Springing in valleys green and low,
And on the mountains high;
And in the silent wilderness,
Where no man passes by?

Our outward life requires them not;
Then wherefore had they birth?
To minister delight to man,

To beautify the earth.

MARY HOWITT.

THE SUNDAY SCHOOL.

GROUP after group are gathering. Such as pressed
Once to their Saviour's arms, and gently laid
Their cherub heads upon his shielding breast
Though sterner souls the fond approach forbade,-
Group after group glide on with noiseless tread,
And round Jehovah's sacred altar meet,
Where holy thoughts in infant hearts are bred,

And holy words their ruby lips repeat,

Oft with a chastened glance, in modulation sweet.

Yet some there are, upon whose childish brows
Wan poverty hath done the work of care :

Look up, ye

sad ones!-'tis your Father's house,

Beneath whose consecrated dome you are; More gorgeous robes ye see, and trappings rare, And watch the gaudier forms that gaily move, And deem, perchance, mistaken as you are,

The "coat of many colours" proves His love, Whose sign is in the heart, and whose reward above.

And ye, bless'd labourers in this humble sphere,
To deeds of saintlike charity inclined,
Who from your cells of meditation dear,

Come forth to gird the weak untutored mind,—
Yet ask no payment, save one smile refined

Of grateful love,-one tear of contrite pain,Meekly ye forfeit to your mission kind

The rest of earthly Sabbaths.-Be your gain A Sabbath without end, mid yon celestial plain. MRS. SIGOURNEY.

THE SABBATH MORN.

WELCOME once more, delightful morn!
I hail each bright returning ray;
I love the peaceful rising dawn,
That ushers in the holy day.

The hours how sweet, the day how blest,
The calm repose, the kind retreat;
That gives the weary christian rest,
And feeds his soul with joys replete.

I love to meet the little throng
Of humble saints, and join their prayers;
And in their sweet melodious song,
I love to blend my voice with theirs.

Their wing'd devotions warmly breath'd,
Like incense from the altar rise:
While praises join the morning breeze,
And soar aloft to reach the skies.

O what a feast! how richly spread!
Stupendous love! transcendent grace!
If Jesus o'er his people shed

The radiant beauties of his face.

What inward

peace the saints possess;
What heavenly joys they taste below :
Not wise philosophers can guess;
Nor can the worldling ever know.

What though yon rising sun must set,
In darkest gloom of midnight shade;
And sabbaths must their course forget;
And all below the skies must fade:

There is an endless sabbath day

That knows no eve, knows no decline; Where Christ shall his bright beams display,

And all his splendid glories shine.

There is the humble christian's rest,

When he shall cease to breathe this air;
And what is now in part possest,

Shall rise in full fruition there.

FRANCIS CROSS.

SABBATH EVENING.

Is there a time when moments flow
More peacefully than all beside?
It is of all the times below,

A sabbath eve in summer's tide.

Oh! then the setting sun smiles fair;
And all below and all above,

The different forms of nature wear,
One universal garb of love.

And then the peace that Jesus beams,
The life of grace, the death of sin,
When nature's placid woods and streams,
Is peace without, and peace within.

Delightful scene! a world at rest,
A God all love, no grief, no fear,
A heavenly hope, a peaceful breast,
A smile unsullied by a tear!

If heaven be ever felt below,
A scene so heavenly, sure, as this,
May cause a heart on earth to know
Some foretaste of celestial bliss.

Delightful hour! how soon will night
Spread her dark mantle o'er thy reign.
And soon the morn's returning light
Will call us to the world again!

Yet there will dawn, at last, a day;
A sun that never sets, shall rise;
Night will not veil his glorious ray ;-
The heavenly Sabbath never dies.

EDMESTON.

A DIRGE.

"EARTH to earth, and dust to dust!"

Here the evil and the just,

Here the youthful and the old,
Here the fearful and the bold,
Here the matron and the maid,
In one silent bed are laid;
Here the vassal and the king
Side by side lie withering;

Here the sword and sceptre rust—

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Earth to earth, and dust to dust!"

Age on age shall roll along,

O'er this pale and mighty throng;
Those that wept them, those that weep,
All shall with these sleepers sleep.

Brothers, sisters of the worm,
Summer's sun, or winter's storm,

Song of peace, or battle's roar,

Ne'er shall break their slumbers more.

Death shall keep his sullen trust—

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Earth to earth, and dust to dust!"