the perfect fruit itself was but the seed-vessel, by which the race of the tree is continued from year to year.

3. Then have you followed the exquisite analogy, that youth is the aromatic flower upon the tree; the grave life of maturer years, its sober, solid fruit; and the principles and character deposited by that life, the seeds by which the glory of this race also is perpetuated' ?

4. I know the flower in your hand fades while you look at it. The dream that allures you, glimmers and is gone. But flower and dream, like youth itself, are buds and prophecies. For where, without the perfumed blossoming of the spring orchards all over the hills and among all the valleys of New England and New York, would the happy harvests of New York and New England be? And where, without the dreams of the young men lighting the future with human possibility, would be the deeds of the old men, dignifying the past with human achievement? How deeply does it become us to believe this, who are not only young ourselves, but living with the youth of the youngest nation in history!

5. I congratulate you that you are young; I congratulate you that you are Americans. Like you, that country is in its flower, not yet in its fruit; and that flower is subject to a thousand chances before the fruit is set. Worms may destroy it; frosts may wither it; fires may blight it; gusts may whirl it away. But how gorgeously it still hangs blossoming in the garden of time, while its penetrating perfume floats all round the world, and intoxicates all other nations with the hope of liberty!

6. Knowing that the life of every nation, as of each individual, is a battle, let us remember, also, that the battle is to those who fight with faith and undespairing devotion. Knowing that nothing is worth fighting for at

all, unless God reigns, let us, at least, believe as much in the goodness of God as we do in the dexterity of the devil.* And, viewing this prodigious spectacle of our country this hope of humanity, this Young Americaour America- taking the sun full in its front, and making for the future, as boldly and blithely as the young David for Goliath, let us believe with all our hearts; and from that faith shall spring the fact, that David, and not Goliath, is to win the day, and that, out of the high-hearted dreams of wise and good men about our country, Time, however invisibly and inscrutably, is, at this moment, slowly hewing the most colossal and resplendent result in history.

LESSON LXXVIII.

THE GRAVE OF THE YEAR.

G. A. GAMAGE.

In reading the following stanzas, be careful to avoid a sing-song tone. The voice should be pitched on the middle key, and the piece read in a slow, pathetic manner.

I.

BE composed, every toil and each turbulent motion

That encircles the heart in life's treacherous snares; And the hour that invites to the calm of devotion, Undisturbed by regrets, unencumbered by cares. How cheerless the late blooming face of creation! Weary Time seems to pause in his rapid career, And, fatigued with the work of his own desolation, Looks behind, with a smile, on the grave of the Year!

*See 1 Peter, 5th chap., 8th verse.

II.

Hark! the wind whistles rudely; the shadows are closing, Which inwrap his broad path in the mantle of night; While Pleasure's gay sons are in quiet reposing,

Undisturbed by the wrecks that have numbered his flight.

In yon temple, where Fashion's bright tapers are lighted, Her votaries, in crowds, decked with garlands, appear, And as yet their warm hopes by no specter affrightedAssemble to dance round the grave of the Year!

III.

O! I hate the false cup that the idlers have tasted,
When I think on the ills of life's comfortless day;
How the flowers of my childhood their odor have wasted,
And the friends of my youth have been stolen away:
I think not how fruitless the warmest endeavor

To recall the kind moments, neglected when near,
When the hours that Oblivion has canceled forever
Are interred by her hand in the grave of the Year!

IV.

Since the last solemn reign of this day of reflection, What throngs have relinquished life's perishing breath! How many have shed the sad tear of dejection,

And closed the dim eye in the darkness of death! How many have sudden their pilgrimage ended, Beneath the lone pall that envelops the bier! Or to Death's lonely valley have gently descended, And made their cold beds with the grave of the Year!

V.

'Tis the Year that, so late its new beauty disclosing, Rose bright on the happy, the careless, and gay, Who now on their pillows of dust are reposing,

While the sod presses damp on their bosoms of clay! Then think not of bliss, when its smile is expiring,— Disappointment still drowns it in misery's tear; Reflect, and be wise, for the day is retiring,

And TO-MORROW will dawn on the grave of the Year!

VI.

Yet awhile, and no seasons around us shall flourish,
But Silence for each her dark mansion prepare,
Where Beauty no longer her roses shall nourish,

Or the lily o'erspread the wan cheek of Despair!
But the eye shall with luster unfading be brightened,
When it wakens to bliss in yon orient sphere,
By the sunbeams of splendor immortal enlightened,
Which no more shall go down on the grave of the
Year!

1.

A

LESSON LXXIX.

ANOTHER YEAR.

NOTHER year, another year,

Has borne its record to the skies;
;
Another year, another year,

Untried, unproved, before us lies;
We hail with smiles its dawning ray,-
How shall we meet its final day?

2. Another year! another year!

Its squandered hours will ne'er return;
Oh! many a heart must quail with fear
O'er Memory's blotted page to turn!
No record from that leaf will fade,
Nor one erasure may be made.

3. Another year! another year!

How many a grief has marked its flight!
Some whom we love, no more are here,
Translated to the realms of light.

Ah! none can bless the coming year
Like those no more to greet us here.

4. Another year! another year!

Oh! many a blessing, too, was given,
Our lives to deck, our hearts to cheer,

And antedate the joys of Heaven;
But they, too, slumber in the past,
Where joys and griefs must sink at last.

5. Another year! another year!

Gaze we no longer on the past;
Nor let us shrink, with faithless fear,
From the dark shade the future casts.
The past, the future, what are they
To those whose lives may end to-day?

6. Another year! another year!

Perchance the last of life below!

Who, ere its close, Death's call may hear,
None but the Lord of life can know.
Oh to be found, whene'er that day
May come, prepared to pass away!