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however, to ascribe to human efforts that which alone proceeds from the wonder-working spirit of our God. In the present instance, the daughter was made the blest instrument to accomplish His high and holy bidding. A stranger almost, as the Jew was, even to the letter of the gospel, he needed instruction in the very rudiments of Christianity. And here Tirzah was the patient, persevering, and delighted teacher. Her spirit never wearied in its task of comparing, expounding, and recapitulating scriptures, for his more perfect satisfaction. But the Heavenly Teacher impresses upon the understanding and the heart a new language, new sight, and new impulses, by one Almighty effort. The language and the love of Heaven seem to be conveyed in a single mysterious lesson. No one knows how, and perhaps not when; but there it is in the heart, to be felt and seen, an unerring badge to mark the child of God. As the Jew became acquainted with the speculative faith of Christianity, this blessed illumination of the spirit was not withheld. With peace of mind came health. He was restored to his Tirzah, not

only for this world, but for the world to come. She asked his life of God, and he gave long life, even for ever and ever,' to the prayers of the Christian Daughter.

P. H. E.

A FATHER TO HIS DAUGHTER,

ON PRESENTING HER A BIBLE.

No diamond bright, nor ruby rare,
To grace thy neck, adorn thy hair,

My dearest child I give;

These are vain toys, that please awhile,
But, like the rainbow's transient smile,
Their beauty cannot live.

This sacred treasure, far more dear
Than diamond, pearl, or ruby clear,

This living gift divine,

A father's love presents to thee;
Oh, may it to thy spirit be

What it has been to mine.

A solace, hope, unerring guide, Companion constant at thy side, To check the wrong desire;

A faithful monitor to warn,

Its purity thy soul adorn,

Its promises inspire.

I'LL THINK OF THEE.

I'LL think of thee at that lone midnight hour
When all is hushed in tranquil, sweet repose,
When the wind waves gently through each tree or
flower,

When the night bird warbles her low tale of woes.

And as I watch that star shoot from its sphere, And dart with swiftness through the spangled

heaven,

At that still hour will fall the unbidden tear,
For moments past-for hopes that have been riven.

And when the moon hath climb'd her topmost height, And sits serenely o'er that cloud-capt tower, Shedding sweet influence—with her mellow light Gaily illumining every vale and bower,

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