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The dreary intercourse of daily life,
EARLY piety is often EMINENT piety.
The Mother's Dream.
“And I will give him the Bright and Morning Star.”
METHOUGHT once more to my wishful eye,
My beautiful boy had come :
And gladness was round my home!
I saw the form of my dear lost child :
All kindled with life he came,
As soon as I named his name.
The raiment he wore looked heavenly wbite,
As the feathery snow comes down,
That fell from his dazzling crown.
His brow was bright with a joy serene
His cheek with the deathless bloom, That only the eye of my soul hath seen,
When looking beyond the tomb.
The odour of flowers from that fair land,
Where we deem that our blest ones are, Seemed borne in his skirts, and his small right hand
Was holding a radiant star!
His feet unshod, as from out the shroud,
Were pure as the opening bell
Of glory that round him fell. 2L
THE MOTHER'S DREAM.
I asked him where he had been so long,
Away from his mother's care-
And to kneel by my side in prayer.
Is not for an earthly ear-
For the hosts of Heaven to hear.
“ It was but a gentle fleeting breath,
That severed thy child from thee-
Hath ministered life to me.
“My voice in an angel choir I lift,
And high are the notes we raise :
And the giver who has our praise.
“ The · Bright and the Morning Star' is He,
Who bringeth eternal day;
To lighten thine earthly way.
“ The race is short to a peaceful goal
And He is never afar,
I will give him the Morning Star!"
And pure to its crystal top-
And numbered every drop.
“ Whilst thou wast teaching my lips to move,
And my heart to rise in prayer,
THE MOTHER'S DREAM.
I learned the way to a home above,
And the home of thy child is there!
“ The secret prayer thou hast made for me,
That only thy God hath known, Arose as incense, Holy, free,
And gathered around His throne.
“ I filled my robe with the perfume sweet,
To shed them on this world's air,
For the glorious crown I wear.
6 And now in that blissful world of ours,
The waters of Life I drink,
That grow by the fountain's brink !
“ No thorn is hidden to wound me there
There's nothing like chill or blight, Or sighing, to blend with the balmy air,
No sorrow, no care, no night.”.
No parting? I asked, in a burst of joy,
And the lovely illusion broke:
To a shadowy void I spoke.
But Oh! that “star of the morn” still beams
With light to direct my feet,
H. F. GOULD.
- The journals of the early Friends or Quakers are invaluable. Little, it is true, can be said as a general thing of their literary merits. Their authors were plain, earnest men and women, chiefly intent upon the substance of things, and having withal a strong testimony to bear against carnal wit and outside show and ornament. Yet, even the scholar may well admire the power of certain portions of George Fox's Journal, where a strong spirit clothes its utterance in simple, downright Saxon words ; the quiet and beautiful enthusiasm of Pennington ; the torrent energy of Edward Burrough; the serene wisdom of Penn; the logical acuteness of Barclay; the honest truthfulness of Sewell; the wit and humour of John Roberts, (for even Quakerism had its apostolic jokers and drab-coated Robert Halls ;) and last, not least, the simple beauty of Woolman's Journal, the modest record of a life of good works and love.
Thomas Ellwood was born in 1639, in the little town of Crowell, in Oxfordshire. Old Walter, his father, was of « gentlemanly lineage,” and held a commission of the peace under Charles I. One of his most intimate friends was Isaac Pennington, a gentleman of estate and good reputation, whose wife, the widow of Sir William Springette, was a lady of superior endowments. Her only daughter, Gulielma, was the playmate and companion of Thomas. On making this family a visit, in 1658, in company with his father, he was surprised to find that they had united with the Quakers, a sect then little known, and every where spoken against. Passing through the vista of nearly two centuries, let us cross the threshold, and look with the eyes of young Ellwood upon this Quaker family. It will doubtless give us a good idea of the earnest and solemn spirit of that age of religious awakening. “So great a change from a free, debonair, and courtly sort of