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Thy sinR, tho' scarlet, shall be white as snow,
Art thou polluted 1 to the fountain go,
Thou canst not doubt the virtue of that stream,
Or if thou dost, remember I was there; Pardon, peace, life, are found in Jesu's name,
More full than thought can reach, more free than air. Dost thou enquire on what condition? where?
What depth of sorrow? with how sad a brow?
Thou can'st not purchase what's already bought,
The mere idea is absurd as vain;
"Works cannot merit; pilgrimages gain,
For which he suffered, bow'd his head and died. The crimson current cleanses every stain, Faith is the hand by which it is applied; Faith is the only means—"by faith," thou'rt ''justified.'
"All things are ready now," the Father stands,
Beaming compassion, whilst He cries, "my child!' For thee, the Son extends His wounded hands,
Prays and beseeches thee " be reconciled," And bark! the whispers of His Spirit mild,
Arise "why tarriest thou?" disdain to dread; Spring forth my sister, be no more beguiled,
Angels might weep, had angels tears to shed,
Art thou afraid to trust Him 1 Oh! beware,
Cast self away, to Jesu's feet repair,
Stretch forth thy hand, he brings the sceptre near,
"What wilt thou Esther," what wouldst thou receive?
Dost thou 1 then wondrous truth the cherub thron"
"With deepened rapture hallelujahs sing l
Cry " endless glory to the Eternal King!"'
And feels a transport never felt before;
Farewell, my sister, may the shadows fade;
And day celestial open on thy view!
And in His image all thy soul renew;
And unbelief with power Almighty rend!
I CAN'T TELL A LIE, FATHER.
When the celebrated George Washington was about six years of age, some one made him a present of a hatchet. Like other children, exceedingly fond of what is new, he went about chopping everything that came in his way; and going into the garden, he unluckily tried its edge on a very choice cherry-tree, stripping off its bark, and leaving but little hope of its recovery. When, on the next morning, his father saw the tree, which was a great favourite, in this wretched plight, he inquired who had done the mischief, declaring that he would sooner have given five guineas than it should have occurred ; but no one could
inform him of the offender. At length, however, George advanced with his hatchet, and immediately he was suspected of being the culprit. "George," said his father, ''do you know who killed that beautiful little cherrytree?" The child hesitated for a moment, and then nobly replied, "I can't tell a lie, father; you know I can't tell a lie. I did cut it with my hatchet." "Run to my arms, my boy !" exclaimed his father ; " run to my arms ! Glad am I, George, that you have killed my cherry-tree, for you have paid me for it a thousand-fold! Such an act of heroism in my son is worth more than a thousand cherrytrees, though blossomed with silver, and their fruits of gold!"
Cheerfully do we join in this tribute of an affectionate and delighted parent. "The lip of truth shall be established for ever, but a lying tongue is but for a moment' It gains nothing but the disadvantage of being discredited when the truth is spoken; and this, apart from its moral evil, should keep it silent. Its offensiveness to God has, however, been fearfully displayed in the punishment and immediate death of some who have uttered falsehoods. A regard for truth is always delightful. A party of Moors made an attack on the flocks of a village, and an A fric&n youth was mortally wounded. The natives placed him oc horseback, and conducted him home, while his mother preceded the mournful group, proclaiming his excelled qualities, and by her clasped hands and streaming eyes, discovering the inward bitterness of her soul. Bat the chief one she mentioned was thus expressed—may a similar testimony be borne to you !—"He never, never told a lie!"
"O what a tangled web we weave,
THE BOY WHO COULD NOT LIE.
There was once a young Virginian, and a noble boy was
he, Yet he sprang not from a princely line, nor was of high
degree; But the clear blood mantled in his cheek, the light flash'd
from his eye, And his presence was right noble, For He Never Told
Now his home was near a forest, filled with lofty
branching trees; And his wont had been to try his knife, boy-fashion,
upon these: We may think that he, not seldom too, had snapped the
brittle toy, Ere his father found a hatchet stout, and bought it
for the boy. Who so proud as our young woodsman now? His soul
is full of glee; He will try his keen-edged tool at once upon the nearest
tree; So he hies him round his father's house, and waves it in
the air, When (evil was the hour!) he spies a fruit-tree planted
Oh, the mischief in that bold, bright eye ! the mischief in
that hand! For the favourite tree is ruined, though the finest m the
land; Yet no eye hath seen the ruin wrought, and he will go
his way; Why not shroud his fault in silence, light the blame on
whom it may 1
But >he boy was better than his thought! His father saw th« tree:
THE PLANET SATURN.
Our young readers will be glad to learn that their friend, the author of the excellent Astronomical articles in the "Hive" of the lust two years, hIu recently become distinguished as a Discoverer in relation to one of the Planets described by him. The following is taken from one of the Daily Journals of the North—
"Every improvement of the telescope brings to light somn new feature in the appearance of Saturn. Many of our readers are probably not aware that during the last three or four years, when the planet has been very favourably situated, with the ring fully opened, the attention"!" astronomers, possessing powerful telescopes, has Veen directed to an appearance on the outer bjight ring. ,vhich was asserted to be another division—thus fotmii',' three
"Who hath done this wanton mischief here - " impatiently
cried he. 'Twas the struggle of a moment, though 'twas easy to ',
Then he sumtnon'd up his courage,—" Sir, I Cannot Till
I wish you could have seen his father's features now; He forgot his petty sorrow as he read that open brow, i Then he clasp'd him in his arms, and said,—fit words for
son and sire,— ''I had rather lore a thousand trees than have my son
So the fearless boy grew up to be a noble, fearless man; Match his virtues in long centuries, if match them so' ye can:
That shall be a glorious century which of patriots yields I
ns one, Of glory fit to mate with that of our owu Washington.