the working-men of England saw the choice that lies before them, surely they could not hesitate between the life-fund and the death-fund for their children.
SONNET.
nother rolling year has swept away
A deep and thrilling chord of hopes and fears
Suspended unresolved,—and yet, to-day,
December through the gloom once more appears;
His step falls noiseless on the yellow leaves
Stripp’d from the naked boughs by gusty showers,
And round his brow the dying Autumn weaves
An empty wreath of faded passion-flowers.
Month follows month; the summer roses die,
December’s worthless leaves we hold instead;
Still shall the early snowdrops, by-and-bye,
Spring up, with tender message from the dead;
And we, subdued by winter’s snow and rain,
May smile through chast’ning tears when sunshine breaks again.
