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 :
A 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

Lost the fair tracery of youth, and wore

A deeper signet, in my manhood's primeTo lay me down with those who wake no more,

It calls me—those I loved, their couch be mine: I hear sweet voices from my childhood's home, And from my father's grave—I come, I come! Blest be the warning sound : my mother's eyes

Dwell on my memory yet, her parting tears, And from the grave where my young sister lies,

Who perished in the glory of her years, I hear a gentle call, “Return, return !".

So be it: let me greet the village spires Once more. I come—'tis wilding youth may

spurn, When far, the burial-places of his sires; But oh, when strength is gone, and hope is past, There turns the wearied man his thoughts at last. So do we change! I hear a warning tone

Yea, I, whose thoughts were all of bypast times, Of ancient glories, and from visions lone,

I come to list once more the sabbath chimes Of my own home—to feel the gentle air

Steal o'er my brow again—to greet the sun In the old places where he shone so fair,

The while each wandering brook in music ran, Answering to Youth's sweet thoughts, but all

are fled— I come, my home, I come to join thy dead ! I heed the warning voice: oh, spurn me not,

My early friends ; let the bruised heart go free: Mine were high fancies, but a wayward lot

Hath made my youthful dreams in sadness flee; Then chide not, I would linger yet awhile,

Thinking o'er wasted hours, a weary train, Cheered by the moon's soft light, the sun's glad

smile, Watching the blue sky o'er my path of pain, Waiting my summons: whose shall be the eye To glance unkindly ?-I have come to die! Sweet words—to die!oh pleasant, pleasant sounds,

What bright revealings to my heart they bring! What melody, unheard in earth’s dull rounds,

And floating from the land of glorious SpringThe eternal home! My weary thoughts revive, Fresh flowers my mind puts forth, and buds of

love, Gentle and kindly thoughts for all that live,

Fanned by soft breezes from the world above: And passing not, I hasten to my restAgain, oh, gentle summons, thou art blest !

LUCY HOOPER.

Abide with Prayer. OF what an easy quick access,

My blessed Lord, art thou! how suddenly May our requests thine ear invade! To show that state dislikes not easiness, If I but lift mine eyes, my suit is made : Thou canst no more not hear, than thou canst die.

Of what supreme almighty power
Is thy great arm, which spans the east and west,

And tacks the centre to the sphere !
By it do all things live their measur'd hour :
We cannot ask the thing which is not there,
Blaming the shallowness of our request.

Of what unmeasurable love
Art thou possess’d, who when thou couldst not

die, Wert fain to take our flesh and curse, And for our sakes in person sin reprove! That by destroying that which tied thy purse, Thou mightst make way for liberality.

Since then these three wait on thy throne, Ease, Power, and Love; I value prayer so,

That were I to leave all but one, Wealth, fame, endowments, virtues, all should go: I, and dear prayer, would together dwell, And quickly gain, for each inch lost, an ell.

GEORGE HERBERT.

A Pledge for the pure in Heart.
W HERE art thou ?—Thou! source and sup-

port of all
That is or seen or felt; thyself unseen,
Unfelt, unknown-alas! unknowable.
I look abroad among thy works—the sky,
Vast, distant, glorious with its world of suns

Life-giving earth, and ever-moving main,
And speaking winds—and ask if these are thee!
The stars that twinkle on, the eternal hills,
The restless tide's outgoing and return,
The omnipresent and deep-breathing air-
Though hailed as gods of old, and only less,
Are not the Power I seek; are thine, not thee!
I ask thee from the past: if, in the years,
Since first intelligence could search its source,
Or in some former unremembered being,
(If such, perchance, were mine), did they behold

thee?
And next interrogate Futurity,
So fondly tenanted with better things
Than e'er experience owned—but both are mute:
And Past and Future, vocal on all else,
So full of memories and phantasies,
Are deaf and speechless here! Fatigued, I turn
From all vain parley with the elements,
And close mine eyes, and bid the thought turn

inward From each material thing its anxious guest, If, in the stillness of the waiting soul, He may vouchsafe himself—Spirit to spirit! O Thou, at once most dreaded and desired, Pavilioned still in darkness, wilt thou hide thee? What though the rash request be fraught with

fate, Nor human eye may look on thine and live ? Welcome the penalty ! let that come now, Which soon or late must come. For light like