Full of faith, at length he died,
And, victorious in the race,
Won the crown for which he vied,
Not of merit, but of grace.
J. MONTGOMERY.
"I will ransom them from the power of the grave.”— Hosea xiii. 14.
"EARTH to earth, and dust to dust!"
Here the evil and the just,
Here the youthful and the old,
Here the fearful and the bold,
Here the matron and the maid,
In one silent bed are laid;
Here the warrior and the king
Side by side lie withering;
Glory but a broken bust,
"Earth to earth, and dust to dust."
But a day is coming fast,
Earth, thy mightiest and thy last;
All shall see the judgment sign,
On the clouds the Lord shall shine:
Then shall dawn immortal day,
Death and sin no more have sway;
Angel myriads on the wing,
Earth upgazing on its King;
Earth enshrined in living light,
Heaven revealed to mortal sight.
THE SUNFLOWER.
EAGLE of flowers! I see thee stand,
And on the sun's noon-glory gaze;
With eye like his, thy lids expand,
And fringe their disk with golden rays:
Though fixed on earth, in darkness rooted there,
Light is thine element, thy dwelling air,
Thy prospect heaven.
So would mine eagle-soul descry
Beyond the path where planets run,
The light of immortality,
The splendour of creation's sun;
Though sprung from earth, and hastening to the
I hope a flower of paradise to bloom,
His eyes uplifted, and his hands close clasped,
The dumb man, with a supplicating look,
Turned as the Lord passed by: JESUS beheld,
And on him bent a pitying look, and spake ;
His moving lips are by the suppliant seen,
And the last accents of the healing sentence
Ring in that ear which never heard before.
Prostrate the man restored falls to the earth,
And uses first the gift, the gift sublime,
Of speech, in giving thanks to Him whose voice
Was never uttered but in doing good.
GRAHAME.
DEATH OF A MISSIONARY IN THE WEST.*
COLD Sweep the waters o'er thee. Thou hast found, Mid all the ardour of thy youthful zeal
And self-devotion to thy Master's cause,
Say, mid the journeyings o'er the snow-clad waste Of yon lone prairie, on that fearful day,
When death was by thy side, where dwelt thy thought?
Upon thy holy mission, or the scenes
Of thy loved home?
When heaven's pure seed shall blossom in the soil Of the far Illinois, again to sit
Around that fireside, and recount thy toils,
And mingle prayers with those who fondly nursed
Thy tender infancy? Now there are tears
In that abode whene'er thy cherished name
Breaks from the trembling lip. Oh! ye who mourn
With hoary temples, o'er the smitten son,
Called hence in Jesus' service, know that pain
Shall never grieve him more. Peril and change,
And winter's blast, and summer's sultry ray,
• Drowned at a Ford in the State of Illinois.
And sinful snare, what are they now to him
But dim-remembered names? If 'twere so sweet
To have a son on earth, where every ill
Might point a sword against his heart and pierce
Your own through his, are ye not doubly blest
To have a son in heaven?
OFTEN, amidst the storms of life,
By sin and woe opprest,
We long for wings to flee away,
And gain a place of rest:
We long to find a peaceful home,
Where sorrow shall be o'er,
And the rough tempests of the earth
Have power to beat no more.
May we, by heavenly faith, descry
The Saviour's gracious form,
Holding the helm and steering safe
Through every earthly storm!
If we but make his love our own,
Though all around us frown,
When for a time we've borne the cross,
We shall attain the crown.
No graven image would he blindly use,
Before no wafer-idol bow the knee,
No fancied queen of heaven for Saviour choose,
No priestly absolution make his plea.
The Word of Truth he made his only guide,
To God, his Father, every want he brought,
On Jesus' grace, believing, he relied,
The Spirit's sanctifying power he sought.
Thus did he live on earth a life of faith ;
Thus was he armed against the sting of death.
TO A PROTESTANT LADY IN FRANCE.
Ан, be not sad, although thy lot be cast
Far from the flock, and in a boundless waste :
No shepherd's tents within thy view appear,
But the chief shepherd is for ever near;
Thy tender sorrows and thy plaintive strain
Flow in a foreign land, but not in vain;
Thy tears all issue from a source divine,
And every drop bespeaks a Saviour thine;
So once in Gideon's fleece the dews were found,
And drought on all the drooping herbs around.
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