THE fading year its mellowing tint has cast

O'er wayside flower, and woodlands gorgeous


The wild bird pipes; we say "He is the last."

The snow sifts downward like a friendly screen

On pine-clad hill, gray rocks, and meadows dun,

Though it shuts out the pale rays of the sun.

Yet to this month is greatest honor given

Outlasting time, a glory lent from Heaven.

For there breaks in on nature's dusky night,

A radiance full, around, above, below,

Outstretching far its swift heart-warming light,

Till sea and earth and sky give back the glow

'T is Christmas time; with joy the fact proclaim,

And breathe with thankful heart the blessed name.

Mrs. Annie A. Preston.