for ever and for ever, proclaimed by the extent and by the glory of his empire ! "All · things were created by him and for him, and without him was not any thing made that was made." No created existence-no earth. ly, no heavenly occurrence, however minute or however imposing, but subserves to the glory of his imperial reign, and illustrates the endless dignity of his kingly dominion.

What a subject! a subject which a finite mind, much more a darkened human intellect, is totally inadequate to delve-a subject which the most elevated language is too sterile to depict a subject, however, which has in part been brought to light by the enun ciation of truth as revealed in the sacred Scriptures of God. Compared to the glance which those records enable us to discover, of the inconceivable grandeur of Christ's original dignity-what is the satiating prospect of all the kingdoms and the riches of the world? How can we be favoured with that glance, and remain unaffected! How can

it but be accompanied by profit and by bliss, for, as it is by the manifested vision of

Christ's glorious person that the beatified are changed into the same image; so as "God is light,' ""if we walk in the light, the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth us from all sin," and " we are made meet to be partakers in glory with the saints above."

And can the idea be for a moment indulged, that in all these things we have been misinformed by the Scriptures of divine revelation-that Jesus Christ has deceived his followers in his representations of his native dignity, and of his consequent competency to fulfil those great and precious promises Perish the which he has made to the elect? thought! and perish the doubts and the blasphemies which would impiously eclipse the sun of Christ's divinity, shining as it does in the sacred diction of the Holy Ghost, and around whose brilliant orbit every truth of revelation revolves!

A VISION OF HAPPINESS.

BY THE REV. ROBERT TURNBULL.

АH! the bliss, that murmur'd o'er my soul, as 'neath the oak-tree shade,

I gently slept by Zephyrs fanned which heav'nly music made;

Hope in her loveliest colours clad, smiled on my dreaming eyes,

Whose only sighs were laughing flowers, and streams and sunny skies.

The darkness of my fate was gone, my cares and toils had filed,

And all the pangs that rent my heart lay with the tearless dead;

While the sunny past came o'er my soul like the balmy airs of spring,

Or the rosy dews of Paradise shed from a seraph's wing.

I heard the sound of melody deep in the distant

sky,

At the first as soft and gentle as a summer evening's sigh,

Now louder growing like the gush of thousand angel's lyres,

Then gently dying far away like the music of the spheres.

A sweet and balmy fragrance shed its dews around my head,

And from the deep blue skies above a holy light was shed,

Which, like a bright and beauteous dream, slept on the living air,

And kindled up a scene of bliss as fancy's regions fair.

I saw no sun, for all was light-and lovely as the

morn,

When sweetly blushing from the East her radiant face is borne,

While dancing o'er the rippling stream, the smiling sun-beam plays,

Like the gambols, by the pale moonlight, of bright aërial fays.

All beauteous things rose on my sight of air, and earth, and sky,

More fair by far than ever gleam'd in Poet's raptured eye,

A mighty vista stretching far beyond the verge of time,

And blending in the glorious light of heaven's own happy clime.

O these were bowers of shady green, and flowers, and trees, and streams,

All teeming with the mystic hues of young and gladsome dreams;

And light and shade in magic dance, blent like the rainbow's glow,

And happy forms of living things that wandered to and fro.

Then I heard the rush of waterfalls-the music of the sea,

The gentle whispering of the wind-the murmur of the bee,