tolled knell,
    And o’er the dead past, dirges chanting;
    But for me, ever hang in Sorrow’s hall! 
    Bid Night and Silence spread oblivion’s pall
    O’er earthly blooming joys, that seared must fall
    And leave the stricken soul to weep:—­
    Ever, till this devoted head be hoar,
    And the swart angel whispering at the door;
    When I thy slumbers may disturb once more. 
    Ere double night bring double sleep,
    Till then, I sing in happier, bolder strain: 
    What’s lost to me is God’s; what’s left, for pain
    Or joy still His:  and endless day, His reign: 
    And reckoning of my Night He’ll keep!

AUTUMN.

BY ELLENOR J. JONES,

Of the Indiana Institution.

    Oh Autumn, sweet sad Autumn queen,
      With robe of golden brown,
    Our hearts are bowed with grief and pain,
      As each leaf flutters down.

    In every drooping flow’ret,
      In every leafless tree,
    By warbling birds deserted,
      We find some trace of thee.

    Thou’rt lovely, oh, so lovely,
      And yet how brief thy stay,
    Why is it all things beautiful
      Must droop and fade away?

    All, all thy gorgeous painted leaves,
      With colors bright and gay,
    Were touched by nature’s magic brush,
      Then rudely cast away.

    And thus our dearest hopes are crushed,
      By fate’s relentless will,
    Like withered leaves they pass away—­
      But peace, sad heart, be still.

    Thou too must breast the adverse wind,
      Be wildly tempest-tossed,
    Perhaps when thou art hushed in death,
      Thou’lt meet the loved and lost.

    But for this sweetly, solemn thought
      That thrills us with delight,
    This life, so marred by grief and pain,
      Could never seem so bright.

    Then welcome, sweet, sad Autumn days,
      Though brief the hallowed reign,
    For every smile must have its tear,
      And every joy its pain.

A TIME FOR ALL THINGS.

BY ELLEN COYN,

Of the Arkansas Institution.

    I sat down at the window, where
      I oft had calmed my ruffled feeling,
    For summer evening’s balmy air
      Has for the wounded spirit healing.

    That morning I had been quite glad,
      For hope had prospects bright in keeping,
    But fortune changed, and I was sad,
      And there I sat in silence weeping.

    ’Tis vain I said to hope for good,
      Or cherish bliss for one short hour,
    If morn puts forth a fragrant bud,
      Ere night ’tis but a withered flower.

    My Bible lay upon the stand,
      In which I’d ofttimes found a blessing,
    I quickly took the book in hand,
      In hope to learn a useful lesson.