ONCE more, began

A New Year's Eve.

"A NEW YEAR'S EVE!" My strain

With sober thoughts-with such it well may end: For when, O when should these come home to man, With such a season if they may not blend? My gentle reader, let an unknown friend

Remind thee of the ceaseless lapse of time!
Nor will his serious tone thine ear offend,
If love may plead his pardon for the crime
Of blending solemn truth with minstrel's simple
rhyme.

I would not trifle merely, though the world
Be loudest in their praise who do no more;
A standard is uplifted and unfurl'd;

The summons has gone forth from shore to shore; In Thought's still pause, in Passion's loud uproar, Thine ear has heard that gentle voice serene, Deep, but not loud, behind thee and before;

Thine inward eye that banner too hath seen Hast thou obeyed the call, or still a loiterer been?

Canst thou forget, who first on Calvary's height,

Lifted that glorious banner up on high,

While heaven above was wrapp'd in starless night,

And earth, convulsed with horror, heard the cry,

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A NEW YEAR'S EVE.

"ELI, ELI, LAMA SABACTHANI!"

Look back upon the hour of grief and pain; For THEE He came to suffer, and to die!

The blood He shed must be thy boon or bane, Let conscience answer which! He hath not died in

vain.

Christ died for ALL.

But in that general debt

He bled to cancel-dost not thou partake?
Is thine, too, blotted out? O do not set
Upon a doubtful issue such a stake!
Each faculty of soul and sense awake;

Trust not a general truth which may be vain
To thee; but rather, for thy Saviour's sake,
And for thine own, some evidence attain :
For thee indeed He died—for thee hath risen again.

Are thy locks white with many long-past years? One more is dawning: which thy last may be. Art thou in middle age, by worldly fears

And hopes surrounded? Set thy spirit free, More awful fears, more glorious hopes to see.

Art thou in blooming youth? Thyself engage To serve and honour HIM who unto thee

Would be a Guide and Guard through life's first stage,

Wisdom in manhood's strength, and greenness in

old age.

BERNARD BARTON.

The Rainhom.

THE evening was glorious, and light through the

trees.

Play'd the sunshine and rain-drops, the birds and

the breeze;

The landscape, outstretching in loveliness, lay
On the lap of the year in the beauty of May.

For the Queen of the Spring, as she pass'd down the

vale,

Left her robe on the trees, and her breath on the

gale;

And the smile of her promise gave joy to the hours, And flush in her footsteps sprang herbage and flowers.

The skies, like a banner in sunset unroll'd,

O'erthe west threw their splendour of azure and gold; But one cloud at a distance rose dense, and increased, Till its margin of black touch'd the zenith and east.

We gazed on the scenes, while around us they glow'd, When a vision of beauty appear'd on the cloud; 'Twas not like the sun, as at mid-day we view, Nor the moon, that rolls nightly through starlight and blue.

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THE RAINBOW.

Like a spirit it came in the van of a storm!
And the eye and the heart hail'd its beautiful form;
For it looked not severe, like an angel of wrath,
But a garment of brightness illumed its dark path.

Sublime in the hues of its grandeur it stood,
O'er the river, the village, the field, and the wood;
And river, field, village, and woodlands, grew bright.
As conscious they gave and afforded delight.

'Twas the bow of Omnipotence! bent in his hand, Whose grasp at creation the universe spann'd; 'Twas the presence of God, in a symbol sublime— His vow from the flood to the exit of time!

Not dreadful as when in the whirlwind he pleads, When storms are his chariot, and lightnings his steeds:

The black clouds his banner of vengeance unfurl'd, And thunder his voice to a guilt-stricken world;

In the breath of his presence, when thousands expire, And seas boil with fury, and rocks burn with fire, And the sword and the plague-spot with death strew the plain,

And vultures and wolves are the graves of the slain;

Not such was that rainbow, that beautiful one?
Whose arch was refraction, its keystone the sun :

THE RAINBOW.

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A pavilion it seemed, which the Deity graced, And Justice and Mercy met there and embraced.

Awhile, and it sweetly bent over the gloom, Like Love o'er a death-couch, or Hope o'er the tomb;

Then left the dark scene, whence it slowly retired, As Love had just vanish'd, or Hope had expired.

I gazed not alone on that source of my song:
To all who beheld it these verses belong;

Its

presence to all was the path of the Lord! Each full heart expanded-grew warm-and adored!

Like a visit the converse of friends-or a dayThat bow, from my sight, pass'd for ever away; Like that visit, that converse, that day-to my heart,

That bow from remembrance can never depart.

'Tis a picture in memory distinctly defined, With the strong and unperishing colours of mind; A part of my being, beyond my control.

Beheld on that cloud, and transcribed on my soul. J. HOLLAND.