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Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care ; Fashion'd so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!
Ere her limbs frigidly
Smooth and compose them;
And her eyes, close them, Staring so blindly !
Through muddy impurity, As when with the daring Last look of despairing
Fix'd on futurity.
Into her rest.
Over her breast!
Owning her weakness,
Her evil behavior,
Her sins to her Saviour!
THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR.
FULL knee-deep lies the winter snow,
And the winter winds are wearily sighing :
For the Old year
lies a-dying Old year, you
You came to
us so read
ily, You lived with
us so stead
ily, Old year, you
shall not die.
He lieth still : he
He will not see the dawn
ol * TOLL YE THE CHURCH-BELL SAD AND SLOW."
Old year, you must not go;
So long as you have been with us,
Such joy as you have seen with us,
He froth’d his bumpers to the brim ;
A jollier year we shall not see.
you must die.
He was full of joke and jest,
But all his merry quips are o'er.
The night is starry and cold, my friend,
How hard he breathes! Over the snow
I heard just now the crowing cock.
Shake hands before you die.
Old year, we'll dearly rue for you :
What is it we can do for you?
His face is growing sharp and thin.
Alack! our friend is gone.
THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS.
The melancholy days are come, the saddest of
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows
brown and sere. Heap'd 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 through all
the gloomy day.
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