With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod
And spread the furrow for the seed we sow;
This is the field and Acre of our God:

This is the place where human harvests grow!

Gverlasting life after death?

NOVEMBER.

H. F. Lyte.

HE autumn wind is moaning low the requiem of the year;

TH

The days are growing short again, the fields forlorn

and sere;

The sunny sky is waxing dim, and chill the hazy

air;

And tossing trees before the breeze are turning brown and bare.

All nature and her children now prepare for rougher

days:

The squirrel makes his winter bed, and hazel hoard

purveys;

The sunny swallow spreads his wings to seek a brighter sky;

And boding owl, with nightly howl, says cloud and storm are nigh.

No more 'tis sweet to walk abroad among the evening dews:

The flowers are fled from every path, with all their scents and hues :

The joyous bird no more is heard, save where his slender song

The robin drops, as meek he hops the withered leaves among.

Those withered leaves, that slender song, a solemn truth convey,

In wisdom's ear they speak aloud of frailty and

decay:

They say, that man's appointed year shall have its winter too;

Shall rise and shine, and then decline, as all around him do.

They tell him, all he has on earth, his brightest dearest things,

His loves and friendships, joys and hopes, have all their falls and springs:

A wave upon a moon-lit sea, a leaf before the blast, A summer flower, an April hour, that gleams and hurries past.

And be it so I know it well: myself, and all that's mine,

Must roll on with the rolling year, and ripen to decline.

I do not shun the solemn truth: to him it is not

drear

Whose hopes can rise above the skies, and see a Saviour near.

It only makes him feel with joy, this earth is not his home;

It sends him on from present ills to brighter hours to come:

It bids him take with thankful heart whate'er his God may send,

Content to go through weal or woe to glory in the

end.

Then murmur on, ye

my doom:

wintry winds; remind me of

Ye lengthened nights, still image forth the darkness of the tomb.

Eternal summer lights the heart where Jesus deigns to shine.

I mourn no loss, I shun no cross, so Thou, O Lord, art mine!

The Resurrection of the flesh; and everlasting life after

death?

RESURRECTION AND IMMORTALITY.

HEBREWS X. 20.

Henry Vaughan.

BODY.

I.

FT have I seen-when that renewing breath

OF That binds and loosens death,

Inspired a quick'ning power through the dead
Creatures a-bed-

Some drowsie silk-worm creep
From that long sleepe,

And, in weak infant hummings, chime and knell
About her silent cell;

Until at last, full with the vital ray,

She winged away;

And proud with life and sense
Heaven's rich expense,

Esteemed (vain thing) of two whole elements
As mean, and span-extents.

Shall I then think such Providence will be
Lesse friend to me?

Or that He can endure to be unjust

Who keeps His covenant even with our dust?

SOULE.

II.

Poore querulous handful, was't for this
I taught thee all that is?
Unbowel'd Nature, showed thee her recruits,
And change of suits;

And how of death we make

A mere mistake?

For no thing can to nothing fall, but still
Incorporates by skill,

And then returns, and from the wombe of things
Such treasure brings

As phoenix-like renew'th
Both life and youth.

For a persevering Spirit doth still passe
Untainted through this masse

Which doth resolve, produce, and ripen all
That to it fall;

Nor are those births, which we
Thus suffering see,

Destroyed at all; but when time's restless wave
Their substance doth deprave,

And the more noble Essence finds his house
Sickly and loose,

He, ever young, doth wing
Unto that spring

And source of spirits, where he takes his lot
Till time no more shall rot

His passive cottage; which, (though laid aside,)
Like some spruce bride