RESIGNATION.

We will be patient, and assuage the feeling We may not wholly stay;

tended,

But one dead lamb is there!

There is no fireside howsoe'er defended,

But has one vacant chair!

The air is full of farewells to the dying;

And mournings for the dead;

The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, Will not be comforted!

Let us be patient! These severe afflictions
Not from the ground arise,

But oftentimes celestial benedictions
Assume this dark disguise.

We see but dimly through the mists and vapors ;
Amid these earthly damps

What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers

May be heaven's distant lamps.

There is no death! What seems so is transition;
This life of mortal breath

Is but a suburb of the life elysian,
Whose portal we call death.

She is not dead-the child of our affection—
But gone unto that school

Where she no longer needs our poor protection,
And Christ himself doth rule.

In that great cloister's stillness aud seclusion, By guardian angels led,

Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution, She lives, whom we call dead.

Day after day we think what she is doing

In those bright realms of air;

Year after year, her tender steps pursuing,

Behold her grown more fair.

Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken

The bond which nature gives,

Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken,

May reach her where she lives.

Not as a child shall we again behold her;
For when with raptures will

In our embraces we again enfold her,
She will not be a child;

But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion,
Clothed with celestial grace;

And beautiful with all the soul's expansion Shall we behold her face.

And though at times, impetuous with emotion
And anguish long suppressed,

The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean
That cannot be at rest-

The grief that must have way.

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

He leaves our hearts all desolate,

He plucks our fairest, sweetest flowers, Transplanted into bliss, they now

Adorn immortal bowers.

The bird-like voice, whose joyous tones, Made glad these scenes of sin and strife, Sings now an everlasting song,

Around the tree of life.

Where'er He sees a smile too bright,
Or heart too pure for taint and vice,
He bears it to that world of light,

To dwell in paradise.

Born unto that undying life,

They leave us but to come again;

With joy we welcome them the same-
Except their sin and pain.

And ever near us, though unseen,
The dear immortal spirits tread;
For all the boundless universe

Is life-there are no dead.

W

LORD LYTTON.

THE SABBATH MORNING.

TH silent awe I hail the sacred morn,

That slowly wakes while all the fields are still!

A soothing calm on every breeze is borne; A graver murmur gurgles from the rill; And echo answers softer from the hill; And sweeter sings the linnet from the thorn: The skylark warbles in a tone less shrill. Hail, light serene! hail, sacred Sabbath morn! The rooks float silent by in airy drove; The sun placid yellow lustre throws; The gales that lately sighed along the grove Have hushed their downy wings in dead repose; The hovering rack of clouds forgets to move— So smiled the day when the first morn arose ! JOHN LEYDEN.

THE DROWNING SINGER.

'HE Sabbath day was ending in a village by the

sea,

The uttered benediction touched the people tenderly,

And they rose to face the sunset in the glowing, lighted west,

And then hastened to their dwellings for God's blessed boon of rest.

But they looked across the waters, and a storm was raging there;

A fierce spirit moved above them-the wild spirit of the air

And it lashed and shook and tore them, till they thundered, groaned and boomed,

And alas for any vessel in their yawning gulfs entombed!

Very anxious were the people on that rocky coast of Wales,

Lest the dawns of coming morrows should be telling awful tales,

When the sea had spent its passion, and should cast upon the shore

Bits of wreck and swollen victims, as it had done heretofore.

With the rough winds blowing round her, a brave woman strained her eyes,

And she saw along the billows a large vessel fall and rise.

Oh! it did not need a prophet to tell what the end must be,

For no ship could ride in safety near that shore on such

a sea.

Then the pitying people hurried from their homes and thronged the beach,

Oh! for power to cross the waters and the perishing to reach!

Helpless hands were wrung for sorrow, tender hearts grew cold with dread,

And the ship, urged by the tempest, to the fatal rock shore sped.

"She has parted in the middle! Oh, the half of her goes down!

God have mercy! Is heaven far to seek for those who drown?"

Lo! when next the white, shocked faces looked with terror on the sea,

Only one last clinging figure on the spar was seen to be.

Nearer the trembling watchers came the wreck, tossed by the wave,

And the man still clung and floated, though no power on earth could save.

"Could we send him a short message? Here's a trumpet. Shout away!"

'Twas the preacher's hand that took it, and he wondered what to say.

Any memory of his sermon? Firstly? Secondly? Ah, no!

There was but one thing to utter in the awful hour of woe;

So he shouted through the trumpet, "Look to Jesus! Can you hear?"

And "Aye, aye, sir!" rang the answer o'er the waters loud and clear.

Then they listened. He is singing, "Jesus lover of my soul!"

And the winds brought back the echo, "While the nearer waters roll;"

Strange, indeed, it was to hear him, of life is past,"

Singing bravely from the waters, soul at last!"

"Till the storm

Oh, receive my

a

MARIANNE FARNINGHAM.

ABIDE WITH ME.

BIDE with me! Fast falls the eventide,
The darkness deepens-Lord, with me abide!
When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me!

Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day;
Earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away;
Change and decay in all around I see;

O Thou, who changest not, abide with me!

I need Thy presence every passing hour;
What but Thy grace can foil the tempter's power!
Who, like Thyself, my guide and stay can be?
Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me!

I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless ;
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness;
Where is death's sting? where, grave thy victory?
I triumph still, if Thou abide with me.

Hold thou Thy cross before my closing eyes;

Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies; Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows

And we feel and know that we can go

Wherever He leads the way.

Ay, God of night, my darling!

Of the night of death so grim;

And the gate that from life leads out, good wife Is the gate that leads to Him.

REMBRANDT Peale,

NOW AND AFTERWARDS.

And the tempest was swelling

Round the fisherman's dwelling:

And she cried, "Dermot, darling, O come back to me !"

Her beads while she numbered,

The baby still slumbered,

And smiled in her face as she bended her knee;

"O, blest be that warning,

My child, thy sleep adorning,

For I know that the angels are whispering to thee.

"And while they are keeping

Bright watch o'er thy sleeping,

O, pray to them softly, my baby, with me!
And say thou woulds't rather

They'd watch o'er thy father!

For I know that the angels are whispering to thee."

The dawn of the morning

Saw Dermot returning,

Nearer the bound of life,

And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see;

And closely caressing

Her child with a blessing,

Said, "I knew that the angels were whispering to thee."

SAMUEL LOVER.

HYMN OF THE HEBREW MAID.

HEN Israel, of the Lord beloved.

Out from the land of bondage came,
Her father's God before her moved,

An awful guide in smoke and flame.
By day, along the astonished lands,
The cloudy pillar glided slow;
By night, Arabia's crimsoned sands
Returned the fiery column's glow.
There rose the choral hymn of praise,

And trump and timbrel answered keen ;
And Zion's daughters poured their lays,

With priest's and warrior's voice between. No portents now our foes amaze

Forsaken Israel wanders lone;

Our fathers would not know Thy ways,
And Thou hast left them to their own.

But, present still, though now unseen,
When brightly shines the prosperous day,
Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen,
To temper the deceitful ray.
And O, when stoops on Judah's path

In shade and storm the frequent night,
Be Thou, long-suffering, slow to wrath
A burning and a shining light!

Our harps we left by Babel's streams-
The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's scorn;
No censer round our altar beams,

And mute are timbrel, trump and horn.
But Thou hast said, The blood of goats,
'The flesh of rams, I will not prize-
A contrite heart, and numble thoughts,
Are mine accepted sacrifice.

SIR WALTER Scott.

NEARER HOME.

This beautiful poem, which has comforted so many Christian bears, will be prized, not only for its own sake, but as a fitting memorial to the gifted writer.

NE sweetly solemn thought

Comes to me o'er and o'er;
I'm nearer my home to-day
Than I ever have been before;

Nearer my Father's house,

Where the many mansions be;
Nearer the great white throne,
Nearer the crystal sea ;

Where we lay our burdens down;
Nearer leaving the cross,

Nearer gaining the crown!

But the waves of that silent sea
Roll dark before my sight,
That brightly the other side
Break on a shore of light.

Oh, if my mortal feet

Have almost gained the brink;
If it be I am nearer home
Even to-day than I think;
Father, perfect my trust;

Let my spirit feel in death,
That her feet are firmly set

On the Rock of a living faith!
PHEBE CARY.
THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL.

This ode was composed at the request of Steele, who wrote "This is to desire of you that you would please to make an ode as of a cheerful, dying spirit; that is to say, the Emperor Adrian's dying address to his soul put into two or three stanzas for music." Pope replied with the three stanzas below, and says to Steele in a letter: "You have it, as Cowley calls it, warm from the brain. came to me the first moment I waked this morning."

ITAL spark of heavenly flame,

Quit, oh, quit this mortal frame!
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying,
Oh, the pain, the bliss of dying!
Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life.

Hark! they whisper; angels say,
Sister spirit, come away.
What is this absorbs me quite,

Steals my senses, shuts my sight,
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath?
Tell me, my soul, can this be death?

The world recedes; it disappears;
Heaven opens on my eyes; my ears
With sounds seraphic ring:
Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly!
Oh, grave! where is thy victory?
Oh, death! where is thy sting?
ALEXANDER POPE.

But, watchman, what of the night, When sorrow and pain are mine,

And the pleasures of life, so sweet and bright, No longer around me shine?

"That night of sorrow thy soul

May surely prepare to meet,

But away shall the clouds of thy heaviness roll, And the morning of joy be sweet."

But, watchman, what of the night,

When the arrow of death is sped,

And the grave, which no glimmering star can light, Shall be my sleeping bed?

"That night is near, and the cheerless tomb Shall keep thy body in store,

Till the morn of eternity rise on the gloom, And night shall be no more!"

THE CHANGED CROSS.

T was a time of sadness, and my heart,
Although it knew and loved the better part,
Felt wearied with the conflict and the strife,
And all the needful discipline of life.

And while I thought on these, as given to me,
My trial-tests of faith and love to be,
It seemed as if I never could be sure
That faithful to the end I should endure.

And thus, no longer trusting to his might
Who says, "We walk by faith and not by sight,"
Doubting, and almost yielding to despair,
The thought arose, "My cross I cannot bear.

"Far heavier its weight must surely be
Than those of others which I daily see;
Oh! if I might another burden choose,
Methinks I should not fear my crown to lose."

A solemn silence reigned on all around,
E'en nature's voices uttered not a sound;
The evening shadows seemed of peace to tell,
And sleep upon my weary spirit fell.

A moment's pause-and then a heavenly light
Beamed full upon my wondering, raptured sight;
Angels on silvery wings seemed everywhere,
And angels' music thrilled the balmy air.
Then One, more fair than all the rest to see,
One to whom all the others bowed the knee,
Came gently to me, as I trembling lay,

And, "Follow me," he said; "I am the Way."

Then, speaking thus, he led me far above,
And there, beneath a canopy of love,
Crosses of divers shape and size were seen,
Larger and smaller than my own had been.

And one there was, most beauteous to behold-
A little one, with jewels set in gold.

"Ah! this," methought, "I can with comfort wear, For it will be an easy one to bear."

And so the little cross I quickly took,
But all at once my frame beneath it shook;
The sparkling jewels, fair were they to see,
But far too heavy was their weight for me.

This may not be," I cried, and looked again,
To see if there was any here could ease my pain;
But, one by one, I passed them slowly by,
Till on a lovely one I cast my eye.

Fair flowers around its sculptured form entwined,
And grace and beauty seemed in it combined,
Wondering, I gazed- and still I wondered more,
To think so many should have passed it o'er.
But oh! that form so beautiful to see
Soon made its hidden sorrows known to me;
Thorns lay beneath those flowers and colors fair;
Sorrowing, I said, "This cross I may not bear."
And so it was with each and all around-
Not one to suit my need could there be found;
Weeping, I laid each heavy burden down
As my Guide gently said, "No cross-no crown.”
At length to him I raised my saddened heart;
He knew its sorrows, bade its doubts depart;
"Be not afraid," he said, "but trust in me;
My perfect love shall now be shown to thee."
And then, with lightened eyes and willing feet,
| Again I turned, my earthly cross to meet ;
With forward footsteps, turning not aside,
For fear some hidden evi: might betide;
And there-in the prepared, appointed way,
Listening to hear, and ready to obey-
A cross I quickly found of plainest form,
With only words of love inscribed thereon.
With thankfulness I raised it from the rest,
And joyfully acknowledged it the best-
The only one, of all the many there,
That I could feel was good for me to bear.
And, while I thus my chosen one confessed,
I saw a heavenly brightness on it rest;
And as I bent, my burden to sustain,
I recognized my own old cross again.
But oh! how different did it seem to be,
Now I had learned its preciousness to see!
No longer could I unbelieving say,
"Perhaps another is a better way."

Ah, no! henceforth my own desire shall be.
That He who knows me best should choose fe me
And so, whate'er His love sees good to send,
I'll trust it's best-because He knows the end.

MRS. CHARLES HODART,