In Memoriam. - Colonel H. L. Miller,

Died at Hartford, December 30th, 1861.     Sorrow and Joy collude. One mansion hears     The children shouting o'er their Christmas Tree,     While in the next resound the widow's wail     And weeping of the fatherless. So walk     Sickness and health. One rounds the cheek at morn,     The other with a ghost-like movement glides     Unto the nightly couch, and lo! the wheels     Of life drive heavily, and all its springs     Revolving in mysterious mechanism     Are troubled.                         And how slight the instrument     That sometimes sends the strong man to his tomb,     Revealing that the glory of his prime,     Is as the flower of grass.                         Of this we thought     When looking on the face that lay so calm     And comely in its narrow coffin-bed,     Remembering how the months of pain that sank     His manly vigor to an infant's sigh     Were met unmurmuringly.                         Dense was the throng     That gather'd to his obsequies,--and well     The Pastor's prayer of faith essayed to gird     The smitten hearts that whelm'd in sorrow mourn'd     Husband and sire, whose ever-watchful love     Guarded their happiness.                         Slowly moved on     The long procession, led by martial men     Who deeply in their patriot minds deplored     Their fallen compeer, and bade music lay     With plaintive voice, her chaplet down beside     His open grave.                         Then, the first setting sun     Of our New-Year, cast off his wintry frown,     And seemed to write in clear, long lines of gold     Upon the whiten'd earth, the glorious words,     So shall the dead arise, at the last trump,     Sown here in weakness, to be raised in power,     Sown in corruption, to put on the robes     Of immortality.                         Praise be to Him     Who gives through Christ our Lord, to dying flesh     Such victory.