to hear the kind counsel of a dear mother or

a beloved father, or the

another, yet more dear.

soothing voice of When the waves

of affliction roll over us we long for the rest of home, and feel that there is no other place on earth where we can find that rest, which the weary ones enjoy there. If success crown the plans of our life, if we rise to eminence in public esteem, and grow rich in honor; if we are hailed with applause among our associates, there is a kind of satisfaction in it; but the heart, even then, will long for some dear ones to share the honor, and the joy. And it here again turns to home as its resting-place, even in its joyfulness.

The longest life does not destroy the love of home. It seems even to increase with length of years. But there are times when we are not perfectly happy even in our homes, when the soul will not feel at rest, even there. There are sorrows which no earthly friend has power to alleviate. But is there no resting-place for their soul? Is there no home of rest for the immortal spirit? Is there no being whose power and sympathy can render it perfect and happy? Does not a voice within us answer, There

is?

And do we not turn from the abodes of men, even from the homes of our earthly affection, and look to heaven, as the home of our soul? and to our God as the Father of our spirits? It is there we find that perfect rest, which is known only to the child of God. If there is joy to the poor wanderer, when, after long years of absence, he returns to the home of childhood, and is welcomed by the dear ones there; if there is consolation, in the kind terms of affection; there is still a purer, a holier joy felt by the trusting one, who turns from all earthly things to his God, and relies with humble confidence on him for protection ;- and sweet the return of the soul, after having gone far astray in the ways of sin, to the bosom of our heavenly Father; and happy the hour of forgiveness to the returning one. O, heaven is the soul's true HOME! Mourner, the dear one, whose departure you lament, has but gone before you to your common Father. Be of good comfort. Live the true life in the world, and you shall be reunited in the true home in heaven!

I KNEW THAT WE MUST PART.

CHARLES SPRAGUE.

I KNEW that we must part,-day after day, I saw the dread Destroyer win his way; That hollow cough first rang the fatal knell, As on my ear its prophet-warning fell; Feeble and slow thy once light footstep grew, Thy wasting cheek put on death's pallid hue, Thy thin, hot hand to mine more weakly clung, Each sweet' Good night' fell fainter from thy tongue;

I knew that we must part,-no power could

save

Thy quiet goodness from an early grave.

Those eyes so dull, though kind each glance they

cast,

Looking a sister's fondness to the last ;

Thy lips so pale, that gently pressed my cheek,
Thy voice.
-alas! thou couldst but try to speak; -
All told thy doom; I felt it at my heart;

The shaft had struck,-I knew that we must part.
And we have parted, sister; thou art gone!
Gone in thine innocence, meek, suffering one.
Thy weary spirit breathed itself to sleep
So peacefully, it seemed a sin to weep,

In those fond watchers who around thee stood,
And felt, even then, that GOD, even then was

good.

Like stars that struggle through the clouds of

night,

Thine eyes one moment caught a glorious light;
As if to thee, in that dread hour, it were given
To know on earth what faith believes of heaven;
Then like tired breezes didst thou sink to rest,
Nor one, one pang the awful change confessed.
Death stole in softness o'er that lovely face,
And touched each feature with a newborn grace;
On cheek and brow unearthly beauty lay,
And told that life's poor cares had passed away.
In my last hour be Heaven so kind to me!
I ask no more than this-to die like thee.

But we have parted, sister; thou art dead!
On its last resting-place I laid thy head,
Then by thy coffin-side knelt down and took
A brother's farewell kiss and farewell look;
Those marble lips no kindred kiss returned;
From those veiled orbs no glance responsive
burned:

Ah! then I felt that thou hadst passed away,
That the sweet face I gazed on was but clay;
And then came Memory, with her busy throng
Of tender images, forgotten long;

Years hurried back, and, as they swiftly rolled,
I saw thee, heard thee, as in days of old;
Sad and more sad each sacred feeling grew;
Manhood was moved, and Sorrow claimed her

due;

Thick, thick and fast the burning tear-drops

started;

I turned away- and felt that we had parted. -
But not forever-in the silent tomb,

Where thou art laid, thy kindred shall find room;
A little while, a few short years of pain,

And, one by one, we 'll come to thee again;
The kind old father shall seek out the place,
And rest with thee, the youngest of his race;
The dear, dear mother, bent with age and grief,
Shall lay her head by thine, in sweet relief;
Sister and brother, and that faithful friend,
True from the first and tender to the end, -
All, all, in His good time, who placed us here,
To live, to love, to die, and disappear,

Shall come and make their quiet bed with thee,
Beneath the shadow of that spreading tree;
With thee to sleep through death's long, dream-
less night,

With thee rise up and bless the morning light.

IN all their afflictions he was afflicted, and the angel of his presence saved them; in his love and in his pity he redeemed them; and he bare them and carried them, all the days of old.

ISAIAH.