I had been three weeks absent; in that time
The merciless destroyer was at work,

And spar'd not one of all the infant group.
The last of all I read the grandsire's name,
On whose white locks I oft had seen her cheek
Like a bright sunbeam on a fleecy cloud
Rekindling in his eye the fading lustre,
Breathing into his heart the glow of youth.
He died at eighty of a broken heart,
Bereft of all for whom he wished to live.

JAMES GRAY.

THE HAPPY EVENING.

How blest is he whose tranquil mind,
When life declines, recalls again

The years that time has cast behind,
And reaps delight from toil and pain.

So, when the transient storm is past,
The sudden gloom and driving show'r,
The sweetest sunshine is the last,

The loveliest is the ev'ning hour.

ANON.

LINES LEFT AT A FRIEND'S HOUSE.

O THOU dread Pow'r, who reign'st above!
I know though wilt me hear:

When, for this scene of peace and love,
I make my pray'r sincere.

The hoary sire-the mortal stroke,
Long, long, be pleas'd to spare!

To bless his little filial flock,

And show what good men are.

She, who her lovely offspring eyes
With tender hopes and fears,
O, bless her with a mother's joys,
But spare a mother's tears!

Their hope, their stay, their darling youth,

In manhood's dawning blush!

Bless him, thou God of love and truth,
Up to a parent's wish!

The beauteous, seraph, sister-band,
With earnest tears, I pray,

Thou know'st the snares on ev'ry hand,
Guide thou their steps alway!

When soon or late they reach that coast,
O'er life's rough ocean driv'n,
May they rejoice, no wand'rer lost,
A family in Heav'n!

BURNS.

THE MISSIONARY.

He left his native land, and far away
Across the waters sought a world unknown,
Though well he knew that he in vain might stray
In search of one so lovely as his own.

He left his home, around whose humble hearth
His parents, kindred, all he valued, smiled-
Friends who had known and lov'dhimfrom his birth
And who still lov'd him as a favourite child.

Te left the scenes by youthful hopes endear'd— The woods, the streams that sooth'd his infant ear, The plants, the trees, that he himself had rear'd, And every charm to love and fancy dear.

All these he left, with sad but willing heart, Though unallured by honours, wealth, or fame, In them not even his wishes claim'd a part,

And the world knew not of his very name.

Canst thou not guess what taught his steps to stray? 'Twas love!-but not such love as worldlings That often smiles its sweetest to betray, [own, And stabs the breast that offer'd it a throne.

Twas love to God! and love to all mankind;

His master bade the obedient servant go,

And try if he in distant realms could find [know. Some, who His name and saving grace would 'Twas this that nerv'd him when he saw the tears His aged mother at their parting shed;

'Twas this that taught her how to calm her fears, And beg a heavenly blessing on his head.

'Twas this that made his father calmly bear
A godly sorrow, deep, but undismay'd—
And bade him humbly ask of God, in prayer,
His virtuous son to counsel, guide, and aid.
And when he rose to bless, and wish him well,
And bent a head with age and sorrow grey,
Ev'n while he breath'd a fond and last farewell,
Half sad, half joyful, dash'd his tears away.

"And go," he said, "though I, with mortal eyes, Shall ne'er behold thy filial reverence more; But, when from earth to heav'n our spirits rise, The hand that gave him shall my child restore. "I bid thee go, though human tears will steal From eyes that see the course thou hast to run And God forgive me if I wrongly feel,

Like Abraham call'd to sacrifice his son."

And he is gone! with ardent steps he prest
Across the hills, to where the vessel lay,
And soon, I ween upon the ocean's breast,
They saw the white sails bearing him away.
And did he go unfriended-poor-alone?

Did none of those, who, in a favour'd land,
The shelter of the gospel-tree had known,
Desire to see its peaceful shade expand?

'Tis not for me to answer questions here;
Let every heart its own responses give;
And all, to whom their fellow-men are dear
Bestow the bread by which their souls may live.

TIME speeds away-away-away:
Another hour-another day-
Another month-another year-
Drop from us like the leaflets sear;
Drop like the life-blood from our hearts;
The rose-bloom from the cheek departs,
The tresses from the temples fall,
The eye grows dim and strange to all.

Time speeds away-away-away:
Like torrent in a stormy day,
He undermines the stately tower,
proots the tree, and snaps the flower;
ed sweeps from our distracted breast
e friends that loved-the friends that blest:
d leaves us weeping on the shore,

which they can return no more.

Time speeds away-away-away:
No eagle through the skies of day,
No winds along the hills can flee
So swiftly or so smooth as he.
Like fiery steed-from stage to stage
He bears us on-from youth to age;
Then plunges in the fearful sea
Of fathomless Eternity.

KNOX'S SONGS OF ISRAEL.

IT IS GOOD TO BE HERE.

METHINKS it is good to be here,
If thou wilt let us build-but for whom?
Nor Elias, nor Moses appear,

But the shadows of eve that encompass the gloom,
The abode of the dead, and the place of the tomb.

Shall we build to ambition? Ah! no;

Affrighted he shrinketh away;

For see! they would pin him below

To a small narrow cave, and begirt with cold clay, To the meanest of reptiles a peer and a prey.

To Beauty? Ah! no; she forgets

The charms which she wielded before :

Nor knows the foul worm that he frets

The skin which, but yesterday, fools could adore For the smoothness it held, or the tint which it wore.

Shall we build to the purple of Pride,

The trappings which dizen the proud?

Alas! they are all laid aside,

And here's neither dress nor adornment allow'd, But the long winding sheet, and the fringe of the shroud.