-Ask of God

To arm thy heart, even as the stripling youth
Who with the simple weapons of the brook
The vaunting giant slew. Be thy step firm,
And thy demeanour like some angel guest,
Patient of earth, yet for Heaven's bliss prepared.
ANONYMOUS.

ON THE LOSS OF A WIFE.

I HAVE been just informed of the loss of your dear wife. She was mortal; but she has now be come immortal. Should this cause you to grieve immoderately? O that I was where she is now! "Safe landed on that peaceful shore,

Where pilgrims meet to part no more."

She was once a mourning sinner in the wilderness; but is now a glorified saint in Zion. The Lord has become her "everlasting light, and the days of her mourning are ended." Does this overwhelm you? She was once afflicted with bodily pains and weakness, encompassed with family cares, and harassed with a crowd of anxious needless fears; but she is now arrived at her father's house; and Jesus has wiped away all tears from her eyes; and freed her in moment from pain, and care, and fear, and want; and shall this make you sorrow, as those who have no hope?

a

You have not left your wife; she has only left you for a little moment; left her husband on earth, to visit her Father in heaven; and expects your arrival there soon, to join her hallelujahs for redeeming love. And are you still weeping? weeping because your wife can weep no more,-weeping because she is happy,-eternally, gloriously happy,

-weeping, because she is joined to the blessed assembly where all are kings and priests,-weeping, because she is, where you would be, and long to be eternally. The Lord Jesus has called her home to his kingdom, to draw your soul more ardently thither, he has broken up a cistern, to bring you nearer, and keep you closer to the overflowing fountain of all felicity BERRIDGE.

66

REMINISCENCES.

YES, I behold again the place,
The seat of joy, the source of pain;
It brings in view the form and face
That I must never see again.

"The night-bird's song that sweetly floats
On this soft gloom-this balmy air,
Brings to the mind her sweeter notes
That I again must never hear.

"Lo! yonder shines that window's light,
My guide, my token, heretofore;
And now again it shines as bright,

When those dear eyes can shine no more.

"Then hurry from this place away!

It gives not now the bliss it gave;
For Death has made its charm his prey,
And joy is buried in her grave."

CRABBE

THE FATHER TO HIS MOTHERLESS CHILDREN. 95

THE FATHER TO HIS MOTHERLESS CHILDREN.

COME, gather closer to my side,
My little smitten flock,

And I will tell of him who brought
Pure water from the rock-
Who boldly led God's people forth
From Egypt's wrath and guile,
And once a cradled babe did float,
All helpless on the Nile.

You're weary, precious ones, your eyes
Are wandering far and wide,—
Think ye of her who knew so well
Your tender thought to guide?
Who could to Wisdom's sacred lore
Your fix'd attention claim?
Ah! never from your hearts erase
That blessed Mother's name.

'Tis time to sing your evening hymn,
My youngest infant dove;

Come press thy velvet cheek to mine,
And learn the lay of love;
My sheltering arms can clasp you all,
My poor deserted throng;

Cling as you used to cling to her

Who sings the angel's song.

Begin, sweet birds, the accustom'd strain,

Come, warble loud and clear;

Alas! alas! you're weeping all,

You're sobbing in my ear;

Good-night-go say the prayer she taught,

Beside your little bed,

The lips that used to bless you there,

Are silent with the dead.

A father's hand your course may guide
Amid the thorns of life,

His care protect those shrinking plants
That dread the storms of strife;
But who, upon your infant hearts,
Shall like that mother write?

Who touch the strings that rule the soul?
Dear, smitten flock, good night!

MRS. SIGOURNEY.

A WIDOWER'S ADDRESS TO THE SPIRIT OF HIS
DEAD CHILD.

PLEDGE of a Love, as pure and deep
As ever thrill'd in mortal breast!
I would not, could I break thy sleep,
Recall thee from the couch of rest,
Where thou art now in peace reclining,
A stranger to the world's repining!
No;-bright as was thy brief career
In this wild waste of storm and gloom,
And much as I have wish'd thee here
My soul's dark sorrows to illume-
In loneliness I'd rather languish,
Than have thee partner in my anguish !
Besides, would even Heaven allow
Thy advent to this earth again,
That boon to thee were cruel now

Since human ills-a numerous train-
Would cross thee in thy path of life,

And stir thy young, sweet thoughts to strife!

When she, whose fond maternal eye

Watch'd thy first brightening hours of bliss,

Fled to a world beyond the sky,

And left us to the woes of this;

I deem'd not Fate could have in store
A future grief to touch me more.
But soon by dire experience taught,
I found that fantasy untrue;

Once more with added misery fraught,
The dark death-dealing arrow flew :
Oh God! my soul-erewhile in sadness-
That stroke had almost stung to madness!

The passions of that hour are past,
And brokenly my heart lives on;
Though this will soothe me to the last-
Whate'er betide-to dwell upon :

'T were better far that thou shouldst be
Where now thou art, than here with me!

Yet looking on thy sun-bright tress,

Unlocks the source of dried-up tears;
And thoughts intense and maddening press
On my hot brain :-though hopes or fears,
Since thou and thy sweet mother perish'd,
Have ne'er by me been felt or cherish'd!

Blossom of love! yes, on my mind
Strange and unusual feelings rush,-
The flood-gates of my heart unbind,
And bid its waters wildly gush,-
As gazing on these threads, I see
The all that now remains of thee!

Sweet Baby mine, farewell! farewell!
go to join the noisy throng;

I

But in my soul's deep-haunted cell,

Thoughts that to thine and thee belong
Shall ever bloom-as fresh and fair
As if they'd just been planted there.