the eyes of your understanding may be enlightened to comprehend what is the breadth, and length, and depth, and height, and to know the love of Christ, which passeth knowledge. Then sin will be sweetly overcome, and corrupt motives of doing good will be superseded by purer and better motives. When you truly believe, human praise will appear to you a poor reward of good works; you will seek a richer recompence, even the praise which cometh of God only. Content with the approbation of your God and Saviour, you will pursue your even course through evil report and good report, through honour and dishonour; and, while the triumphing of the wicked is short, and the joy of the hypocrite but for a moment; while the hope of the hypocrite shall be as a spider's web, and his house, built on the sand, shall fall; your faith and profession, founded on a rock, shall stand and be established; your peace shall abound; you shall go from strength to strength; ; and your path shall be “as the shining light, which shineth more and more unto the perfect day."

STANZAS.

(From Revelations vii. 13, 14.)

J. A. W.

Who are they with robes so white

White as the foam of a stormy sea ?

Who are they with robes so bright

Bright as the cherubim's looks may be?
In the highest heaven their place who hold,

Where the planets roll beneath their feet,
And raise their hymns to harps of gold,

Around Jehovah's judgment-seat?
They are those who have been tried

In tribulation sad and long,
But have washed their robes in the crimson tide
Of the Lamb of God who is their

song
Those are they who, while on earth,

Were sore oppressed and much despised,
But who have found, in their second birth,

That peace which they through all had prized.

PRIDE LAMENTED.

ANON.

Oft have I turned my eyes within,
And brought to light some latent sin;
But pride, the vice I most detest,
Still lurks securely in my breast.
There, with a thousand arts, she tries
To dress me in a fair disguise;
To make a guilty, wretched worm
Put on an angel's brightest form.
She hides

my

follies from my eyes; She lifts my virtues to the skies;

And, while the specious tale she tells,
Her own deformity conceals.
Rend, O my God! the veil away;
Bring forth the monster to the day;
Expose her hideous form to view,
And all her restless

power

subdue.
So shall humility divine
Again possess this heart of mine;
And God—the condescending God -
Make it his Spirit's loved abode.

A COLLOQUY WITH MYSELF.

BARTON.

As I walked by myself, I talked to myself,

And myself replied to me; And the questions myself then put to myself,

With their answers, I give to thee. Put them home to thyself, and if unto thyself

Their responses the same should be, O look well to thyself, and beware of thyself,

Or so much the worse for thee.

What are Riches? Hoarded treasures

May indeed thy coffers fill;
Yet, like earth's most fleeting pleasures,

Leave thee poor and heartless still.
What are Pleasures? When afforded

But vain gauds which pass away;

Read their fate in lines recorded

On the sea-sands yesterday. What is Fashion? Ask of Folly,

She her worth can best express. What is moping Melancholy?

Go and learn of Idleness.

What is Truth? Too stern a preacher

For the prosperous and the gay;
But a safe and wholesome teacher

In adversity's dark day.
What is Friendship? If well founded,

Like some beacon's heavenward glow;
If on false pretensions grounded,

Like the treacherous sands below. What is Love? If earthly only,

Like a meteor of the night; Shining but to leave more lonely

Hearts that hailed its transient light:
But when calm, refined, and tender,

Purified from passion's stain,
Like the moon, in gentle splendour,

Ruling o'er the peaceful main.
What are Hopes? But gleams of brightness,

Glancing darkest clouds between,
Or foam-crested waves, whose whiteness

Gladdens ocean's darksome green.
What are Fears? Grim phantoms, throwing

Shadows o'er the pilgrim's way;

Every moment darker growing,

If we yield unto their sway. What is Time? A river flowing

To eternity's vast sea, Forward, whither all are going,

On its bosom bearing thee.
What is Life? A bubble floating

On that silent, rapid stream;
Few,- too few, its progress noting,

'Till it bursts and ends the dream.

What is Death? asunder rending

Every tie we love so well? But the gate to life un-ending,

Joy in heaven! or woe in hell!

Can these truths, by repetition,

Lose their magnitude or weight?
Estimate thy own condition,
Ere thou

pass

that fearful gate.

SUPERIORITY TO THE WORLD.

ANON.

AH! why should this immortal mind,
Enslaved by sense, be thus confined,

And never, never rise?