'T is a pleasant sight, the joyous throng
In the light of the reddening flame,
While with many a wheel on the ringing steel
They wage their riotous game;

And though the night-air cutteth keen,

And the white moon shineth coldly,

Their homes I ween, on the hills have been, They should breast the strong blast boldly.

Let others choose more gentle sports,
By the side of the winter's hearth,

Or at the ball or the festival,

Seek for their share of mirth;

But as for me, away, away,

Where the merry skaters be,

Where the fresh wind blows and the smooth ice glows,

There is the place for me.

TO THE LAST LEAF.

BY WILLIAM G. CROSBY.

LONE trembling one!

Last of a summer race, withered and sear,

And shivering-wherefore art thou lingering here? Thy work is done.

Thou hast seen all

The summer flowers reposing in their tomb,
And the green leaves that knew thee in their bloom,
Wither and fall!

The voice of Spring,

Which called thee into being, ne'er again
Will greet thee-nor the gentle Summer rain
New verdure bring.

The Zephyr's breath

No more will wake for thee its melody—
But the lone sighing of the blast shall be
Thy hymn of death.

Yet a few days,

A few faint struggles with the autumn storm,
And the strained eye to catch thy quivering form,
In vain may gaze.

Pale autumn leaf!

Thou art an emblem of mortality.

The broken heart, once young and fresh like thee, Withered by grief,—

Whose hopes are fled,

Whose loved ones all have drooped and died away, Still clings to life-and lingering, loves to stay Above the dead!

But list-even now,

I hear the gathering of the wintry blast;
It comes-thy frail form trembles-it is past!
And so art thou!

HOPE, FAITH, CHARITY.

BY BENJAMIN A. G. FULLER.

"And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity." 1 Cor. 13: 13.

Have HOPE!-it is the brightest star

That lights life's pathway down.

A richer, purer gem than decks

An Eastern monarch's crown.

The Midas that may turn to joy

The grief-fount of the soul;

That points the prize, and bids thee press

With fervor to the goal.

Have HOPE!-as the tossed mariner,
Upon the wild waste driven,
With rapture hails the Polar star,
His guiding light in heaven,-

So Hope shall gladden thee, and guide

Along life's stormy road,

And as a sacred beacon stand,

To point thee to thy God.

Have FAITH-the substance of things hoped,

Of things not seen the sign;

That nerves the arm with God-like might,
The soul with strength divine.
Have Faith-her rapid foot shall bring

Thee conquering to the goal,

Her glowing hand with honors wreathe

A chaplet for thy soul.

Have FAITH-and though around thy bark

The tempest surges roar;

At her stern voice the storm shall rest,

The billows rage no more.

HOPE bids the soul to soar on high,

But yet no wing supplies;

She marks the way, but FAITH shall bear

--

The spirit to the skies.