The Quarterly journal of prophecy

Heaven's glassy sea of everlasting rest,

With not a breath to stir its silent breast,
The sea that laves the land where all are blest,

The Land of which I dream!

IV.

And these keen stars, the bridal gems of might,
Are purer, lovelier than they seem;
Filled from the inner fountain of deep light,
They pour down heaven's own beam;
Clear-speaking from their throne of glorious blue,
In accents ever ancient, ever new,

Of the glad home above, beyond our view,—
The Land of which I dream!

This life of ours, these lingering years of earth,
Are briefer, swifter than they seem;

A little while, and the great second birth

Of time shall come, the prophet's ancient theme!
Then He, the King, the Judge at length shall come,
And for this desert, where we sadly roam,

Shall give the kingdom for our endless home,—
The Land of which I dream!

NOTICE.

We have been compelled to shut out all " Correspondence" from this Number. The truth is, that we have, for some numbers past, been overstretching our limits, and we have been giving a much larger space to correspondence, than we originally intended. This has been complained of in several quarters. Yet if the complainants knew the quantity of letters that have been sent us, they would moderate their censure. In order to accommodate our correspondents, we have allowed other matter to lie over. This we can no longer do. And hence, we have been obliged to leave out this department of our Journal entirely in this Number. When it may be resumed, we cannot say.

All readers of the Journal are most earnestly besought to give it room in their prayers; that by means of it God may be honoured and his truth advanced; also, that it may be conducted in faith and love, with sobriety of judgment and discernment of the truth, in nothing carried away into error, or hasty speech, or sharp unbrotherly disputation.

Macintosh, Printer, Great New-street, London.