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THE TENANTLESS LITTLE BED.

My little one, my sweet one,
Thy couch is empty now,
Where oft I wiped the dews away
Which gathered on thy brow.
No more, amidst the sleepless night,
I smooth thy pillow fair;

"T is smooth indeed, but rest no more Thy small, pale features there.

My little one, my sweet one,

Thou canst not come to me,

But nearer draws the numbered hour
When I shall go to thee;

And thou, perchance, with seraph smile
And golden harp in hand,

May'st come the first to welcome me
To our Immanuel's land.

HE SLEPT.

They said he died; it seems to me

--

That, after hours of pain and strife,

He slept, one even, peacefully,

And woke to everlasting life.

TO AN INFANT IN HEAVEN.

THOU bright and star-like spirit!
That, in my visions wild,

I see mid heaven's seraphic host-
O! canst thou be my child?

My grief is quenched in wonder,
And pride arrests my sighs;
A branch from this unworthy stock
Now blossoms in the skies.

Our hopes of thee were lofty,
But have we cause to grieve?
O! could our fondest, proudest wish
A nobler fate conceive?

The little weeper, tearless,

The sinner, snatched from sin; The babe, to more than manhood grown, Ere childhood did begin.

And I, thy earthly teacher,

Would blush thy powers to see;

Thou art to me a parent now,

And I a child to thee!

What bliss is born of sorrow!
'Tis never sent in vain-

The heavenly surgeon maims to save,
He gives no useless pain.

Our God, to call us homeward,
His only Son sent down :

And now, still more to tempt our hearts,
Has taken up our own.

THOMAS WARD

EPITAPH ON FOUR INFANTS.

BOLD infidelity! turn pale and die;
Beneath this stone, four infants' ashes lie;
Say, are they lost, or saved?

If death's by sin, they sinned, because they're

here;

If heaven's by works, in heaven they can't ap

pear.

Reason, ah! how depraved!

Revere the sacred page, the knot's untied; They died, for Adam sinned:—they live, for

Jesus died.

REV. R. ROBINSON.

CHILDREN TAKEN IN MERCY.

IT may be your affliction is the loss of children. Weil, have you not read such a message sent to a godly man, as that in 1 Samuel 2: 33 ? "The son of thine whom I shall not cut off shall be to consume thine eyes, and to grieve thine heart." It is possible that, if thy child had lived, it might have made thee the father of a fool, or (that I may speak to the sex that is most unable to bear this trial) the mother of a shame. It is a very ordinary thing for one living child to occasion more trouble than ten dead ones. However, your spiritual interests may be exceedingly injured by the temporal delights which you desire; you may rue what you wish, because it may be an idol, which will render your souls like the "barren heath in the wilderness before the Lord." It was the very direful calamity of the ancient Israelites, in Psalm 106: 15. "The Lord gave them their request, but sent leanness into their souls." A lean soul, a wretched soul, a soul pining away in its iniquities, is oftentimes the effect of those fine things which we dote upon. It is a blasted soul that sets up a creature in the room, on the throne of the great God, that gives unto a crea

ture those affections and cares which are due unto the great God alone. Such idolatry the soul is too frequently by prosperity seduced into. We are told, in Proverbs 1: 32: "The prosperity of fools destroys them;" many a fool is thus destroyed. O fearful case! A full table and a lean soul! A high title and a lean soul! A numerous posterity and a soul even like the kine in Pharaoh's dream! Madness is in our hearts if we tremble not at this; soul calamities are sore calamities.

Let not then the death of your children cause any inconsolable grief. The loss of children, did I say nay, let me recall so harsh a word. The children we count lost, are not so. The death of our children is not the loss of our children. They are not lost, but given back; they are not lost, but sent before.

COTTON MATHER.

AN INFANT'S DEATH.

"BE-rather than be called-a child of God,"
Death whispered. With assenting nod,
Its head upon its mother's breast,
The baby bowed without demur;
Of the kingdom of the blest

Possessor- not inheritor.

COLERIDGE.

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