Viewing page 282 of 309

This transcription has been completed. Contact us with corrections.

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)