October 29.

October 30.

The day is ended. Ere I sink to sleep
My weary spirit seeks repose in Thine :
Father! forgive my trespasses, and keep
This little life of mine.

At peace with all the world, dear Lord, and Thee,
No fears my soul's unwavering faith can shake;
All's well! whichever side the grave for me
The morning light may break!

H. McE. Kimball.

NOVEMBER.

THE melancholy days are come, the saddest of the

year,

Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere.

Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead;

They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's

tread.

The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay,

And from the wood-top calls the crow,

the gloomy day.

through all

Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood

In brighter light, and softer airs, a beauteous sister

hood?

Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers

Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours.

The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain

Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones W. C. Bryant.

again.