And when that breathless, wasting clay
Again shall feel the life-blood play,
When on the cell, where dark it lies,
A morn of piercing light shall rise,
O whither then shall guilt retire,
Or how avoid the eyes of fire?

O man, with heaven's own honors bright,
And fall'st thou thus, thou child of light F
And still shall heirs on heirs anew
The melancholy jest pursue?
And, born the offspring of the sky,
In folly live in darkness die?

But I on thee depend, O Lord,
My hope, my help, and high reward;
Thy word illumes my feeble eyes;
Thy, Spirit all my strength supplies ;-
In sickness thou my aid shalt be,
And death but gives me all to Thee !

THE PROSPECT OF DEATH

REV. MR. EASTBURN.

When sailing on this troubled sea
Of pain and tears and agony,

Though wildly roar the waves around,
With restless and repeated sound,
"Tis sweet to think that on our eyes
A lovelier clime shall yet arise ;

That we shall wake from sorrow's dream
Beside a pure and living stream.

Yet we must suffer here below
Unnumbered pangs of grief and woe;
Nor must the trembling heart repine,
But all unto its God resign;

In weakness and in pain made known,
His powerful mercy shall be shown,
Until the fight of faith is o'er,

And earth shall vex the soul no more!

SONNET.

BLANCO WHITE.

Mysterious Night! When our first Parent knew

Thee from report divine, and heard thy name,
Did he not tremble for this lovely frame,

This glorious canopy of light and blue?
Yet, 'neath a curtain of translucent dew;

Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame,

Hesperus with the host of heaven came, And lo! creation widened in man's view.

Who could have thought such darkness lay con cealed

Within thy beams, O Sun? or who could find, Whilst fly, and leaf, and insect stood revealed, That to such countless orbs thou would'st us

blind?

Why do we then shun death with anxious strife If light can thus deceive, wherefore not life?

THE SOLITARY SUNBEAM.

The sunbeams infinitely small,
In numbers numberless,
Reveal, pervade, illumine all
Nature's void wilderness.

But, meeting worlds upon their way,
Wrapt in primeval night,

In language without sound, they say
To each "God sends you light.”

Anon, with beauty, life and love,
Those wandering planets glow,

And shine themselves, as stars above,
On gazers from below.

Oh! could the first archangel's eye

In everlasting space,

Through all the mazes of the sky,
A single sunbeam trace,

He might behold that lonely one
Its destiny fulfill,

As punctual as the parent sun
Performs its Maker's will.

SICKNESS LIKE NIGHT.

MRS. HEMANS.

Thou art like night, O sickness! deeply stilling Within my heart the world's disturbing sound, And the dim quiet of my chamber filling

With low, sweet voices, by life's tumult drowned.

Thou art like awful night! Thou gatherest round The things that are unseen, though close they lie, And with a truth, clear, startling and profouud, Giv'st their dread presence to our mortal eye.

Thou art like starry, spiritual night!

High and immortal thoughts attend thy way, And revelations, which the common light

Brings not, though wakening with its rosy ray All outward life. Be welcome, then, thy rod, Before whose touch my soul unfolds itself to God.

THE MARINER'S COMPASS:

See the magnetic needle lightly rest
Upon its pivot-delicate yet strong;
And (as the reeling vessel sweeps along;)
It trembles with the ocean's trembling breast.

A ripple moves it easily depressed,

But never conquered, though fierce whirlwinds

roar;

Again it points to a far distant shore, Swayed by a spell unseen, yet still confessed.

And so the Christian on life's troubled sea,
Forever shaken yet forever true,

Turns to the haven where he fain would be;

His trials many, such his triumphs too; Feels a mysterious power pervade his thrilling soul, And with exulting faith obeys its strong control.