LINES ON THE DEPARTURE OF THE YEAR. THE parting year is dying, Upon my brow I feel it now, Its last breath coldly sighing. The clock its knell is ringing, The wind its requiem singing; At dead of night It takes its flight, To heaven its message bringing. Oh! sad and melancholy Its tale of sin and folly; O'er misspent years, How many tears, Are shed by eyes unholy! And many a withering story It tells the Lord of glory; Of ruined maid, Of trust betrayed, And murder foul and gory. Like wave of passing river 'Tis gone, and gone for ever! Away it flies With all its joys; Return they? Never, never! Alas! not thus its sorrow, "Twill visit us to-morrow; Again, again Regret and pain, We from the past may borrow. Ah! many a one is weeping, We love to sow The seeds of wo, But love not sorrow's reaping. Some weep o'er mercies slighted, Some mourn their fond hopes blighted; And many a one Beloved is gone, In whom our hearts delighted. And oh! Almighty Father, Each guilt-stained scroll How sinners' hearts shall wither! They scorned thy gospel given, Must then depart, To hell's dark dungeons driven ! But oh! thou gracious Saviour, Thy ransomed ones, shall never They live and reign, And praise and love for ever! LINES. uncommon ELIZABETH, daughter of Horace Cowles, Esq., of Farmington, (Ct.) died at that place in the spring of 1831, aged 8 years. She was the seventh daughter which her parents have followed to the grave. Almost from the first dawn of intelligence she had discovered an u susceptibility to religious impressions. Her infirmities may have been an occasion of this, but the grace of God was no doubt the cause. The Scriptures, the Sabbath, Christ, Heaven, and the distinguishing features of Christian character, were subjects on which she had thought with seriousness, discrimination, and feeling, uncommon at her age. A few days after her death, the following scrap was found in her drawer, carefully laid up with other things of her's, which her older sister remembers to have seen her cut out of a newspaper some time during the past winter. As it seems to have been interesting to one little child, now in the eternal world, and by the circumstances in which it was discovered has become peculiarly so to her surviving friends, it may be interesting and useful to others. Weep not around my bier, When I am dead; Nor shed the friendly tear Upon my head. The cold and lifeless clay Nor will it wipe the tear Look not upon my form But leave me in my shroud, Cold and alone. Raise not the coffin's lid To say farewell, Nor start, when thou shalt hear My funeral knell. Pass quickly by my grave, When I am there, Lest thou should'st sigh for me, Or shed a tear. Weep not upon the mound, Where I shall rest; |