My wants may be great, And earthly friends few, Yet on him I'll wait

Whatever I do;

For he in the heavens

Well knows what I need; I know from the ravens His children he'll feed.

I'll bow to his throne,
And never despair,
But thankfully own

His fatherly care;
To him in the heavens

I'll lift up my voice; I'll think of the ravens,

And always rejoice.

THE BEREAVED.

BY JAMES MONTGOMERY.

IFT up thine eyes, afflicted soul!

L From earth uplift thine eyes,

Though dark the evening shadows roll,
And daylight beauty dies;

One sun is set,—a thousand more

Their rounds of glory run,

Where science leads thee to explore

In every star a sun.

Thus when some long-loved comfort ends,

And nature would despair,

Faith to the heaven of heaven ascends

And meets ten thousand there;

First faint and small, then clear and bright, They gladden all the gloom,

As stars, that seem but points of light,

The rank of suns assume.

A

ROMAN PILGRIMS.

N old man and his daughter fair Were bowed before a shrine, The father with his thin gray hair, The maiden in her prime.

Together they, 'mid storm and rain,
Had journeyed many a day,
To reach Saint Peter's ancient fane,
Within its church to pray.

With travel worn, with care oppressed,
They sought the House of Prayer,
They left it-strengthened and refreshed-
"For God had met them there."

FATHERLAND.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "SELWYN."

DD, you ever, my young

ID you ever, my young readers, in this fickle

climate of ours, enjoy the luxury of drinking tea out of doors, in a shady arbor, on a thoroughly fine summer evening? If so, you will be more likely to understand the intense enjoyment of a party of young friends of mine, who one day found themselves in this enviable situation, in the garden of a beautiful villa, near the large town of Hull.

Tea, with all its accompaniments, comprising the seasonable one of strawberries and cream, was just over; when the sounds of music of some description burst suddenly in full chorus on the ear from behind the garden hedge.