The exulting tone forsook his voice,
His bright eye* brighter grew.

Again he turned-and she hid her tears-
To the work he prized too well;

But her help by day, and at eve her smile,
Were around him, like a spell.

At last the free air fanned his cheek,-
He trod the woodlands wild;
The haunts where once with her he played
His faltering steps beguiled.

The bowl was broken at the fount―
Loosed was the silver cord—

In vain he hoped on earth to preach
The Gospel of his Lord.

The young, the beautiful, he lies

Within the coffin lead;

The green grass springs upon his breast,

The stone is at his head.

STANZAS TO A LADY ON HER BIRTH-DAY, WITH A BASKET OF WAX FLOWERS.

E. K.

IF Spring had raised her joyous voice
O'er vale and mountain free,

* Professor Anstice died at Torquay, an early victim to the extreme application to study of an ardent mind; but was removed to the burial place of his fathers, and not interred at Tor Mohun, as many visiters supposed.-ED.

And bade our English fields rejoice
In one glad harmony;-

Soon had I sought some green retreat,
Where her young nurslings stray,
To bring an offering to thy pet,
On this thy natal day.

That little flower whose soft blue eyes
Gaze on the quiet stream,
Who still "Forget me never" sighs,
Had mingled there its beam,

With the pale lily's stainless hue,
Drawn from some covert nigh;
An emblem, beautiful as true,
Of Christian purity.

And wall-flowers too, those faithful friends,

Who watch the captive's tower,

While every tenant zephyr sends
A token from their bower.

These first spring flowers! to every breast
They find an entrance free;

It is not childhood loves them best,

'Mid all its revelry ;-

But when the heart is weary grown
Of court, of camp, and hall,
Deep in its shrine they wake a tone
Like some fond sister's call.

Vain thoughts of spring! - for thee I twine
A frail and lowly wreath,

Whose buds alike through shade and shine
Affection's balm may breathe,-

And tell of hours whose joy had birth
Where nought may change or fade,
That smiles more bright when flowers of earth
Low in the dust are laid.

THE PILGRIM'S SONG.

LYTE.

"There remaineth a rest to the people of God."-Heb. iv. 9.

My rest is in heaven; my rest is not here;

Then why should I murmur when trials are near?

'Be hushed, my dark spirit!" the worst that can

come

But shortens the journey, and hastens thee home.

It is not for me to be seeking my bliss

And building my hopes in a region like this:
I look for a city which hands have not piled,
I pant for a country by sin undefiled.

The thorn and the thistle around me may grow;

I would not lie down upon roses below:

I ask not my portion, I seek not a rest,
Till I find them for ever in Jesus's breast.

Afflictions may damp me, they cannot destroy;
One glimpse of His love turns them all into joy:

Ꮓ

And the bitterest tears, if He smile but on them,
Like dew in the sunshine, grow diamond and gem.
Let doubt then, and danger, my progress oppose;
They only make heaven more sweet at the close.
Come joy, or come sorrow, whate'er may befal,
An hour with my God will make up for it all.

A scrip on my back, and a staff in my hand,
I march on in haste through an enemy's land:
The road may be rough, but it cannot be long,
And I'll smooth it with hope, and I'll cheer it
with song.

ETERNAL REST.

BARDIN.

PERHAPS the whole compass of our language does not contain a word more productive of sweet and soothing associations than that of Rest! In its most ordinary signification, it brings before my mind a weary traveller, at length arrived at the termination of his toilsome journey. I think of a shipwrecked sailor, escaped from the waves, and, in the consciousness of safety, sinking into a profound and tranquil sleep. I think of the placid repose of infancy. But give me the wider range of Revelation, and say what language, except that which Scripture itself has used, shall express the ideas which are implied in it! The

shipwrecked man quickly forgets the perils of the sea, and embarks again upon its treacherous surface—the traveller soon again prepares himself for fresh fatigues-the toils of life, its corrupt pursuits, its anxious cares, will quickly leave their furrows upon the infant's brow-but far different the rest which remaineth to the people of God. When this corruptible shall put on incorruptionwhen this mortal shall put on immortality, the faithful enter into that state, where there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, nor any more pain; where they shall neither hunger nor thirst any more--where those who walked together in Christian fellowship until death divided them, shall meet again, and dwell for ever in sweet communion with each other and with God. It is a state where all that is dark and mysterious shall be cleared up, and the soul shall behold, with unclouded vision, the celestial glories of the Sun of Righteousness, where all shall know, even as they are known. It is the heavenly Jerusalem, where those who have overcome with Christ, shall cast their crowns of glory before the Lamb, who hath redeemed them with his own blood, and worship him that liveth for ever and ever. Comforted by this assurance, I can bow in resignation to the will of God, and praise his mercy, even though he strips me of friends, and leaves me alone in this world's wilderness. The heart will mourn at each bereavement, but why should the Christian continue to grieve for the departed? "I heard a