OH, TALK TO ME OF HEAVEN.
BOWLES.

Oh, talk to me of heaven! I love
To hear about my home above;

For there doth many a loved one dwell
In light and joy ineffable.

Oh tell me how they shine and sing,
While every harp rings echoing;
And every glad and tearless eye
Beams like the bright sun, gloriously.
Tell me of that victorious palm
Each hand in glory beareth;
Tell me of that celestial calm
Each face in glory weareth.

Oh, happy, happy country! where
There entereth not a sin;

And death, who keeps his portals fair,

May never once come in.

No grief can change their day to night-
The darkness of that land is light.
Sorrow and sighing God hath sent
Far thence to endless banishment.
And never more may one dark tear
Bedim their burning eyes;
For every one they shed while here,
In fearful agonies,

Glitters a bright and dazzling gem
In their immortal diadem.

Oh, lovely, blooming country! there
Flourishes all that we deem fair.
And though no fields nor forests green,
Nor bowery gardens there are seen,
Nor perfumes load the breeze;
Nor hears the ear material sound;
Yet joys at God's right hand are found,
The archetypes of these.

There is the home, the land of birth
Of all we highest prize on earth:

The storms that rack this world beneath
Must there for ever cease —
The only air the blessed breathe
Is purity and peace.

Oh, happy, happy land! in thee
Shines th' unveil'd Divinity.

Shedding through each adoring breast

A holy calm, a halcyon rest.

And those blest souls whom death did sever,

Have met to mingle joys for ever.

Oh! soon may heaven unclose to me!

Oh! may I soon that glory see!
And my faint, weary spirit stand
Within that happy, happy land'

LAND A-HEAD.

REV. GEORGE BRYAN.

Sweet music in the wave-worn ear!

It is the seaman's cry,

When the first speck of home-land near

Breaks on the eager eye;

Then, loud as lip the news can spread,
The top-mast man shouts -"Land a-head!"

O, as those gladsome tidings speed,
Down through the decks below,
All hearts begin to melt indeed,
And eyes to overflow;

And blithe ones to the top-mast thread
The way to see the "Land a-head."

Once-and 'tis still a happy day -
I heard these accents fall,

Where earth had but a shadowy sway,
And seas no sway at all;

The heavens seemed past, and light instead
Broke out and beamed from "Land a-head."

Whose years had through life's little span
Been less on land than sea;

Where he had fought, and watched and bled,
And shared bright hopes from "Land a-head."

Those scenes are now for ever past;
His heart was on the shore
Where holy brethren meet at last,
And storms are heard no more :
And rising from that lowly bed,
Would bound to see a "Land a-head."

I gently pressed his feeble hand,
So soon to turn to clay;

And wonder'd if his heart was mann'd

To meet that dreadful day;

When, as if in my looks he read

The thought, he cried out LAND A-HEAD !"

O he could see beyond the skies
Beyond the grave could see
Where mansions of salvation rise
For such poor worms as he :
And nobly trod the path that led
Up straightway to that "Land a-head!"

And thither he went up at length,

And walks the regions o'er

Which arm'd those lingering hours with strength, And cheer'd for years before.

If sweet to see, how sweet to tread

Celestial land

the "Land a-head !"

THE DEIFIED BOOK OF THE KARENS.

REV. ROBERT W. CUSHMAN.

In the year 1828, a Karen prophet, and several of his disciples visited Rev. George D. Boardman at Tavoy with a book, of the language of which they were entirely ignorant ; but which they had worshipped for twelve years. Having a tradition among them that light should come to the Karens from the West, they had travelled from their native wilderness for the purpose of laying the deified book before the missionary : "We have heard of the Gospel of Jesus Christ," said they, "and are persuaded of its truth; and we wish to know if this book contains the doctrines of that gospel."

The old man then opened a large basket, and after having removed fold after fold of wrappers, produced an old tattered volume, which, upon examination, the missionary found to be none other than an English copy of The Book of Common Prayer! Mr. B. told them it was a good book; and they must worship, not the book, but the God of whom it spake. This remarkable circumstance was often related by the Rev. Jonathan Wade, and his wife, during a visit to the United States, in 1833 and 1834, with two native converts, and it was on the occasion of a farewell meeting, previous to the return of these missionaries, that the following lines, under the title of " The quest of the Karen," were composed and sung :

Lo! on a mount that Burmah rears
To greet the morn in eastern skies,
A sable son of Shem appears,

And westward turns his longing eyes.

No sacrifice the man prepares,

For gods of stone, or gods of gold ;
But, near his heart, he fondly bears
A book, in many a careful fold.