Yet, courage!-days and years will glide,
And we shall lay these clods aside ;
Shall be baptized in Jordan's flood,
And washed in Jesu's cleansing blood.

Then pure, immortal, sinless, freed,
We through the Lamb shall be decreed;
Shall meet the Father face to face,

And need no more a hiding-place.

HENRY KIRKE WHITE.

As withereth the Primrose by the River.

S withereth the primrose by the river,

A$

As fadeth summer's sun from gliding foun-
tains,

As vanisheth the light blown bubble ever,
As melteth snow upon the mossy mountains:
So melts, so vanishes, so fades, so withers
The rose, the shine, the bubble, and the snow,
Of praise, pomp, glory, joy (which short life
gathers),

Fair praise, vain pomp, sweet glory, brittle joy!
The withered primrose by the mourning river,
The faded summer's sun, from weeping fountains,
The light blown, vanished for ever,

The molten snow upon the naked mountains, Are emblems that the treasures we uplay, Soon wither, vanish, fade, and melt away. HENRY KING.

Aspirations of the Soul.

AH! when did wisdom covet length of days,

Or seek its bliss in pleasure, wealth or praise ?
No-wisdom views with an indifferent eye,
All finite joys, all blessings born to die.
The soul on earth is an immortal guest,
Compelled to starve at an unreal feast:
A spark that upward tends by nature's force;
A stream diverted from its parent source;
A drop dissever'd from the boundless sea;
A moment parted from eternity!

A pilgrim, panting for a rest to come;
An exile, anxious for his native home.

BISHOP HEBER.

Around Bethesda's Healing Wave.

ROUND Bethesda's healing wave

AF

Waiting to hear the rustling wing
Which spoke the angel nigh, who gave
Its virtue to that holy spring,
With patience and with hope endued,
Were seen the gathered multitude.

Among them there was one whose eye
Had often seen the waters stirred;
Whose heart had often heaved the sigh,
The bitter sigh of hope deferred;
Beholding, while he suffered on,
The healing virtue given, and gone!

No power had he; no friendly aid
To him its timely succour brought;
But, while his coming he delayed,

Another won the boon he sought;-
Until the Saviour's love was shown,
Which healed him by a word alone!
Had they who watched and waited there
Been conscious who was passing by,
With what unceasing, anxious care,

Would they have sought his pitying eye, And craved, with fervency of soul, His power divine to make them whole!

But habit and tradition swayed

Their minds to trust to sense alone;

They only hoped the angel's aid;

While in their presence stood unknown

A greater, mightier far than he,

With power from every pain to free.

Bethesda's pool has lost its power!
No angel, by his glad descent,
Dispenses that diviner dower

Which with its healing waters went,
But He, whose word surpassed its wave,
Is still omnipotent to save.

And what that fountain once was found,
Religion's outward forms remain-
With living virtue only crowned

While their first freshness they retain ;
Only replete with power to cure
When, spirit-stirred, their source is pure!

Yet are there who this truth confess,
Who know how little forms avail,
But whose protracted helplessness
Confirms the impotent's sad tale;
Who, day by day, and year by year,
As emblems of his lot appear.

They hear the sounds of life and love,
Which tell the visitant is nigh;
They see the troubled waters move,
Whose touch alone might health supply;
But weak of faith, infirm of will,
Are powerless, helpless, hopeless still.

Saviour! thy love is still the same

As when that healing word was spoke ; Still in thine all-redeeming name

Dwells power to burst the strongest yoke. Oh! be that power, that love displayed! Help those, whom Thou alone canst aid!

BERNARD BARTON.

THE

Abraham.

HE better portion didst thou choose, Great
Heart,

Thy God's first choice, and pledge of Gentilegrace!

Faith's truest type, he with unruffled face Bore the world's smile, and bade her slaves depart; Whether, a trader, with no trader's art,

He buys in Canaan his first resting-place,Or freely yields rich Siddim's ample space,Or braves the rescue and the battle's smart, Yet scorns the heathen gifts of those he saved. O happy in their soul's high solitude, Who commune thus with God and not with earth! Amid the scoffings of the wealth-enslaved, A ready prey, as though in absent mood

They calmly move, nor hear the unmannered mirth.

ANON.

A Voice is on Mine Ear.

A VOICE is on mine ear—a solemn voice:

I come, I come, it calls me to my rest; Faint not my yearning heart, rejoice, rejoice,

Soon shalt thou reach the gardens of the blest: On the bright waters there, the living streams, Soon shalt thou launch in peace thy weary bark, Waked by rude waves no more from gentle dreams,

Sadly to feel that earth to thee is darkNot bright as once; oh vain, vain memories, cease, I cast your burden down-I strive for peace.

A voice is on mine ear- -a welcome tone:

I hear its summons in a stranger land, It calls me hence, to die amid mine own, Where first my forehead, by the wild breeze fanned,