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THE CELESTIAL SABBATH.

That reaching home-"The night," they said, "is

near,

We need not now be parted-sojourn here.”
The new acquaintance soon became a guest,
And made so welcome at their simple feast
He bless'd the bread, but vanish'd at the word,
And left them both exclaiming "Twas the Lord!
Did not our hearts feel all he deign'd to say,
Did they not burn within us by the way?”
COWPER.

Che Celestial Sabbath.

THE golden palace of my God,
Towering above the clouds I see;
Beyond the Cherub's bright abode,
Higher than angels' thoughts can be.
How can I in those courts appear,
Without a wedding garment on?
Conduct me, thou Life-giver, there,

Conduct me to thy glorious throne !
And clothe me with thy robes of light,
And lead me through sin's darksome night,

My Saviour and my God.

RUSSIAN POETRY.

The Baur of Prayer.

CHILD, amidst the flowers at play,
While the red light fades away;

Mother, with thy earnest eye,
Ever following silently;
Father, by the breeze of eve
Call'd thy harvest work to leave:
Pray! ere yet the dark hours be,
Lift the heart and bend the knee!

Traveller, in the stranger's land,
Far from thine own household band
Mourner, haunted by the tone
Of a voice from this world gone :
Captive, in whose narrow cell
Sunshine hath not leave to dwell;
Sailor, on the darkening sea-
Lift the heart and bend the knee!

Warrior that from battle won,
Breathest now at set of sun;

Woman o'er the lowly slain,
Weeping on his burial plain;
Ye that triumph, ye that sigh,
Kindred by one holy tie;
Heaven's first star alike ye see-
Lift the heart and bend the knee!

MRS. HEMANS.

Rachel Weeping for her Children.

O WEEP not o'er thy children's tomb,
O Rachel weep not so;

The bud is cropp'd by martyrdom,
The flower in heaven shall blow.

Firstlings of faith, the murderer's knife
Has miss'd its deadly aim;
The God for whom they gave their life,
For them to suffer came.

Though evil were their days and few,
Baptized in blood and pain:

He knows them whom they never knew,
And they shall live again.

weep

not o'er thy children's tomb,

O Rachel, weep not so;

The bud is cropp'd by martyrdom,

The flower in heaven shall blow.

BISHOP HEBER.