NOVEMBER.
ANOTHER year has nearly fled,
November's growing old,
His snowy locks we almost see
Amid the strengthening cold.
The bleak winds whistle through the trees,
And tell us winter's nigh;
And from the forest's naked heart
We catch a mournful sigh.
But by and by Thanksgiving Day
Will bring its well-known treat
And then our merry boys and girls
Will deem their joy complete.
We watch the snow-flakes coming down,
A-whirl in every gust;
And soon the fairy robe of white
Will hide the earth's dry dust.
Then welcome to the winter fires,
Its evenings sweet and long,
When, gathered round the bright hearthstone,
We join in happy song.
M. A. S.