but only by the Lord Jesus Christ. Refuge fails elsewhere, on every hand; but I behold a fulness and beauty in Jesus Christ; he is worth loving, -worth prizing,-worth following. Such is my desire to obtain an interest in him, and to make him the only portion and support of my soul, that it is one of my greatest griefs to find my heart so dull in going forth after him. I abhor sin because it is abhorred of God, and contrary to him. I am heartily troubled for the sin of my heart, that fountain of corruption. Sin is my heavy burden; death itself would be welcome to me, to free me from it. I desire to be as active as may be in promoting the honour of God; and I seldom come into any company without contriving how I may some way speak or act for God's honour before I leave it."

The readers of the Sacred Star will do well to regard the above fragments of the useful, devoted Christian who wrote them,— and faithfully examine, as in the sight of God, whether or not they have yet sought for similar gracious attainments,-what he was by the grace of God, they may also attain to; he lived to be an eminently useful, holy, "good minister of Jesus Christ;" a man who wrote, laboured, and preached as with eternity constantly in view; he was one, "valiant for the truth upon earth:" one, no doubt, who shines now with the brightness of the firmament, -as having turned many to righteousness, and who still, by his writings, (and particularly by his Essays to do Good,) has left a legacy to the Christian church, more valuable than rubies or gold.

Oh that some dear youths may be animated by what he was in his day and generation,-to

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follow his example early,-to give themselves to the Lord, and their energies to his service and glory upon earth. The writer would greatly recommend the perusal of his Life," and "Essays to do Good," to every reader. The late Rev. G. Burder did a great service to the cause of the Redeemer, by reprinting the work; it is also now printed in a neat pocket edition, price 1s. 6d. ; should have a place in every study, and Sabbath school library; and wealthy Christians would do well to buy it to present to those labourers in the vineyard, who may not be able to spare even so small a sum to buy it for themselves. The writer knows of one lady who bought a dozen for the purpose, and sent them into different districts, with a request that each might be lent to twelve persons for a month each. Many more have since been bought through that effort. To every reader the writer would affectionately say, "Go and do thou likewise."

FIDELIA.

POETRY.

AN ENQUIRY ABOUT HEAVEN.
Say, what is Heaven? a happy land,
Where dwells the white-rob'd angel-band;
And the crystal stream, as it rolls along,
Bears on its current their lasting song.

Say, what is Heaven? a peaceful rest,
For the pilgrim, weary and sorrow press'd
He has fought the fight, and the prize has won,
A crown laid up by the Holy One.

Say, what is Heaven? 'tis there they meet,
Who on earth had held communion sweet;
And the parting sigh is a sound unknown
To the saints around the Father's throne.

Say, what is Heaven? we cannot know
Of its unseen glories on earth below;
But never those pearly gates within,
Shall sorrow enter, or death, or sin.

Say, what is Heaven? we must die to see,
The glories of its Eternity,-

The cold stream pass, ere we rise above,
To taste the joys of redeeming love.

H. E.

I HAVE NO MOTHER.

I have no mother! for she died
When I was very young;

But her memory still around my heart
Like morning mists has hung.

They tell me of an angel form,

That watch'd me while I slept,

And of a soft and gentle hand

That wip'd the tears I wept:

And that same hand that held my own
When I began to walk,

And joys that sparkled in her eyes

When first I tried to talk.

For they say mothers' hearts are pleas'd,

When infant charms expand ;

I wonder if she thinks of me

In that bright happy land.

For I know she is in heaven now,
That holy place of rest,
For she was always good to me,
And the good alone are blest.

I remember too, when I was ill,
She kiss'd my burning brow,
And the tear that fell upon my cheek,
I think I feel it now.

And I have got some little books
She taught me how to spell;
And the chiding or the kiss she gave,
I still remember well.

And then she us'd to kneel with me,
And teach me how to pray;
And raise my little hands to heaven,
And tell me what to say.

O mother, mother! in my heart
Thy image still shall be;

And I will hope in heaven at last

That I may meet with thee.

From the New York American.

THE SEVEN CHURCHES OF ASIA.

O where is the light! the pure true light
Of the Asian churches SEVEN?
And whither has fled that glory bright,
Which rested on them from heaven?
Their altars have lost that hallow'd flame;
And the gospel of the truth,

Now dwelleth in lands of other name,

Than the countries of its youth.

But neither nation, nor rule, nor clime,

Our hope can change or sever;

For what it hath been in by-past time,
That shall it be for ever.

Its "Author" still will guard and will keep,-
He is its "Finisher" too;

There are no waters so mighty and deep,
That He will not bear it through.

And when on the wide earth shall descend,
The light of the "latter day,"
From the seven churches He shall rend
Their darkness and veil away:
And never, no never, to fail or wane,
Shall the glory then be given,-

It only shall fade or pale again
Before the full blaze of Heaven!

E. F. H.

SONNET.

ON NEW YEAR'S DAY.

LIGHT of another year again I see,

And its first day is mine!

But whether I

May see it join the past eternity,
My father and my God! depends on thee.
Oh grant its hours, as on swift wing they flee,

In peace and goodness, compassed by thy love,
May swiftly glide; so my soul shall not move,
Though sorrow waits the dark futurity.
Thus would I consecrate this year; and oh!
If other prayer is beating in my breast,
It is for those I love, that they may rest
In the same trust, the same high comfort know;
That when our years their destined race have run,
We each may find the meed of virtue won.

Sacred Offering.