Song for the New Year.

BY E. COOK.

OLD Time has turned another page
Of eternity and truth;

He reads with a warning voice to age,
And whispers a lesson to youth.
A year has fled, o'er heart and head,
Since last the yule log burnt;
And we have a task to closely ask,

What the bosom and brain have learnt?
Oh, let us hope that our sands have run
With wisdom's precious grains!

Oh, may we find that our hands have done
Some work of glorious pains!

We may

have seen some loved one pass

To the land of hallowed rest;

We may miss the glow of an honest brow,

And the warmth of a friendly breast;

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SONG FOR THE NEW YEAR.

But if we nursed them while on earth,
With hearts all true and kind,
Will their spirits blame the sinless mirth
Of those true hearts left behind?
No, no! it were not well or wise
To mourn with endless pain-
There's a better world beyond the skies,
Where the good shall meet again.
Have our days rolled on serenely free
From sorrow's dim alloy?

Do we still possess the gifts that bless
And fill our souls with joy?

Are the creatures dear still clinging near?
Do we hear loved voices come?
Do we gaze on eyes whose glances shed
A halo round our home?

Oh, if we do, let thanks be poured

To Him who hath spared and given,
And forget not, o'er the festive board,
The mercies held from heaven.

Wusten Purposes.

"For our light afflictions are but for a moment, and work for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory."

THIS world is full of suffering-along the mournful air,

The notes of sad complaining are ringing every

where

Love shieldeth not our idols from death's unsparing

darts,

And the whole wide earth is teeming with crushed and broken hearts;

Yet, were no clouds of sorrow around our pathway driven,

This world would be a paradise-we would not dream of heaven!

The erring heart to purify, is sent the chastening rod, To discipline the spirit, and draw it nigh to God.

We are bid to bow in meekness to the loss of those we love,

And are pointed to the mercy of a Providence

above.

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UNSEEN PURPOSES.

To raise the heart to Heaven with a meek and holy

trust,

And silence its repinings that have bowed it to the

dust.

We may not see the purpose why our hearts are pierced and riven,

Yet, with a faith undoubting, let us still look up to Heaven!

This life is full of trial, yet we know that One above Looks ever down upon us with a sympathizing love, And pitieth our infirmities, though others may deride;

For the heart hath not a sorrow by which He was not tried.

Oh let us then be patient! be meek, and murmur not, Though clouds, and gloom, and shadow, surround our earthly lot;

And when the heart repineth, think of that Holy One,

Who meekly bore and suffered, to win for us a crown!

We know that life hath mysteries; for God hath not designed

To shed His great omniscience on the lowly finite

mind;

THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS.

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And when the soul is ransomed, and the fount of life unsealed,

The mind shall grasp infinity, and all will be revealed.

Then let us place the anchor of our confidence and

trust

On the might of the Creator, the Omnipotent and

Just!

Whose will we may not question, nor the hidden motive tell,

Yet rest in the assurance that "He doeth all things well."

The Death of the Flowers.

BY W. C. BRYANT.

THE melancholy days are come,
The saddest of the year,

Of wailing winds, and naked woods,
And meadows brown and sear.