breast of mine ;
And make my inward wastes and snows
Rejoice and blossom as the rose.

O, while I seem to catch the sound
Of vegetation swelling round,
Grant me within a growth to prove
Of faith, and hope, and joy, and love!

Spring-tide of grace, thy course begin ; Chase the dark reign of sense and sin; From light to light advance and shine, Till heaven's eternal spring is mine!

NOVEMBER.

THE autumn wind is moaning low the requiem of the year;

The days are growing short again, the fields forlorn and sere;

The sunny sky is waxing dim, and chill the hazy air;

And tossing trees before the breeze are turning brown and bare.

All nature and her children now prepare for rougher days:

The squirrel makes his winter bed, and hazel hoard purveys;

The sunny swallow spreads his wing to seek a brighter sky;

And boding owl, with nightly howl, says cloud and storm are nigh.

No more 'tis sweet to walk abroad among the evening dews:

The flowers are fled from every path, with all their scents and hues :

The joyous bird no more is heard, save where his slender song

The robin drops, as meek he hops the withered leaves among.

Those withered leaves, that slender song, a solemn truth convey,

In wisdom's ear they speak aloud of frailty and decay:

They say, that man's apportioned year shall have its winter too;

Shall rise and shine, and then decline, as all around him do.

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