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was vainly endeavouring to recommend herself to God by fasting and prayer. A pious servant-man who occasionally called upon her, one day said, “ Margaret, if God should call you, are you ready to go to heaven?” She thought a little, and replied, " I hope I am." “O," said he," you must not only have a hope, but an assurance, if you get there. Did ever you feel that God for Christ's sake had blotted out all your iniquities ?”. “ I do not know," returned she, “ how any one can feel that in this life.” “If,” continued her humble instructer, “ you were sinking under a burden, and some kind individual should remove that burden, would you not be sensible of it?” “O) yes," replied Margaret.

“ Well then," said he, " you must feel your sins as a load intolerable to be borne, ere the Lord Jesus will remove them from you. Shall I pray that this may be the case?” She gave a reluctant consent; and when prayer was over, she felt very uneasy; and, calling up her mother, said, “ I do not like that man to come to see me. He asks me such questions.” The Spirit of God had indeed brought them home with such force to her mind, that the false peace which before lulled her to rest had vanished, and left a wound which nothing but “the balm of Gilead ” could heal. Shortly after another Christian friend called to see her ; when he gave out and sang the hymn beginning, Long have I seem'd to serve thee, Lord.” These lines, to the awakened penitent, seemed made to give vent to the feelings of her heart; and she thought some of her friends must have acquainted him with her previous life. After his departure, she struggled out of bed, and knelt down, firmly resolved never to rise till the Lord had spoken peace to her soul. How long she remained on her knees, she could not tell ; but that merciful God 'whom she supplicated, before she arose, gave her such a powerful manifestation of his love, that she thought the earthly vessel would break, and release her happy spirit. The next time her kind visiters called upon her, they inquired how she felt. happy!” she replied; while the heavenly peace she had in possession shed a lustre over her pale but lovely features.

From this period until her death, no murmuring word was heard to fall from her lips. The writer of this account has heard her, in the midst of the most agonizing pain, exclaim, “Glory, glory to God!" Patience in her had truly its perfect work. She seemed to bask in the unclouded beams of the Sun of Righteousness. She in a high degree possessed that perfect love “ which casteth out all fear" that hath torment; and hence Satan was unable, with all his devices, to shake for a moment her confidence in her Redeemer.

On the Tuesday before her death, some friends who came to see her, united in singing and prayer. After they were gone, her mother came to her. “ 0,” said Margaret, “ I have had a happy evening!” It would appear that God was thus preparing her, by a particular manifestation of his presence, for her last conflict, which was drawing on apace. On Wednesday evening, she was seized with violent pain; and calling up the family, took leave of them one by one; commending them all to God, and especially her

“ () happy, On Thursday evening, hearing she was very ill, I went to see her She recognised me, as usual; prayed God to bless me ; and gave me her hand, now covered with cold and clammy sweat. I read the fifteenth chapter of the first Epistle to the Corinthians, and endeavoured to commend her soul to God. Shortly after another friend came in. She beckoned to him to approach the bed and pray. He read the twenty-third Psalm, and then we all knelt down again. Truly it was a solemn season. All present seemed to feel as if angels were hovering round, waiting for the spirit of the dying saint. After prayer, she was heard to say, “ Come, Lord Jesus, if it be thy will. O come quickly!” Her mother was supporting her in the bed, while her father was hanging over her, in silent agony. She kissed her mother; and then beckoned to her father, that she wanted his ear. He presented it to her, and heard her dying charge, to live to God, and meet her above. Her breathing now became more difficult; and in less than a quarter of an hour she was safely lodged in Abraham's bosom.

ELIZA NESBITT.

POETRY.

THE DYING CHRISTIAN.

When life's tempestuous storms are o'er,
How calm he meets the friendly shore,

Who lived averse to sin !
Such peace on Virtue's path attends,
That where the sinner's pleasure ends,

The good man's joys begin.
See smiling Patience sooth his brow!
See bending angels downward bow,

To lift his soul on high;
While eager for the blest abode,
He joins with them to praise the God

Who taught him how to die.

The horrors of the grave and hell,
Those horrors which the wicked feel,

In vain their gloom display;
For He who bids yon comet burri,
Or makes the night descend, can turn

Their darkness into day.

No sorrow drowns his lifted eyes,
No horror wrests the struggling sighs,

As from the sinner's breast;
His God, the God of peace and love,
Pours kindly solace from above,

was vainly endeavouring to recommend herself to God by fasting and prayer. A pious servant-man who occasionally called upon her, one day said, “Margaret, if God should call you, are you ready to go to heaven? She thought a little, and replied, " I hope I am." O,” said he, “you must not only have a hope, but an assurance, if you get there. Did ever you feel that God for Christ's sake had blotted out all your iniquities ?” “ I do not know," returned she,“ how any one can feel that in this life.” “ If,” continued her humble instructer, “ you were sinking under a burden, and some kind individual should remove that burden, would you not be sensible of it?” “O) yes,” replied Margaret. “ Well then," said he, “ you must feel your sins as a load intolerable to be borne, ere the Lord Jesus will remove them from you. Shall I pray that this may be the case ?” She gave a reluctant consent; and when prayer was over, she felt very uneasy; and, calling up her mother, said, “ I do not like that man to come to see me.

He asks me such questions.” The Spirit of God had indeed brought them home with such force to her mind, that the false peace which before lulled her to rest had vanished, and left a wound which nothing but “the balm of Gilead ” could heal. Shortly after another Christian friend called to see her ; when he gave out and sang the hymn beginning, Long have I seem'd to serve thee, Lord.” These lines, to the awakened penitent, seemed made to give vent to the feelings of her heart; and she thought some of her friends must have acquainted him with her previous life. After his departure, she struggled out of bed, and knelt down, firmly resolved never to rise till the Lord had spoken peace to her soul. How long she remained on her knees, she could not tell; but that merciful God ' whom she supplicated, before she arose, gave her such a powerful manifestation of his love, that she thought the earthly vessel would break, and release her happy spirit. The next time her kind visiters called upon her, they inquired how she felt. happy!” she replied ; while the heavenly peace she had in possession shed a lustre over her pale but lovely features.

From this period until her death, no murmuring word was heard to fall from her lips. The writer of this account has heard her, in the midst of the most agonizing pain, exclaim, “Glory, glory to God!" Patience in her had truly its perfect work. She seemned to bask in the unclouded beams of the Sun of Righteousness. She in a high degree possessed that perfect love “which casteth out all fear” that hath torment; and hence Satan was unable, with all his devices, to shake for a moment her confidence in her Redeemer.

On the Tuesday before her death, some friends who came to see her, united in singing and prayer. After they were gone, her mother came to her. “ 0,” said Margaret, “ I have had a happy evening !” It would appear that God was thus preparing her, by a particular manifestation of his presence, for her last conflict, which was drawing on apace. On Wednesday evening, she was seized with violent pain; and calling up the family, took leave of them one by one; commending them all to God, and especially her

“ () happy,

On Thursday evening, hearing she was very ill, I went to see her She recognised me, as usual; prayed God to bless me; and gave me her hand, now covered with cold and clammy sweat. I read the fifteenth chapter of the first Epistle to the Corinthians, and endeavoured to commend her soul to God. Shortly after another friend came in. She beckoned to him to approach the bed and pray. He read the twenty-third Psalm, and then we all knelt down again. Truly it was a solemn season. All present seemed to feel as if angels were hovering round, waiting for the spirit of the dying saint. After prayer, she was heard to say, “Come, Lord Jesus, if it be thy will. O come quickly!" Her mother was supporting her in the bed, while her father was hanging over her, in silent agony. She kissed her mother; and then beckoned to her father, that she wanted his ear. He presented it to her, and heard her dying charge, to live to God, and meet her above. Her breathing now became more difficult; and in less than a quarter of an hour she was safely lodged in Abraham's bosom.

ELIZA NESBITT.

POETRY.

THE DYING CHRISTIAN.

WHEN life's tempestuous storms are o'er,
How calm he meets the friendly shore,

Who lived averse to sin !
Such peace on Virtue's path attends,
That where the sinner's pleasure ends,

The good man's joys begin.
See smiling Patience sooth his brow!
See bending angels downward bow,

To lift his soul on high;
While eager for the blest abode,
He joins with them to praise the God

Who taught him how to die.

The horrors of the grave and hell,
Those horrors which the wicked feel,

In vain their gloom display;
For He who bids yon comet burr.,
Or makes the night descend, can turn

Their darkness into day.

No sorrow drowns his lifted eyes,
No horror wrests the struggling sighs,

As from the sinner's breast;
His God, the God of peace and love,
Pours kindly solace from above,

O grant, my Saviour and my friend,
Such joys may gild my peaceful end,

And calm my evening close;
While, loosed from every earthly tie,
With steady confidence I fly

To Him from whence I rose.

SABBATHS.

BY BERNARD BARTON.

TYPES of eternal rest; fair buds of bliss,

In heavenly flowers unfolding week by week; The next world's gladness imaged forth in this;

Days of whose worth the Christian heart can speak.
Eternity in time; the steps by which

We climb to future ages; lamps that light
Man through his darker days, and thought enrich,

Yielding redemption for the week's dull flight.
Wakeners of prayer in man; his resting bowers,

As on he journeys in the narrow way, Where, Eden-like, Jehovah's walking hours

Are waited for, as in the cool of day. Days fix'd by God for intercourse with dust,

To raise our thoughts and purify our powers;
Periods appointed to renew our trust;

A gleam of glory after “six days' showers !"
A milky-way mark'd out through skies less drear,

By radiant suns that warm as well as shine;
A clue which, follow'd, dissipates our fear,

Though “briers and thorns around our pathway twine." Foretastes of heaven on earth ; pledges of joy,

Surpassing fancy's flights and fiction's story ; The preludes of a feast that cannot cloy ;

And the bright out-courts of immortal glory.

FAREWELL OF THE SOUL TO THE BODY.

COMPANION dear! the hour draws nigh,
The sentence speeds,—to diemto die!
So long in mystic union held,
So close in strong embrace compell’d,
How canst thou bear the dread decree
That strikes thy clasping nerves from me ?
To Him who on this mortal shore
The same encircling vestment wore,
To Him I look, to Him I bend,

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