"How kind, how generous you are, to send me this precious volume! I find many fine poems in it and only wish I could hear you read them." And so, as always before, on all the New Years of all her lovely life, the old year went out and the New Year came in to the music of gracious words. Her life, marking the calendar with kindly deeds and beautiful thought, leaves as its legacy ... the assurance strong That love, which fails of perfect utterance here, Lives on to fill the heavenly atmosphere With its immortal song. CHAPTER IX 1907-1908 ... May she meet With long-lost faces through the endless days; Find youth again, and life with love replete, In amethystine meadows where she strays; And hear celestial music, strangely sweet, By the still waters of the lilied ways.--LONGFELLOW. ... A Hand like this hand Shall throw open the gates of new life to thee! See Christ stand! --BROWNING. Break, ties that bind me to this world of sense, Break, now, and loose me on the upper air; Those skies are blue; and that far dome more fair With prophecy of some divine, intense, Undreamed-of rapture. Ah, from thence I catch a music that my soul would snare With its strange sweetness; and I seem aware. Of Life that waits to crown this life's suspense.--L.C.M. In any thought of Mrs. Moulton's life, through which gleamed always the double thread of friendship and song, certain words of the Rev. Dr. Ames associate themselves,--that all our time here is God's time, "which we measure off by days and years, that we are, even now, continually with Him in the great Forever, embosomed in the infinite power and purity." In Mrs. Moulton's own words, it is only From life to Life that we pass. In retrospective glance, how beautiful are these closing months of her sojourn on earth! They were filled to the last with love and friendship, and sweet thought, Mrs. Moulton's health was constantly failing from this winter of 1907 until she passed through the "Gleaming Gates" in August of 1908, but so gently imperceptible was the decline that even through this winter she half planned to go to London again in the spring. In a little meditation on the nature of life which T.P. O'Connor induced her to write for his journal about this time, under the caption of "My Faith and My Works," she said: "There must be always 'the still, sad music of humanity'--the expression of the mind that foresees, of the heart that aches with foreknowledge. One would not ignore the gladness of the dawn, the strong splendor of the mid-day sun; but, all the same, the shadows lengthen, and the day wears late.