"Tis the soul! Mysterious name! Him it seeks from whom it came; It would, Mighty God, like Thee, Holy, holy, holy be!

The brook upon its way
Wide and wider grows;
Like a song, it sounds along,
All the way it goes.

Sometimes clear as glass,
Glides the water by ;

As we look upon the brook,
There we see the sky.

Thus my soul would be
Growing every day;

Thus would raise a song of praise,

Ever on the way.

Like the water clear

Purified from sin;

Like the brook, when deep I look,

Heaven be found within.

What! know ye not that ye

The temple are of God?

Revere the earth-built shrine, where he
Should find a meet abode!

Immortal man, keep pure

Thyself, that holy shrine

Let hate of all that's dark endure,

And love of all divine.

Let life a holy stream

Its fountain holy show;
Reflecting with a soften'd gleam
Heaven's purity below.

God made the sun, and stars, and skies,
The pretty shrubs and flowers,

And all the birds and butterflies

That flutter thro' the bowers.

He keeps them underneath His wings,
And there they safely rest;

Yet, tho' they're bright and lovely things,
He loves us far the best.

For when the birds and flowers die,
Their little life is past;

But we shall live with God on high,
Our lives will always last.

[Martineau's Hymns, 526.

Not by the terrors of a slave,

Thy children do Thy will;

But with the noblest powers they have,
Thy welcome word fulfil.

They find access, at every hour,

To God within the veil :

Hence they derive a quick'ning power,

And joys that never fail.

LESSON V.

THE SOUL LEAVES THE BODY AT DEATH.

"The Silent Pastor," page 63, by T. Sadler, Ph. D. (E. T. Whitfield, 2, Essex Street, Strand.)

THE next day, Walter's mother said to him, "My child, come and sit on my knee; I want to tell you something. There! lay your head on my arm, and look at me, and keep your feet and hands still, that you may be able to hear me quietly.

“What we have been talking about lately has made me think of something that happened when I was a girl, about thirteen years old: that is, just as old as your sister Bertha. We lived in the town then; and my father one morning asked me to take a book back to a friend from whom he had borrowed it. It was not far-only in the next street, and I knew the way quite well, so I did not mind going alone; there were some new houses being built in our street; and a high heavy scaffolding was built up for the men to

work upon. As I passed, I noticed a boy who looked younger than myself; he had charge of his little sister, and he took such kind loving care of her! The wind was blowing rather cold, and the little girl seemed starved and miserable; and as I came up I saw him take off a nice warm soft cloak that he had on, and tenderly wrap his little sister in it; his hands moved so gently as he fastened it about her neck, and when I looked in his face I thought I never had seen any face before so loving and so kind. There were a few drops of rain beginning to fall just as I passed, and the little boy bent down to his sister, and pointed up to the clouds, and I heard him say— 'See, dear Sue! God is beginning to send us down some rain; it will soon be warmer now, and the dust will not blow into your eyes!'

"Well! I went on, round the corner of the street; I left the book at the house where my father had borrowed it, and set off home again; and when I turned the corner of the street again, the scaffolding was gone! It had fallen and crushed the poor little boy to death. I did not stay to enquire, or hear anything more: I was frightened at the bustle and the crowd, and ran home to my mother as fast as I could, and told her what had happened. In the evening she