Nor turn, with cold and scornful eye, With kindest tones be blended. The seeds of good are every where ; While many a tempted soul hath been THOU ART NOT LOST. THOU art not lost. Thy spirit giveth Immortal peace, and high it liveth! Thou art not absent. Sweetly smiling, I see thee yet, my griefs beguiling! Soft, o'er my slumbers art thou beaming, Thine eyelids seem not yet concealing Their living charms my heart stil. numbers; - for still thou'rt meeting As kind thou art ;· THE MISSION OF CHRIST UNIVERSAL. Он, yes! there is joy in sincerely believing, ceiving Such wealth as a Father alone can bestow. Then away It was not to lay in the path of the blinded High walls, over which they must stumble and fall, That He came, all sublime and serene and highminded, And laid down his life a redemption for all! It was not to slaughter, in anger and blindness, The wandering lambs that were dying of cold, That he lifted them up to his bosom in kindness, And brought them all home to their rest in the fold. He is good, and the heart that serenely reposes And lays down its burthens to rest in his love, Will find that the door of salvation ne'er closes So long as one sinner continues to rove. He loves the young lambs, though afar they are straying, He seeks out the weary with tender concern; Oh hear His soft voice in the wilderness praying, "To the arms of your Saviour poor lost ones return!" MRS. S. C EDGARTON MAYO. 1819-1848. THE GOSPEL'S PROMISES FOR ALL. POUR, blesséd Gospel, glorious news for man! Thy stream of life o'er springless deserts roll: Thy bond of peace the mighty earth can span, And make one brotherhood from pole to pole. On, piercing Gospel, on! of every heart, From their dull slumbers savage souls shall start, Spread, mighty Gospel, spread thy soaring wings! Proclaim them all thine own; 'tis Christ's command! C. ASHWORTH.-1709-1744. A WALK IN A CHURCHYARD. WE walked within the churchyard bounds, My little boy and I; He, laughing, running happy rounds I, pacing mournfully. "Nay, child, it is not well," I said, A moment to my side he clung, A moment stilled his joyous tongue, Then quite forgetting the command, In life's exulting burst Of early glee, let go my hand, And now I did not check him more, She spread no funeral-pall above But the same azure vault of love As hung o'er all around. And white clouds o'er that spot would pass As freely as elsewhere; The sunshine on no other grass A richer hue might wear. And, formed from out that very mould In which the dead did lie, The daisy, with its eye of gold, The rook was wheeling overhead, Nor hastened to be gone; The small bird did its glad notes shed, And God, I said, would never give Nor bid in childhood's heart to live If our one wisdom were to mourn, Oh, no! the glory earth puts on, The child's unchecked delight, |