"Thou shalt remember "-not so much

The pain thou hadst to bear,
As how the Master's soothing touch
Stilled every pulse of care:

And life's few trials wrought out such
A crown as thou dost wear.

"Thou shalt remember; "-how He gave For every ill, sweet balm;

“Remember ;”—how He made thee brave,
Through leaning on His arm ;
"Remember;"-not the storm-tost wave
But the deep after calm.

"Thou shalt remember: "-oh! far less,
The toil, and pain, and dread,
Then the unfailing tenderness
With which thy steps He led :
The love that lightened thy distress,
And raised thy drooping head.

All past unkindnesses and fears
Shall softly fade from view;
While loving acts of bygone years
Shall still seem fresh and new.
Old joys will brighten, but thy tears
Shall vanish like the dew.

Yes; when upon the other shore,

Thine eye, now dimmed, grows bright; And clasping loved ones gone before, Thou walk'st with them in white; "Thou shalt remember?" but no more Will memory grief excite.

For there, thy present care and strife,
Will wake no anxious thought;
The leaves from off the tree of Life,
Sweet healing will have wrought;
And memory now with sadness rife,
Will then with joy be fraught.

NETTA LEIGH.

THE TWO WORLDS.

A LAND where sweetest roses fade,
And smiling youth grows quickly old ;
A land where sunshine turns to shade,
And beauty takes a different mould ;
A land of change, a land of care,

Whose fleeting joys are little worth;
A land whose smile becomes a tear-
That land is earth!

A land of love where nought can sever
And beauty blooms with lustre fair;
A land where youth is young for ever,
For time exerts no influence there;
A land where streams of pleasure flow,
And golden harps to all are given ;
A land where we our God shall know-
That land is Heaven.

OUR DAILY PATHS.

THERE'S beauty all around our paths, if but our watchful eyes,

Can trace it midst familiar things, and through their lowly guise;

We may find it where a hedgerow showers its blossoms o'er our way,

Or a cottage window sparkles forth in the last red light of day.

We may find it where a spring shines clear beneath an aged tree,

With the fox-glove o'er the water's glass, borne downwards by the bee;

Or where a swift and sunny gleam on the birchen stems is thrown,

As a soft wind playing parts the leaves, in copses green and lone.

We may find it in the winter boughs, as they cross the cold blue sky,

While soft on icy pool and stream their pencilled shadows lie,

When we look upon their tracery, by the fairy frostwork bound,

Whence the flitting redbreast shakes a shower of crystals to the ground.

Yes! beauty dwells in all our paths,—but sorrow too is there :

How oft some cloud within us dims the bright, still summer air!

When we carry our sick hearts abroad amidst the joyous things,

That through the leafy places glance on many coloured wings;

With shadows from the past we fill the happy woodland shades,

And a mournful memory of the dead is with us in the

glades;

And our dream-like fancies lend the wind an echo's plaintive tone

Of voices, and of melodies, and of silver laughter gone.

But are we free to do even thus-to wander as we will, Bearing sad visions through the grove, and o'er the breezy hill?

No! in our daily paths lie cares, that oft-times bind us fast,

While from their narrow round we see the golden day fleet past.

They hold us from the woodlark's haunts, and violet dingles back,

And from all the lovely sounds and gleams in the shining river's track;

They bar us from our heritage of spring-time, hope, and mirth,

And weigh our burdened spirits down with the cumbering dust of earth.

Yet should this be? Too much, too soon, despondingly we yield!

A better lesson we are taught by the lilies of the field!

A sweeter by the birds of heaven-which tell us in

their flight,

Of One that through the desert air for ever guides them right.

Shall not this knowledge calm our hearts, and bid vain conflicts cease?

Aye, when they commune with themselves in holy hours of peace,

And feel that by the lights and clouds through which our pathway lies,

By the beauty and the grief alike, we are training for

the skies.

MRS HEMANS.

THE CRUISE THAT FAILETH NOT.

Is thy cruise of comfort wasting,
Rise and share it with another;
And through all the years of famine
It shall serve thee, and thy brother;
Love divine will fill thy store-house,
Or thy handful still renew;
Scanty fare for one, will often make
A royal feast for two.

For the heart grows rich in giving,
All its wealth is living grain;
Seeds (which mildew in the garner)
Scattered fill with gold the plain :
Is thy burden hard or heavy?
Do thy steps drag wearily?