Darkly, as in a glass,

Like a vain shadow they pass;
Their ways they wend

And tend to an end,

The goal of life, alas!

Alas? and wherefore so?
Be glad for this passing show;
The world and its lust

Back must to their dust

Before the soul can grow.

Expand, my willing mind,
Thy nobler life to find;
Thy childhood leave,
Nor grieve to bereave
Thine age of toys behind.

HEAVENWARD.

REV. A. C. COXE.

So, in our simple creed,

We drop this frail mortality we wear,

And-laud to Him who for our sakes did bleed,

And on his cross our bitter griefs did bear —

We know our ransomed nature certain heir

Of deathless being from its dying seed.

They who nurse hopes live every day an age,
And strive more fleet to live by living well:
And so we hasten on our pilgrimage,
Plucking earth's flowers, but fain in heaven to dwell.
Life, in our ear, doth mean eternity;
And Time, our staff, but speeds us on our way,
While all around poor voyagers we see,
Who bear it but to chronicle each day,
And notch the hurrying hours of destiny
In fearful units, numbering for dismay
The lavished seeds of immortality.

But O, our souls take no account of time,
For we are gazing into worlds sublime;

Our spirits are like song birds, nursed to light
In climates far too rude,

That, by a heavenly instinct, stretch their flight
To skies where such bright plumes were made to brood.
We know our kindred there,

In genial warmth, their golden plumage wear,
And sing their native notes forevermore :
We yearn for purer air,

And dream the music we were made to share,
As home we waft us from an alien shore.

THE PIOUS DEAD.

KRUMMACHER.

THE images of the pious dead continue to live in the hearts of their loving friends, like the image of the sun, which, reflecting itself in the waters, attracts them, at the same time, magnetically into its sphere; and sorrow is transfigured in the ravishing prospect," They went before us; we are following after." Yes, whatever the earth has borne or bears of what is truly great and glorious, though it may disappear from the corruptible eye, is nevertheless not lost to the children of God. It awaits us in the treasuries of heaven, in order to beam upon us there in superior splendor. Be patient, my friends; time rolls rapidly away; our longing has its end. The hour will strike, who knows how soon? when the maternal lap of everlasting Love shall be opened to us; and the full peace of God breathe around us from the palmy summits of Eden.

116 RECOGNITION OF THE SAINTS IN HEAVEN.

RECOGNITION OF THE SAINTS IN HEAVEN.

DR. JOHN DICK.

IT has been asked whether, in this blessed abode, the saints will know one another. One should think that the question was unnecessary, as the answer naturally presents itself to every man's mind; and it could only have occurred to some dreaming theolo gian, who, in his airy speculations, has soared far beyond the sphere of reason and common sense. Who can doubt whether the saints will know one another? What reason can be given why they should not? Would it be any part of their perfection to have all their former ideas obliterated, and to meet as strangers in another world? Would it give us a more favorable notion of the assembly in heaven, to suppose it to consist of a multitude of unknown individuals, who never hold communication with each other, or, by some inexplicable restraint, are prevented, amidst an intimate intercourse, from mutual discoveries? Or have they forgotten what they themselves were, so that they cannot reveal it to their associates? What would be gained by this ignorance no man can tell; but we can tell what would be lost by it. They would lose all the happiness of meeting again, on the peaceful shore, those from whom they were separated by the storms of life, of seeing, among the trophies of divine grace, many of whom they had despaired, and for

whose sakes they had gone down with sorrow to the grave; of knowing the good which they had been honored to do, and being surrounded with those who had been saved by means of their prayers and labors. How could those whom he had been the means of converting, and building up in the holy faith, be to the minister of the gospel a crown of joy and rejoicing in the day of the Lord, if he did not recognize them when standing by his side? The saints will be free from the turbulence of passion, but innocent affections will remain; and could they spend eternal ages without asking, "Are our children here? Are our still dearer relations here? Have our friends, with whom we took sweet counsel together, found their way to this country, to which we travelled in company till death parted us?"

HEAVEN.

ANONYMOUS.

No sickness there,

No weary wasting of the frame away,
No fearful shrinking from the midnight air,
No dread of summer's bright and fervid ray!

No parted friends

O'er mournful recollections have to weep;
No bed of death enduring love attends,
To watch the coming of a pulseless sleep!