A STRANGER HERE.

I mourn not that each early token Is now to me a faded flower, Nor that the magic snare is broken, That held me with its mystic power.

I murmur not that now a stranger, I pass along the smiling earth;

I know the snare, I dread the danger, I hate the haunts, I shun the mirth.

My hopes are passing upward, onward, And with my hopes my heart has gone; My eye is turning skyward, sunward,

Where glory brightens round yon throne.

My spirit seeks its dwelling yonder; And faith fore- dates the joyful day When these old skies shall cease to sunder The one dear, love- linked family. Well- pleased I find years rolling o'er me,

And hear each day time's measured tread Far fewer clouds now stretch before me, Behind me is the darkness spread.

And summer's suns are swiftly setting,

And life moves downward in their train, And autumn dews are fondly wetting The faded cheek of earth in vain. December moons are coldly waning,

And life with them is on the wane; Storm- laden skies with sad complaining, Bend blackly o'er the unsmiling main.