THE LESSONS OF DEATH.

He knelt beside a murmuring summer brook,
And turned to Heaven's bright land a longing look,
As if in Canaan his possession lay.

"Oh, who can sorrow when the good depart?

When captive souls obtain their sweet release? Our friend has gone to share the better part!' How can we mourn? Why lay his loss to heart, Who sleeps in Jesus, and whose end is peace?"

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ANDREWS NORTON.

It will be in vain for us to stand by the open grave of departed worth, if no earthly passion grows cool and no holy purpose gains strength.

We are liable, in this world, to continual delusion; to a most extravagant over-estimate of the value of its objects. With respect to many of our cares and pursuits, the sentiment expressed in the words of David must have borne, with all its truth and force, upon the mind of every considerate man, in some moments, at least, of serious reflection. Surely every one walketh in a vain show; surely they are disquieted in vain. The next month, or the next year, often

assumes in our eyes a most disproportionate importance, and almost excludes from our view all the other infinite variety of concerns and changes which are to follow in the course of an immortal existence. The whole happiness of our being seems to be sometimes at stake upon the success of a plan, which, when we have grown but a little older, we may regard with indifference. These are subjects on which reason too commonly speaks to us in vain. But there is one lesson which God sometimes gives us, that brings the truth home to our hearts. There is an admonition which addresses itself directly to our feelings, and before which they bow in humility and tears. We can hardly watch the gradual decay of a man eminent for virtue and talents, and hearing him uttering, with a voice that will soon be heard no more, the last expressions of piety and holy hope, without feeling that the delusions of life are losing their power over our minds. Its true purposes begin to appear to us in their proper distinctness. We are accompanying one who is about to take his leave of present objects; to whom the things of this life, merely, are no longer of any interest or value. The eye, which is still turned to us in kindness, will in a few days be closed forever. The hand by which ours is still pressed will be motionless. The affections, which are still warm and vivid-they will not perish; but we shall know nothing of their exercise. We shall be cut off from all expressions and return of sympathy. whom we love is taking leave of us for an undefined period

He

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of absence. We are placed with him on the verge between this world and the eternity into which he is entering; we look before us, and the objects of the latter rise to view in all their vast and solemn magnificence.

There is, I well know, an anguish which may preclude this calmness of reflection and hope. Our resolution may be prostrated to the earth; for he, on whom we are accustomed to rely for strength and support, has been taken away. We return to the world, and there is bitterness in all it presents us; for everything bears impressed upon it a remembrance of what we have lost. It has one, and but one, miserable consolation to offer:

"That anguish will be wearied down, I know.

What pang is permanent with man? From th' highest,

As from the vilest thing of every day,

He learns to wean himself. For the strong hours
Conquer him."

It is a consolation, which offered in this naked and offensive form, we instinctively reject. Our recollections and our sorrows, blended as they are together, are far too dear to be parted with upon such terms. But God giveth not as the world giveth. There is a peace which comes froin him, and brings healing to the heart. His religion would not have us forget, but cherish our affections for the dead; for it makes known to us that these affections shall be immortal. It gradually takes away the bitterness of our

recollections, and changes them into glorious hopes; for it teaches us to regard the friend who is with us no longer, not as one whom we have lost on earth, but as one whom we shall meet as an angel in heaven.

The Land which no Mortal may Know.

BERNARD BARTON.

THOUGH Earth has full many a beautiful spot,
As a poet or painter might show,

Yet more lovely and beautiful, holy and bright,
To the hopes of the heart, and the spirit's glad sight,
Is the land that no mortal may know.

There the crystalline stream bursting forth from the throne,

Flows on, and for ever will flow;

Its waves, as they roll, are with melody rife,

And its waters are sparkling with beauty and life,

In the land which no mortal may know.

And there, on its margin, with leaves ever green,
With its fruits healing sickness and woe,

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The fair Tree of Life, in its glory and pride,
Is fed by that deep inexhaustible tide,

Of the land which no mortal may know.

There, too, are the lost! whom we loved on this earth,
With those mem'ries our bosoms yet glow;
Their relics we gave to the place of the dead,
But their glorified spirits before us have fled,
To the land which no mortal may know.

There the pale orb of night, and the fountain of day,
Nor beauty nor splendor bestow;

But the presence of HIM, the unchanging I AM,
And the holy, the pure, the immaculate Lamb,
Light the land which no mortal may know.

Oh! who but must pine, in this dark vale of tears,
From its clouds and its shadows to go?

To walk in the light of the glory above,

And to share in the peace, and the joy, and the love, Of the land which no mortal may know?