DECEMBER.
THE fading year its mellowing tint has cast
O'er wayside flower, and woodlands gorgeous
scene,
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.