So thy firm faith without a fear Launch'd forth on Jordan's wave The victor-palm-branch in thy hand That o'er stern Death He gave; And may we meet, beloved friend At God's appointed day Where every care and pain of earth Have fled like dreams away. MR. NORMAND BURR, Editor of the "Christian Secretary" for more than twenty years, died at Hartford, December 5th, aged 59. We knew him as a man of sterling worth, Whose good example is a legacy Better than gold for those he leaves behind. --His inborn piety flowed forth in streams Of social kindness and domestic love, Cheering with filial warmth the parents' heart, And making his own home a pleasant place. --His was that self-reliant industry, Smiling at hardship, which develops well The energies of manhood, and lends strength To commonwealths. By silent messenger, A weekly scroll, he strove to spread abroad The stores of knowledge, and increase the fruits Of righteousness. Hence is his loss bemoan'd By many who had never seen his face Here in the flesh, but thro' the links of thought Held intimate communion. The true life Of virtue, is not lost to men below, Though smitten by the frost of death it fall,-- Its quickening memory survives, to gird On in the heavenward race, and gently guide Where the high plaudit of the Judge is won. HON. THOMAS S. WILLIAMS, Late Chief Justice of Connecticut, died at Hartford, on Sunday morning, December 15th, 1861, aged 84. 'Tis not for pen and ink, Or the weak measures of the muse, to give Fit transcript of his virtues who hath risen Up from our midst this day. And yet 'twere sad If such example were allow'd to fleet Without abiding trace for those behind. To stand on earth's high places, in the garb Of Christian meekness, yet to comprehend And track the tortuous policies of guile With upright aim, and heart immaculate, To pass just sentence on the wiles of fraud, And deeds of wickedness, yet freshly keep The fountain of good-will to all mankind, To mark for more than fourscore years, a line Of light without a mist, are victories Not oft achiev'd by frail humanity, Yet were they his. Of charities that knew No stint or boundary, save the woes of man He wish'd no mention made. But doubt ye not Their record is above. Without the tax That age doth levy, on the eye or ear, Movement of limbs, or social sympathies, In sweet retirement of domestic joy His calm, unshadow'd pilgrimage was closed By an unsighing transit. Our first wintry morn Lifted its Sabbath face, and saw him sit All reverent, at the table of his Lord, And heard that kindly modulated voice Teaching Heaven's precepts to a youthful class Which erst with statesman's eloquence controll'd A different audience. The next holy day Wondering beheld his place at church unfill'd, And found him drooping in his peaceful home, Guarded by tenderest love.