His mind

Were not wrought quite so cunningly.
Soared forth and upward e'en to Heaven,-
And gathering flowers of inspiration from
Its holy borders, poured their healthful dews
Upon the thirsty earth. And while he pressed
The chalice to his lips, and ate the bread
Symbolic, God was at his board, and sealed
The covenant of reconciliation, -

Giving earnest of a Heaven of rest,
Which he has gone to realize.

Smile on us from thy throne above,

And stoop to dash the poisonous bowl : Oh, may the chalice of thy love,

Win the affections of each soul !

THE WIDOW'S BURIAL.

'Twas Sabbath day.

The glorious sun withdrew

To the far west - with crimson clouds o'ercast,

And here and there a purple tint, as 'twere

The shaded folds in the rich drapery

That hangs a monarch's couch.

The rays

Moved quick along the pavement, gathering up
The sheen from off the thousand particles
That glistened in the way, like spangles on
The gorgeous train of one whose sympathy
Sweetly compelled him to put off the garb
Of royalty, to look the meeter for

The scene of woe.

A sable hearse approached.
Impalled beneath its drapery lay the corse
Of one, whose coffined length betrayed the years
Of full maturity. I kept in pace.

There was no pageant there. no equipage, —
Nor dark funereal train of mocking friends,
Toward Mammon's altar bent, to sacrifice
The memory of the virtuous dead. But there
Was one, whose purer incense curled in rings
Of reft affection o'er the sable pall.

A female followed, -a lone mourner, too!
And she a sweet girl of thirteen harvests.
Her golden locks flowed o'er her delicate neck,
Like sun-rays on a marmorean bust,

tale of scrupulous nicety

In its sek folds; the antiquated stylė

Aprichness of its texture, also told

A tale of better days.

And I could read

Her history in every circumstance

That clustered round this lonely funeral.

The sunny days of fortune, friends and flowers
When joy lit the paternal hearth, and when
A father's heart was gladdened by the song
Of his fond daughter-

beamed bright before me.

And there was record of affliction, too,
Of sickness, death and sorrow messengers
To win the heart to holiness and God;
Of riches flown away, and friendships riven ;
A widowed mother's prayers and tears, for her
Whom God had still preserved.

I mean

There was a page Penned since her orphanry began ; but it Was blackened by oppression's blot The careless hurry of the car-man : for The unwonted rattling of the car of death,

Provoked the tear suppressed from her bright eye,
And kindled up my sympathies. I went

Unto the place of sepulture, that I
Perchance might there behold the offering
Of life upon affection's altar: for

I feared her delicate spirit could not bear
The pang of separation from the form
Of one so fondly cherished. But not so:
For there I could decypher that same page,
Replete with holy resignation - penned
By God's own spirit — bearing witness of
A sanctified affliction.

The tomb was

A splendid one. But its escutcheoned tablet,
Hurled from its rich Ionian columns

Its cells, hung round with mouldering tapestry—

The cumbrances of immortality

Thrown off, -a scene of folly consummat
Presented. But this was a hallowed place —
Hallowed by ministering spirits; sent
To cheer the spirit of the lovely girl,
Bowed like a bulrush to the ground.
Into the abode of death; and as she gazed
For the last time upon her mother's form,
Methought I heard an angel's whisper there :-

She went

She raised her bended form, and wiped away
The tears that trickled down her pallid cheek;
And gathering strength from the angelic draught,
She smiled, and said, ' Father, thy will be done!'

THE BIBLE.

"Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.”—PSALM CXix. 105. "Thy testimonies also are my counsellors." PSALM CXIX. X.

OFT there are moments in a Christian's life,
Replete with sorrowings and keenest woes,
When clouds and darkness intercept the view
Of Heaven and Heaven's King: and when
The tesselated track of life is dark

With overpowering shades of Providence
Impenetrable. Yes, the Christian e'en
Would falter and would fall in sheenless night,
And even die in hopelessness and gloom,
Had he no lamp to guide his feet or light
His pathway to the tomb. His feeling heart,
Indulgent in unreined benevolence,
Would even bleed itself away whene'er
He looked upon the world intelligently,
Were there no star more bright than Arcturus
To cheer his spirit with its hopeful rays,
And mark the coming of the peaceful reign
Of Jesus.

And there is at times a chill,

Circling the church, and causing all the bands

Of frail mortality to loosen, and

The stateliness of ardent piety

To flag and to recede in view of foes
Of hellish aspect, panoplied to fight.
The little band would flee; but circumvened
By Satan's marshalled host, are pent therefrom.
Their sparse and scattered ranks, untutored too,
Through listlessness of proffered help and grace,
Would prompt them even to surrender and
Give conquest to the execrable foe,

Were there no voice to rally up their strength,