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mitted to your trust! These children, in all probability, will be happy or miserable in eternity, according to the course you pursue with them. They have this day been admitted into the congregation of Christ's flock ; they have been invested with great and glorious privileges; but whether those privileges will ever be of any service to them, depends, in a very considerable degree, upon you. I do entreat you, therefore, for your children's sake, and for your own sakes, seek with all diligence and earnestness the kingdom of God and his righteousness."

This was the baptism. And it awakened in the mind of Mr. N. a lively interest in the word of God, and the salvation of his soul. His whole heart was gradually changed. He became a new man; and the affections of his soul, his mental powers, all his temporal affairs, all his domestic duties, felt the change. His children soon became partakers of his heavenly blessing. He diligently and prayerfully trained them for the skies. And though in one short year he was called upon to part with three out of their number, he bowed in meek submission to the supreme will of the LORD.

But he was visited of God, by a severe trial of his faith. His eldest son, who was not present at the baptism, and who declared that he would not submit to it except by force, matured his feelings of depravity with vile associates. He forsook his father's house. and he despised his father's tears and prayers. His mother on her death-bed, knew no pang but one. It was the thought of her James, ker prodigal. He came to her apartment, and she appealed to him in the most touching language, but in vain. He soon returned to his associates and to his sins. And on the waters of the lake, without regard to the statutes and ordinance of the Almighty, whose wonders were around him, he lived without God and without hope. But in a storm, which spread its awful terrors over his frail bark, he at last experienced the severity of judgment. He was in sight of shore, and near his father's house. But on a wreck, he was at the mercy of the furious gale. Upon the beach his friends assembled. And there too was his distracted father. Without thinking of himself so much as to protect his head from the chill blast, the venerable man had risen from his seat, and hastened to the agonizing spectacle. And as his long white locks were flowing in the

as about to sweep his " James" into destruction, he implored, “O save my child, I will give all that I possess if any one will make the effort.” But all attempts would have been vain. A gloomy night soon mingled its thick darkness with the frowning storm. The weeping father now reluctantly withdraws, yet earnestly ejaculates, “0 God, help me to bow in humble submission to this dispensation, and say thy will be done."

From that time, he became entirely absorbed in heavenly things. He lived and died a Christian. “ Pea

ed and died a Christian. “Peace,” said Mr. Heyden, as he concluded the narrative, “ Peace be to his memory.”

The sacrament of baptism, blessed to the spiritual good of Mr. Northend and all his family, except the one profligate companion of the ungodly, is an interesting and instructive theme, profitable for reflection. The incidents are well disclosed; and the narrative iş Auch, as to awaken a concern on this important subject,

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POETRY,

HOME OF THE CHRISTIAN.
Written for the Monthly Repository and Library of Entertaining

Knowledge. By Rev. JOSEPI RUSLING.
On the high clifts of Jordan with pleasure I stand,
And view in bright prospect the fair promised land;
The land where “the ransomed with singing shall come,”
To dwell in the kingdom prepared as their Home.
There, rivers most graceful eternally glide,
And groves, rich with verdure, grow up by their side ;
There, hosts of bright spirits angelic become,
In that heavenly kingdom of Glory, their Home.
'Tis there, all the nations redeemed by the Lamb,
In circles most lovely his praises proclaim;
Thro’ scenes of affiction those worthies have come,
To rest in the kingdom of Glory, their Home.
All over those peaceful, delectable plains,
The Lord our Redeemer triumphantly reigns;
His sceptre of empire with grandeur resumes, ,
And kindly he welcomes his followers Home.

How happy those beautiful realms of repose,
Whence splendid and pure immortality arose;
The regions ambrosial in infinite bloom,
“The kingdom of heaven,” the christian's Home.
The pleasures of Glory, O! when shall I share,
And crowns of celestial felicity wear;
Those landscapes to range undisturbed with a sigh,
The Home of my Father's God's Palace on high.

HOME.
Seest thou my home? 'Tis where yon woods are waving

In their dark richness to the sunny air ;
Where yon blue stream a thousand flower-banks laving,

Leads down the hill a vein of light-'tis there.
'Midst these green haunts how many a spring lies gleaming,

Fringed with the violet, coloured with the skies
My boyhood's haunts, through days of summer dreaming,

Under young leaves that shook with melodies !
My home--the spirit of its love is breathing

In every wind that plays across my track;
From its white walls the very tendrils wreathing,

Seem with soft links to draw the wanderer back.

There am I loved! There prayed for! There my mother

Sits by the hearth, with meekly thoughtful eye! There my young sisters watch to greet their brother

Soon their glad footsteps down the lane would fly!

There, in sweet strains of kindred music blending,

All the home voices meet at day's decline;
One are those tones, as from one heart ascending-

There lies my home-and, stranger where is thine ?

line?

Ask where the earth's departed have their dwelling,

Ask of the clouds, the stars, the trackless air ?
I know it not, yet trust the whisper telling

My lonely heart, that love unchang'd is there.
And what is home ? and where, but with the living ?,

Happy thou art that so canst gaze on thine!
My spirit feels, but in its weary roving

That with the dead, where'er they be—is mine.

Go to thy home, rejoicing son and brother!

Bear in fresh gladness to the household scene!
For me, too, watch the sister and the mother,
I will believe—but dark seas roll between.

J. HOLFAST.

TO THE IVY.

Lone tenant of the wasted spot

Where softened Desolation smiles,
And:weeds are spread o'er graves forgot,

And Ruin sighs from grass grown aisles ;
Still present round each withered trunk,

Like youth which cheers the path of age;
Or where the river wall has sunk

Beneath Destruction's leaguering rage.
Child of decay! No blushing flower,

Or cup of treasured sweets, is thine.
To breathe in Beauty's fragrant bower,

Or charm where statelier rivals shine.
The column of the desert place,

The Warrior's cross, the nameless stone,
Receive thy clasping boughs' embrace,

And show thy clustering wreaths alone.

Yet, type of Truth when Fortune wanes;
” And Grief, that haunts the mouldering tomb;
And Love, that "strong as death” sustains

The whirlwind's shock and tempest's gloom :

To me thy mournful leaf excels :

The fairest buds, whose petals fling Their odors where the Summer dwells,

· Or gem the verdant robe of Spring. The violet and the queen-like rose

Frail minions of a passing day,
Brief as the faith which Falsehoood shows,

But bloom whilo lasts their worshipped ray; Yet thou-bencath the howling blast,

When all is drear, art smiling on, Unchanged, unshrinking, to the last,

And green when even hope is gone,

MORAL DEAUTY. 'Tis not alone in the flush of morn. In the cowslip bell or the blossom thorn In noon's high hour, or twilight's hush, In the shadowy stream, on the rose's blush, Or in aught that nature's pencil gives, That the spirit of beauty serenely lives. Oh no! it lives, and breathes, and lies, In a home more pure than the morning skies; In the innocent heart it loves to dwell, When it comes, with a sigh or tear, to tell Sweet dreams that low from a fount of love, To mingle with all that is pure above. It lives in the heart where Mercy's cye Looks out on the world with charity; Whose generous hand delights to heal The wounds that sorrowing mourners feel, Without a wish, or a hope or thought, That light shall shine on the deeds it wrought. It lives, in the breast that naught inspires But manly feelings and high desires, Where nothing can come like a selfish dream, When visions of glory around it gleam Proud visions, that show a listed mind, The boundless sphere of the human kind. Sweet spirit of beauty! my visions are thine, But I lose thee not when the day-beams shine ; Thy image is still my constant gaze, In the midnight hour or noontide blaze, And none can tell but a heart unsold, The fervor of joy which thy lovers hold.

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