We look'd on her as one of heavenly birth: A precious treasure lent awhile to earth.

Yet health had never glow'd upon her cheekEach day she grew more languid, pale, and weak;

She droop'd and wither'd, like some fading flower,

Which the dark storm has blighted by its power;

Disease and pain were wearing life away, And bent her fragile form beneath their sway.

Oft when, at night, her feverish couch she prest,

Her throbbing temples sought in vain for rest.
In weary tossings to and fro she lay,

And longed in touching accents for the day.
Then would her gentle sister softly tell
The simple stories which she lov'd so well,
And try that little sufferer to soothe

With the sweet narratives of sacred truth.

Once, when the child awoke with plaintive

moans,

She told to her, in rich expressive tones,
How when an angry storm arose at sea,
And waves like rolling mountains seem'd to be,
When red-fork'd lightning darted o'er the head,
And dark forebodings fill'd each mind with
dread,

The Saviour, by his own Almighty skill,

Said to the raging waters," Peace, be still." Then the fierce tempest yielded to his sway, And the proud sea in meek subjection lay.

This simple sentence sooth'd with magic power The little mourner in that midnight hour; And, as the gentle infant sinks to rest, Calmly she slept upon her sister's breast.

Months roll'd away-and still she linger'd here,

Opprest with languor, worn by pain severe,
Yet patient and submissive-full of love!
She seem'd preparing for the courts above.
Though often, with consuming fever prest,
Weary and faint she sought, but found no rest,
Oh! never did the holy influence fail,
Which first accompanied that touching tale.
In those dark hours, the whisper, " Peace, be

still,"

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Would in her ears like heavenly music thrill, Bidding the sounds of grief and sorrow cease, Till, tranquil and compos'd, she slept in peace.

At length, the hour of sweet release drew nigh, When she should join the white-rob'd hosts on high;

Too pure
for such a darken'd world as this,
The Saviour call'd her to the realms of bliss.
The brilliant eye was dim and clouded now,
And death was written on that marble brow:
Yet, ere the gentle spirit took its flight
To the fair world of uncreated light,

She ask'd in trembling accents, once again,
For those sweet words to ease her dying pain;
Oh, sister! will you tell me-yes you will-
How Christ said to the waters, Peace, be

still!'"

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She listen'd-faint and fainter grew each breath;

She smil❜d serenely, in the arms of death; One gentle sigh escap'd her heaving breast, And all was pure, seraphic, endless rest!

ANON.

CREATION.

FROM the throne of the Highest the mandate came forth,

The word of Omnipotent God;

And the elements fashion'd his footstool, the earth,

And the heavens his holy abode;

And his Spirit mov'd over the fathomless flood

Of waters that fretted in darkness around, Until, at his bidding, their turbulent mood Was hush'd to a calm, and obedient they stood Where he fix'd their perpetual bound.

By the word of Omnipotence, valley and hill Were cloth'd with the grass and the flower; And the fruit-tree expanded its blooms by the rill,

And the nourishing herb in the bower; And the sun of the morning, the fountain of light,

Threw his cherishing rays through creation

afar;

And the region of darkness, the season of light, The sister of Chaos, grew beauteous and bright By the beams of the moon and the star.

By the word of Omnipotence nature brought forth

The fish, and the beast, and the bird: And they play'd in the waters, and brows'd on the earth,

And the air by their carol was stirr'd; And man, in the image and likeness of God, Erected his person, majestic and tall; And though, like a worm, he was form'd of the clod,

Yet the favourite of Heaven, he conspicuously trod,

The lord and possessor of all.

From the work of creation, which rose by his word,

When finish'd the heavens and the earth, On the seventh day rested the Omnipotent Lord,

As he look'd on each beautiful birth; On the firmament, stretch'd from the east to the west,

On the far-flowing sea, and the fast-teeming land;

And he saw they were good-and the sabbath

was blest,

The sabbath-the sanctified season of rest

To the creatures that came from his hand.

KNOX.

HUMAN LIFE.

I WALK'D the fields at morning's prime,
The grass was ripe for mowing;
The sky-lark sang his matin chime,
And all was brightly glowing.

"And thus," I cried, " the ardent boy,
His pulse with rapture beating,
Deems life's inheritance is joy—
The future proudly greeting."

I wander'd forth at noon: alas!
On earth's maternal bosom

The scythe had left the withering grass,
And stretch'd the fading blossom.

And thus, I thought, with many a sigh,
The hopes we fondly cherish,
Like flowers which blossom but to die,
Seem only born to perish.

Once more, at eve, abroad I stray'd, Through lonely hay-fields musing; While every breeze that round me play'd Rich fragrance was diffusing.

The perfum'd air, the hush of eve,
To purer hopes appealing,

O'er thoughts perchance too prone to grieve,
Scatter'd the balm of healing.

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