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Why stoops the lady? What meets her eye
In the waving flags, as she passes by?
She bends to gaze on a baby fair,
In his bulrush-cradle sleeping there.
He wakes,—but it is not his mother dear,
He starts at the sight of a stranger near;
By her look dismay'd, though a smile serene
Plays o'er the face of the bright young

queen,
As she hastens to soothe the weeping child,
And calm his fears with her voice so mild.
But her eye has a look of sadness now,
And a shade of passes over her queenly brow-
“Another victim, poor helpless thing !
Vainly thy hands to the cradle cling;
Soon, soon must thou sink in the rising Nile,
A prey for some greedy crocodile;
And those dimpled limbs,—but it shall not

be, Though a Hebrew child,- I will rescue thee!"

The lady turns, for a maid draws nigh, With a trembling tear in her anxious eye. “What would'st thou, girl, with thy brow so

meek, Thy faltering tongue, and thy pallid cheek?" “Pardon, great princess, I crave thy grace, Wilt thou a nurse of the Hebrew race?" “Go, seek me one," and the maid has flown To the spot where a woman weeps alone. A moment more, and the babe is prest, With anxious love to his mother's breast.

Behold the babe into manhood grown,
With a noble bearing, and dauntless tone;
He fears not the wrath of the cruel king,
For all his hopes to Jehovah cling;
And a godlike spirit has filled his soul,
With a high ambition beyond control,
As he sees his brethren's woes, and longs
With a holy fervour to heal their wrongs.

But his kinsmen know not the high decree
That rules o'er his future destiny.
They spurn his aid, and reject the hand
That would lead them forth from a hostile land,
And forth he goes from his palace home,

the trackless desert alone to roam.
Alone ! what sight meets his wondering gaze?
A bush enwreathed with a burning blaze;
Yet still it lives,—and the silent tree
Tells of a present Deity.
Trembling, he leans on his pilgrim rod,
And his spirit thrills to the voice of God.

Once more, on the summit of Pisgah’s rock
See a hoary man, like a graceful shock
Of ripened corn; behold him now,
With the dewy damps of death on his brow.
His white beard sweeps o'er his aged breast,
And his bright eye turns to the land of rest-
The Promised Land, with its fields of green,
And its waving trees, while rolls between
The flowing Jordan's swelling stream,
Shining beneath the sun's last beam.
And there with the goodly land in view,
And his firm gaze fixed on the sky's pale blue,
His wanderings o'er, and his toils all past,
In his Maker's arms he breathes his last.

TEMPTATION.

“Blessed is the man that endureth temptation, for when he is tried he shall receive the crown of life, which the Lord hath promised to them that love Him."-James i. 12.

OH! flee from temptation, and loiter not there By the green sunny bank, with its flowerets

so gay,

Each leaf hides an adder, each blossom a snare To entrap the weak Christian who lags on his

way.

Speed, speed on thy journey, and lingernot near,
To hear the glad music, the festival song,
In the gay haunts of pleasure, but shun them

with fear,
Resist the temptation, and hasten along.

A guerdon awaits thee, a heavenly crown,
Unfading, eternal, is held to thy view;
Which the world would depise, and reject

with a frown, But Christ shall bestow on the faithful and true.

Then haste on thy journey, and look not be

hind thee, But cast the first thought of temptation away; That Christ when He cometh in glory, may

find thee Still watchful, still faithful, and call thee away.

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