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Loud from the towers of every church

Ring out the New Year Bells;
“ The old is past, the new is come,”

Their happy music tells :
I heard them first a little child,
And at their merry greeting smiled.
I mind how on a frosty night,

Too bright to see the stars,
While on the floor the moon's clear light

Lay checked with shadowed bars,
There on my little bed I lay,
And heard the bells of New Year's Day.
A happy year 'twas sure to be

Of good that had no end :
Glad holidays and games for me,

And many a new-found friend;
And ere its hours were half way told,
I knew I should be eight years old.
The bells another meaning taught

Ere many years were past:
The time was come to leave my home,

That night would be my last;
It might be long ere I should hear
Those bells ring in another year.
Their souuds were full of pleasant hope,

Yet graver and more sweet,
It seemed my mother's tender words

I heard their voice repeat ;
Her tones and their sweet music wrought
My mind to unaccustomed thought.
I pondered how the coming day

Brought life untried and new,
Prayed God to lead me in his way

And make me brave and true,
That so, as every year went past,
The new were better than the last.

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The bells learnt yet a thrill and fall

Of fuller happiness,
When by my side stood one who all

My life with love did bless;
Our hearts beat to the well-loved chime,
And welcomed in the happy time.

Ring soft and low, dear bells, of home

Oft longed for, heard again ;
More glad that not alone I come

To your familiar strain ;
Blend now your different tones in one,
As we our life have now begun.”
Oh! sad and deep the New Year bell

Wailed in my wakeful ears,
That day when music seemed the knell

Of all my happy years ;
For but a week gone by I laid
My darling in the yew-tree shade.
Yet even then, although my lifo

Had turned from day to night,
Tho' the closed eyelids of my wife

Shut out the whole of light, The New Year Bells, so sadly heard, With far off hope my spirit stirred. They rang—“The years pass out of sight,

And we with them are borne
Through change of earthly day and night

To heaven's eternal dawn;
An endless year of perfect bliss,
The sum of separate happiness.”
Oh, many and many a night since then

The ringers in the tower
Have welcomed in with mirth and glee

The New Year's waking hour ;
Now am I old, and soon, may be,
Those very bells will toll for me!
Yes, I am old ; not many times-

It may be never more-
The echo of the New Year chimes

Shall stir me as of yore ;
I wait a blyther welcome-strain,
When ending life brings life again.
For when my year its course has run,

I pray, through Christ's dear grace,
Its joys and sorrows every one

May draw me to that place Where Ho my endless day shall be, The light which shines eternally.

Still from the tower above my grave

The bells shall echo clear,
And with glad voices welcome in

The coming of each year ;
With their familiar fall and swell
To each a different meaning tell.
Still shall they answer to the heart

Of whosoe'er attends,
And many a one shall count their tones

The voices of dear friends,
And hear them speak, as years go by,
Hope, warning, sorrow, prophecy.
O New Year Bells ! could we but know

The half of what you say,
We should be wise for time to como

And watchful of to-day,
And deeper than all words should feel
The meaning of the New Year's peal.

TOM'S TEXTS. “ANOTHER year begun,” thought Mrs. Wilson, as she moved slowly round her little parlour, duster in hand, one new year's morning—"another year begun, and it will have its lot of trouble and suffering, I suppose. Well, we mustn't complain, God knows what is best for us; but it seems to me if I only had my health I could bear with anything." A double knock at the street door interrupted her somewhat sad thoughts, and her face brightened considerably as she opened it and admitted a welcome visitor.

“Dear Miss May, is it you? I didn't expect to see you this wet morning.”

Well, Mrs. Wilson, a little rain doesn't hurt me.” And the speaker merrily shook the drops from her waterproof cloak as she entered the little parlour. “ And now let me say at once what I came to say-A very happy new year to you and all your family." • Thank you, Miss May; am sure I wish


same, and very, very many of them too. I hope this will be a better year for us than the last has been : what with my long illness, and my husband's, times have been bad with us lately; but I'm better now, thank God, and though I can never expect to be well, I trust I'm thankful to be able to get about and do for the children. Here is Harry waiting to thank you, miss, for your kind promise of the Cottager





every month; he so looks forward to reading it to me of an evening."

“That's right, Harry," said Miss May, turning to the boy, a delicate little fellow of twelve or thirteen years ;

you are quite welcome to the papers if you like reading them. Here is the number for January, and here is also a Sheet Almanack for you. Will you nail it up in your bedroom and learn every morning the text for the day?"

“ Indeed I will, miss, and thank you very much," said Harry, his face beaming with pleasure, as he took the large sheet almanack, with its texts and cheerful pictures, from Miss May's hand.

And not only learn the verses, but try to act upon them, Harry," said his friend. Do you see what to-day's text is ?

“Choose you this day whom ye will serve," read Harry.
“Will you do that, my boy?".
“I'll try,” replied Harry, with a little hesitation.

“That's right. And now I must be going. It isn't a
bright beginning to the year, Mrs. Wilson, as far as weather
is concerned, but we inust make the best of it.” Yes, that
was always Edith May's motto, " to make the best of every-
thing," and be thankful alike for rain and sunshine. She
left one sunbeam behind her, at any rate, in that humble
dwelling as she stepped out into the pouring rain and
muddy street. “God bless her!” said Mrs. Wilson, as she
looked fondly after her retreating figure; "it always does
me good to see her bright, cheerful face.”
“ Mother,” said Harry, “shall I get the hammer and

" nails, and fix up my almanack right away?” Yes, my son; fix it up over the washstand in


bedroom; may be you can get Tom Short to learn the text every morning, too."

“Well, I'll try, mother.” And Harry forthwith mounted to his attic at the top of the house, and spent the best part of an hour in fixing up his new possession in the best possible position he could find for it, coming to the conclusion,

fter all, that his mother's suggestion respecting the washstand was the best.

He was in bed that night, and nearly asleep, when Tom Short, the lodger who shared his room, came whistling up the stairs. Tom was a good-humoured, sturdy young fellow of twenty, with a merry twinkle in his eye, that showed him always ready for any fun and frolic that came in his

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