POETRY. RAN een THE YEAR’S LAST CUP. BY FRANCES BROWN. With the festal song, with the glad hearth’s blaze, With
... not these alone! Drink to the world! There is In the To Come, which no eye hath met— In the march of her nations, beckon’d on By the light of their fur-seen Sabbath dawn. But hark the mighty midnight’s chime, Like a voice from the passing waves of Time! ...