THE CHRYSANTHEMUM.

LAST Smile of the departing year,

Thy sister sweets are flown!
Thy pensive wreath is far more dear

For blooming thus alone!

Thy tender blush, thy simple frame,

Unnoticed might be past;

But now thou com'st, with softer claim,
The loveliest and the last.

Sweet are the charms in thee we find,
Emblem of Hope's gay wing;

"Tis thine to call past bloom to mind,

To promise future Spring.

HYMN FOR NOVEMBER.

"Who shall change our vile body, that it might be fashioned like unto His glorious body, according to the working whereby He is able even to subdue all things unto Himself."-Philippians iii. 21.

RED o'er the forest peers the setting sun,

The line of yellow light dies fast away

That crowned the eastern copse: and chill and dun
Falls on the moor the brief November day.

Now the tired hunter winds a parting note,

And Echo bids good-night from every glade!
Yet wait awhile, and see the calm leaves float

Each to his rest beneath their parent shade.

HYMN FOR NOVEMBER.

How like decaying life they seem to glide!

And yet no second Spring have they in store, But where they fall, forgotten, to abide

Is all their portion, and they ask no more.

Soon o'er their heads blithe April airs shall sing,

A thousand wild-flowers round them shall unfold,
The green buds glisten in the dews of Spring,
And all be vernal rapture as of old.

Unconscious they in waste oblivion lie,

In all the world of busy life around
No thought of them; in all the bounteous sky
No drop, for them, of kindly influence found.

Man's portion is to die and rise again

Yet he complains, while these unmurmuring part
With their sweet lives, as pure from sin and stain,
As his when Eden held his virgin heart.

And haply half unblamed his murmuring voice
Might sound in Heaven, were all his second life
Only the first renewed-the heathen's choice,
A round of listless joy and weary strife.

Heavy and dull this frame of limbs and heart,

Whether slow creeping on cold earth, or borne On lofty steed, or loftier prow, we dart

O'er wave or field: yet breezes laugh to scorn

Our puny speed, and birds, and clouds in Heaven,
And fish, like living shafts that pierce the main,
And stars that shoot through freezing air at even-

Who but would follow, might he break his chain?

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And thou shalt break it soon; the grovelling worm Shall find his wings, and soar as fast and free

As his transfigured Lord with lightning form

And snowy vest-such grace He won for thee,

When from the grave He sprung at dawn of morn,
And led through boundless air thy conquering road,
Leaving a glorious track, where saints, new born,
Might fearless follow to their blest abode.

But first, by many a stern and fiery blast,

The world's rude furnace must thy blood refine,
And many a gale of keenest woe be past,
Till every pulse beat true to airs divine,

Till every limb obey the mounting soul,

The mounting soul, the call by Jesus given : He who the stormy heart can so control

The laggard body soon will waft to heaven.