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Vain were the beams of summer suns,
To paint the mellow fruit,

If God withheld the gentle rain,
That nourishes the root.

And thus across life's fairest day,
Some cloud of grief will roll,
Unwelcome to the heart of man,
But needful for the soul.

Yes: think not God's most precious gifts
In beams and smiles are given;
What drowns our joy is often sent,
To ripen us for Heaven.

C. E. TONNA.

LIFE.

LIFE is beautiful! its duties

Cluster round each passing day,
While their sweet and solemn voices
Warn to work, to watch, to pray;
They alone its blessings forfeit
Who by sin their spirits cheat,
Or to slothful torpor yielding,
Let the rust their armour eat.

Life is beautiful with promise
Of a joy that cannot fade;
Life is fearful with the threatening
Of an everlasting shade.

May no thoughtless wanderer scorn it,
Blindly lost in folly's maze,
Duty, love, and hope adorn it,
Let its latest breath be praise.

MRS. SIGOURNEY.

FRIENDSHIP.

I TURNED me to an ancient rock
That breasts the ocean's track,
And saw it brave the billow's shock,
Then send them foaming back.

Fixed to this hard enduring bed,
A small sea-plant I spied,
Which flourished there, and cheerly spread
Its tresses o'er the tide.

And when the waves came rolling on,
Above the surge it rose ;

Or clung more closely to the stone,
To wait the tempest's close.

Thus true amidst a world of strife,
Unshaken by its breath,

May faithful friendship crown my life,
Nor quit my side at death.

Yet say, upon what hallowed ground
Can deathless friendship be?
Thou Rock of Ages! let us found
Our friendships firm on Thee.

T. B. MURRAY.

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ECRATION OF A

as found their King;

in thy name,

to Thee,

ould we claim,

our warranty:

Thou hast given,

shall enter heaven!

R. W. KYLE.

MARY AT THE SEPULCHRE.

How sweet in the musing of faith to repair
To the garden where Mary delighted to rove;
To sit by the tomb where she breathed her fond
prayer,

And paid her sad tribute of sorrow and love.
To see the bright beam which disperses her fear,
As the Lord of her soul breaks the bar of his

prison,

And the voice of the angel salutes her glad ear,-
The Lord is a captive no more—“He is risen.”
O Saviour! as oft as our footsteps we bend,
In penitent sadness to weep at thy grave,
On the wings of thy greatness in pity descend,
Be ready to comfort and "mighty to save."
We shrink not from scenes of desertion and woe,
If there we may meet with the Lord whom we
love;

Contented, with Mary, to sorrow below,

If with her we may drink of thy fountain above. CUNNINGHAM.

THE END OF AFFLICTION.

THE gloom of the night adds a charm to the morn,
Stern winter the spring-time endears,
And the darker the cloud on which it is drawn,
The brighter the rainbow appears.

So trials and sorrows the Christian prepare
For the rest that remaineth above;

On earth tribulation awaits him; but there
The smile of unchangeable love.

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