tion his death; but we rejoice to believe, that his pure spirit was welcomed and received into the company of the just, and that his prayers on earth are continued in heaven, with those of angels and archangels, around the throne.

Reflect a moment on this good man's life and death. You know we must all die; this we cannot escape; and some of us may suffer from sickness, misfortunes and age. If, then, this be true, should you not be anxious to possess a power that will be superior to these? Most certainly. Believe me, you can gain this only by a virtuous and religious life. This will enable you to triumph over them, as it did this good man,

"Whose duty done-as sinks the clay,
Light from its load the spirit flies;
While heaven and earth combine to say,
Sweet is the scene when virtue dies."

BY C. G. BARTH..

UPON a hill there stands a tree.
Where golden fruit is found,
'Tis meant for ev'ry land to see,

It shines for all around.

Here many come by day and night,

Its gold their fond pursuit,

They shake its branches with delight,
And bear away the fruit.

And yet its riches always stay,
The tree is never bare;
Whatever fruit is borne away,

As much still glitters there.

"What is its name?—and where its place? How can this wonder be?

Who now will tell us? - who can guess?" THE BIBLE IS THAT TREE.

RELIGION.

BY WILLIAM LEGGETT

LIKE snow that falls where waters glide,
Earth's pleasures fade away;
They melt in Time's destroying tide,
And cold are while they stay!
But joys that from Religion flow,
Like stars that gild the night,
Amidst the darkest gloom of woe,
Smile forth with sweetest light.

BY THOMAS GRAY.

A FATHER'S holiest gift, my child,
Lies in this blessed page;

Be it a light to guide your youth,

A staff to stay your age;

Trust it-trust me

your wayward foot

Can never wholly fall,

If steadfast through each joy and grief,
You make its light your all;

Through hope, and doubt, and sin, and dread,
The faithful pillow to your head.
If scoff or sceptic, doubt or sin,

Beset your trembling way,

Come here, my child, here gather strength,

Here, at this altar pray;

And you will find each doubt take flight,
Like shadows at the morning light.
When anguish smites your aching heart,
And griefs your bosom fill,

And one by one your joys depart,
Here be your refuge still;

How should you hope to 'scape the rod,
That spared not e'en the Son of God?
When doubtful what is right-

For doubts perplex an earthly lotTouch them with this Ithuriel's spear, And they will cheat you not;

Bring here your doubt-try- test it well
By this immortal ray,

And all but things of heaven revealed,
Will shrink abashed away;

Back to its den will sin be driven,

Before this clear full light from heaven.

When Death has closed your father's eyes, My child, remember this;

The grave that shuts him from your sight, Shuts not you out from his;

Then be this thought an amulet,

Within that earnest spirit set;