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510 ALICE B. NEAL. II.-DAYBREAK. Once more I sought the casement. Lo! a ray, Faint and uncertain, struggled through the gloom, And shed a misty twilight on the room; Long watch'd-for herald of the coming day! It brought a thrill of gladness to my breast. With clasped hands, and streaming eyes, I pray'd, Thanking my God for light though long delay'd- And gentle calm stole o'er my wild unrest. "Oh, soul!" I said, "why boding murmurs cease; Though sorrow bind thee as a funeral pall, Thy Father's hand is guiding thee through all- His love will bring a true and perfect peace. Look upward once again, though drear the night; Earth may be darkness-Heaven will give thee light." THE CHURCH. "I will show thee the bride, the Lamb's wife." - Rev. xxi. 9. CLAD in a robe of pure and spotless white, The youthful bride with timid step comes forth To greet the hand to which she plights her troth, Her soft eyes radiant with a strange delight. The snowy veil which circles her around Shades the sweet face from every gazer's eye, And thus enwrapt, she passes calmly by- Nor casts a look but on the unconscious ground. So should the Church, the bride elect of Heaven,- Remembering Whom she goeth forth to meet, And with a truth that cannot brook deceit Holding the faith, which unto her is given- Pass through this world, which claims her for a while, Nor cast about her longing look, nor smile. E. JUSTINE BAYARD. THIS graceful and accomplished young lady is a daughter of Robert Bayard, Esq.* of Glenwood, near Fishkill, N.Y. Her poems have appeared now and then in The Literary World, and in The Knickerbucker, signed by her initials; but it is only within a very short time that she has allowed the public to share in the profusion of her treasures. They are marked by an earnest thoughtfulness, and a strong and vivid imagination. A FUNERAL CHANT FOR THE OLD YEAR. 'Tis the death-night of the solemn Old Year! and it calleth from its shroud With a hollow voice and loud, But serene: And it saith - "What ahve I given That hath brought thee nearer heaven? Dost thou weep, as one forsaken, For the treasures I have taken? Standest thou beside my hearse With a blessing or a curse? Is it well with thee, or worse That I have been?" 'T is the death-night of the solemn Old Year! The midnight shades that fall,- They will serve it for a pall, In their gloom;- And the misty vapours crowding Are the withered corse enshrouding; And the black clouds looming off in The far sky, have plumed the coffin, [footnote] *Now Mrs. Fulton Cutting, of New York. (511)