TAKEN FROM THE LIFE TO COME.

GOD took thee in his mercy,
A lamb untasked, untried;
He fought the fight for thee,
He won the victory,

And thou art sanctified.

I look around and see

The evil ways of men,
And oh! beloved child,
I'm more than reconciled
To thy departure then.

The little arms that clasped me,
The innocent life that pressed,
Would they have been as pure,
Till now, as when of yore

I lulled thee on my breast?

Now like a dew drop shrined
Within a crystal stone,

Thou 'rt safe in heaven, my dove!

Safe with the Source of love,

The Everlasting One.

And when the hour arrives
From flesh that sets me free,
Thy spirit may await

The first at Heaven's gate

To meet and welcome me.

MRS. SOUTHEY.

THE LITTLE ONE IS DEAD.

SMOOTH the hair and close the eyelids,
Let the window curtains fall;

With a smile upon her features,
She has answered to the call.

Let the children kiss her gently,
As she lies upon her bed;
God hath called her to his bosom,
And the little one is dead.

AN EPITAPH FOR AN INFANT.

BENEATH this stone, in soft repose,
Is laid a mother's dearest pride,

A flower that scarce had waked to life,
And light and beauty, ere it died.
God, in his wisdom, has recalled

The precious boon His love had given, And though the casket moulders here, The gem is sparkling now in heaven.

A CHILD IN HEAVEN.

A CLERGYMAN lost a child. A brother minister attended the funeral, and at the close of his remarks, the father of the deceased child arose, and spoke as follows to his people who were present: "When I have sought to minister to you consolation in the times of your affliction, weeping with you over your dying children, you have often said to me that I knew nothing of the anguish, and could not sympathize with you in your loss. I feel it now. I never did before." Then he directed them to the source of his comfort and support, and invited all to the fountain of living waters. His house stood on a hill-side, overlooking a beautiful river, on the other side of which were luxurious fields. Alluding to this, he continued, " Often, as I have stood on the borders of this stream, and looked over to the fair fields on the other shore, I have felt but little interest in the people or the place in full view before me. The river separates me from them, and my thoughts and affections were here. But a few months ago, one of my children moved across to the other side, and took up his residence there. Since that time, my heart has been there also.

In the morning,

when I rise and look out toward the east, I think of my child who is over there, and again and again through the day I think of him, and the other side of the river is always in my thoughts, with the child who has gone there to dwell. And now, since another of my children has crossed the river of death, and has gone to dwell on the other side, my heart is drawn out towards heaven, and the inhabitants of heaven, as it was never drawn before. I posed that heaven was dear to me; that my Father was there, and my friends were there, and that I had a great interest in heaven, but I had no child there; now I have; and I never think and never shall think of heaven, but with the memory of that dear child who is to be among its inhabitants for ever."

WHY CHILDREN DIE.

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I HAVE seen persons who gather from the parterre their choicest flowers, just as they begin to open into full bloom and fragrance, lest some passer-by should tear them from the bush and destroy them. Does not God sometimes gather into heaven young and innocent children for the same reason - lest some rude hand may despoil them of their beauty?

THE DYING CHILD.

MOTHER, I'm tired, and I would fain be sleeping;

Let me repose upon thy bosom seek;

But promise me that thou wilt leave off weeping,
Because thy tears fall hot upon my cheek.
Here it is cold; the tempest raveth madly;
But in my dreams all is so wondrous bright;
I see the angel children smiling gladly,

When from my weary eyes I shut the light.

Mother, one steals beside me now! and listen;

Dost thou not hear the music's sweet accord? See how his white wings beautifully glisten! Surely those wings were given him by our

Lord!

Green, gold, and red are floating all around me; These are the flowers the angel scattereth: Shall I have also wings whilst life has bound me? Or, mother, are they given alone in death?

Why dost thou clasp me as if I were going? Why dost thou press thy cheek thus unto mine?

Thy cheek is hot, and still thy tears are flowing; I will, dear mother, will be always thine!