TO A DYING CHRISTIAN.

EDMESTON.

Parting soul! the flood awaits thee,
And the billows round thee roar:

Yet look on

-the crystal city

Stands on yon celestial shore!

There are crowns and thrones of glory,

There the living waters glide;

There the just in shining raiment,
Wander by Emmanuel's side

Linger not the stream is narrow,
Though its cold dark waters rise;
He who pass'd the flood before thee,
Guides thy path to yonder skies;
Hark! the sound of angels hymning
Rolls harmonious o'er thine ear:
See! the walls and golden portals
Through the mist of death appear.

Soul, adieu

this gloomy sojourn

Holds thy captive feet no more;

Flesh is dropt, and sin forsaken,
Sorrow done, and weeping o'er.
Thro' the tears thy friends are shedding,
Smiles of hope serenely shine;
Not a friend remains behind thee,
But would change his lot for thine.

SKETCHES OF MISSIONARY LIFE.

No. XIII.-WIDOWED AND CHILDLESS.

EDITOR.

"He on the threshold stood.

No foot, no voice was heard within.

None came to meet him; for that day had seen
That mourner lay within the narrow house
The last of all his family; and now

He stood in solitude,

in solitude

Wide as the world; for all that made to him
Society, had fled beyond its bounds.

Wherever strayed his aimless eye, there lay

The wreck of some fond hope, that touched his soul With bitter thoughts, and told him all was passed. His lonely cot was silent, and he looked

As if he could not enter."

Pollok.

AT the time of the death of the beloved Ann H. Judson, her husband was at the scene of his former sufferings, Ava, a distance of a thousand miles or more from Amherst. The object of this journey was, to unite his efforts with those of the British commissioner, in an attempt, which however proved unsuccessful, to obtain the insertion of an article in the treaty, favorable to religious toleration in the dominions of the Burman emperor. On this errand of Christian philanthropy, had the self-denying missionary

torn himself away from the beloved companion of his sufferings and labors, on the 5th of July, little imagining that he should see her face no

more.

While pursuing, to the utmost of his ability, the object of his visit to the capital, a letter was one day handed to him, sealed with a black seal, and written by a stranger's hand. He tore it open, and read, with feelings of anguish and desolation, which it would be presumption to attempt to describe, the following words: "My dear sir, to one who has suffered so much and with such exemplary fortitude, there needs but little preface to tell a tale of distress. It were cruel indeed to torture you with doubt and suspense. To sum up the unhappy tidings in a few words "Mrs. Judson is no more."

A few weeks later, a solitary mourner might have been seen, passing from the landing-place at Amherst towards the now lonely dwelling, where, a few months before, he had exchanged the last kiss with that devoted woman, whose remains were now reposing beneath the Hopia tree that threw its shadow over her grave. As he passes towards the house, here and there is seen a sympathizing Christian Burman, from a little distance, gazing mournfully upon the