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TREES FOR THE PILGRIM'S WREATH.

Knowing that tribulation worketh patience, and patience experience, and experience hope; and hope maketh not ashamed.

ROMANS, V., 3-5.

TRIBULATION, if by loss,
Or by thorny gain, the cross,
Thou art not a barren tree,

Seeds of Patience drop from thee.

Patience, bitter from thy root,
Upward, till we reach the fruit,
Thou hast golden grains to sow,
Whence Experience full shall grow.

Broad Experience, rank and dark ;
Thick in leaves, and rough in bark;
Through thy dubious shade we grope,
Till we grasp the bough of Hope !

Hope, we're not ashamed, with thee
Showered by drops from Calvary, —
When thy branches shoot and bloom
Through a Saviour's broken tomb.

Trees, whereof the Pilgrim weaves,
For his crown, the mingled leaves,
Wreaths of you are rich and bright;
Earth's the shade, and Heaven's the light.

H. F. GOULD.

SONG OF HOPE.

THERE is a hope, a radiant hope,

That warms the heart of youth ; And bids it deem this vale of tears

A Paradise of truth.

It tells of firm, devoted love

That knows not how to change; Of faithful and enduring friends,

Who grow not cold and strange; Of sunny days and starry nights

On life's untroubled sea :

Such was the first delusive hope

That cast a spell o'er me.

There is a hope, more dazzling still,

That glads our riper years : With stirring, busy images

The eager mind it cheers.

It tells of scenes of courtly state,

And sounds of silvery praise, -
The coronal of flashing gems,

The wreath of envied bays.
Amid earth's great and gifted ones

It bids us proudly be:
Such was the second cheating hope

That cast a spell o'er me.

There is a hope divine and pure,

A hope that never dies !
It dwells upon a glorious land,

Beyond the vaulted skies;
And bids us lift our chastened thoughts

Earth's vanities above :
It aids us to support the loss

Of human faith and love;
It tells us of a future life

With spirits blest and free: Such is my last, best hope, O Lord !

A hope that rests on Thee.

MRS. ABDY.

THE SOLITARY MAN.

He had not sought the joy sublime,

Nor made the goodly pearl secure, That will defy the power of time,

And through eternity endure. And yet, he needed them; for all

His fondly-cherished hopes had fled; And peace to him was past recall,

He lived, while those he loved were dead!

His spirit bowed not in his grief

For balm, before his Father's throne: From sympathy he shunned relief,

And moved in crowds, but felt alone. He bent his footsteps to the tomb,

A sad and solitary man; And there, 'mid silence, death, and gloom,

To kindred dust his plaint began:

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