THE DYING SAILOR. I LATELY saw a sailor die. At such an hour, the everlasting Friend, whose arms are underneath the dying saint, alone can keep his head above the waves of Jordan. Never-no, never, shall I forget that solemn midnight scene. It seemed to me that God was there, and awful, yet privileged, was the place. As I bent my head close by his moving lips, what burning accents caught my ear!—"Tell my mother I leave the world in hope! I hope in the mercy of God as it is in Christ Jesus! Tell her where and how I ended my last voyage, and laid me down to die. O! sir," said he, "I am going! Already I feel death's chill upon me, and yet wondrous mercy bids me hope. O! what a Saviour is Christ! He saves the chief of sinners. Farewell, farewell!" Then turning to a shipmate who attended him long and patiently, he said, "Brother John, will you meet me in heaven ?" On hearing the smothered response, "By the grace of God I will," a smile played on his countenance, while, with more distinctness than before, he continued"Heaven for an undeserving sinner! Jesus sought me when a stranger. Soon anchored safe, my weary soul shall find eternal rest." And then, as though his last earthly recollections fell upon his mother's care, "O!" said he, "my mother will be there! Farewell, farewell!" and laying his hands across his breast and closing his eyes, in two minutes the spirit was with God. BRADBURY. Our lov-ing Re-deem-er, we trust in thy word, The word which of old call'd the children to thee; Its tones all so ten-der, with joy we have heard, "Forbid not the lambs who would come unto me, For-bid not the lambs who would come unto me." We come, oh, we come Thou wilt welcome us home, The rest of our souls on thy CHORUS. bosom shall be. We come, oh, we come; Thou wilt welcome us home, The rest of our souls on thy bosom shall be. We think of the Garden-thy sweat as of gore; Our sins, though as scarlet, they all shall be clean, The joy of forgiveness our young hearts shall know. We come, oh, we come: thou wilt welcome us home; Our peace, like a river, unbroken shall flow. When life is all over, we hope then above, V here cometh no terror, where falleth no tear, To sing in sweet numbers thy wonderful love, With all who in childhood have followed thee here. We come, oh, we come; thou wilt welcome us home In the glory of heaven at last to appear. POETRY. CHILDREN IN GLORY. I had a dream,—I heard them sing— The bloom was on their cherub cheeks, I saw the white-robed angels' hands I heard them hush their mighty strains, Oh! sweet, sweet anthem! while it rose, Nor breeze nor leaflet stirred, Only the ripple of life's wave, In symphony was heard. There was a little child I knew, I knew her by her polished brow, I knew her by the rose-bud white, And all her song was love to Him, Who walked the world with weary feet, And pain and hunger bore; And died a shameful death that she Oh, child of mine! to glory gone! Through whirling tempest drear ; Like song of bird in noisy street, Though hushed the music-fled the dream Its echoes linger still; And harp-notes float at intervals From Zion's holy hill. Oh! when the deaf'ning storms of earth Are stilled, may I and mine In the sweet calm of heaven unite Our songs of praise with thine. JOSEPHINE. |