From the New Orleans Bulletin.
MY SISTER.

Thou art gone to the home Of the blest.
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Thou art gone to the home OF the best
Thou art gone 10 the home Of the blest,


Where the good and the beautiful go,
And thy spirit know is at rest,


Because you were good here below.
The grave holds that casket 80 dear,


And itcovers thy form from my sight,
Where thy spirit dwelt sweeily while here,


With such treasures ofjoy and delight.
The stars in their glory look down


On the spot where thy ashes rePose,
And the dew drops that fall on thy stone.


But betoken the depth Of my woes.
And the wind in its might passeth by,


With the mourning it sweeps o'er thy tomb
And the soft breezes utter sigh


As they mournfnlly whisper thy doom.
But the RACES ofthe wild, bounding sea


Seem the depth OF my sorrow to tell;
Their soft waves still are speaking Of thee,
As they utter their gentle farewell
Now the sun on thy grave casts his eye,


To light my sad heart up with love,
And 10 tell, while thy ashes there lie,


That thy spirit is ransomed above.
Like you, in bright hope, let me live,


And, as was your death, lei me die,
That joyfully then may receive


My portion with you in the sky.
Thou art gone to the home Of the blest,


Where the, good and the beautiful GO,
And now, in bright mansions of rest,


Thy songs Of pure JOY overflow.