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Alas! in these days of degeneracy, parents much more frequently witness the vices of their children, than their virtues. And even should your children prove amiable and promising, you might live to be the wretched witness of their sufferings. Some parents have felt unutterable agonies of this kind.

When

God may have taken the lamented objects of your affection from the evil to come. extraordinary calamities are coming on the world, He frequently hides some of His feebler children in the grave. Surely, at such a portentous period, it is happier for such as are prepared, to be lodged in that peaceful mansion, than to be exposed to calamities and distresses here. Thus intimates the prophet Jeremiah, "Weep not for the dead, neither bemoan him; but weep sore for him that goeth away; for he shall return no more, nor see his native country." It was in a day when the faith and patience of the saints were peculiarly tried, that the voice from heaven said, "Write, blessed are the dead, which die in the Lord, from henceforth."

FLAVEL.

TO A DEPARTED CHILD.

I YIELD thee unto higher spheres ;
I bend my head and say, "Thy will,
Not mine, be done," though bitter tears
The while mine eyelids fill.

I know thou hast escaped the blight
That wilts us here, and entered now
To perfect day, though in the night
Bereft of thee we bow.

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And yet thy little sunny life
Was beautiful as it was brief:
It was not vexed by pain or strife,
It knew but little grief.

The sunshine from our house is gone,

And from our hearts their peace

and joy;

We feel so terribly alone

Without thee, dearest boy!

Thou mad'st us feel how very fair

God's earth could be, and taught us love;

And in life's tapestry of care

A golden figure wove.

Brave as we will our hearts to bear,
Grief will not wholly be denied;
The ineffectual dikes we rear
Go down before its tide.

We lie all prostrate,—cannot feel
God's love; we only cry aloud,
"O God! O God!" for all things reel,
And God hides in a cloud.

We blindly wail, for we are maimed
Beyond repair, until at last

He lifts us up,

- all bleeding, lamed,

And shattered by the blast.

He asks," And would you wish him back,
Whom I have taken to my joy, —
Drag downward to life's narrow track
Your little spirit boy?

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"No! no!" the spirit makes reply,

"Not back to earthly chance and pain;" "Yet ah!" the shattered senses cry, "Would he were here again!"

He was so meshed within our love
That all our heart-strings bleeding lie,
And all fond hopes we round him wove
Are now but agony.

Yet let us suffer; he is freed,

And on our tears a bridge of light
Is built by God, his steps to lead

To joys beyond our sight.

WILLIAM W. STORY.

EPITAPH FROM AN IRISH COUNTRY CHURCHYARD.

A LITTLE spirit slumbers here,
Who to one heart was very dear.
Oh! he was more than life or light,
Its thought by day—its dream by night!
The chill winds came.

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the young flower faded And died—the grave its sweetness shaded. Fair boy! thou shouldst have wept for me, Not I have had to mourn o'er thee; Yet not long shall this sorrowing beThose roses I have planted round, To deck thy dear and sacred ground, When spring-gales next those roses wave They'll blush upon thy mother's grave.

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LITTLE CHILDREN KNOCKING AT THE

GATE OF HEAVEN.

HARK! at heaven's crystal gates
Little hands are faintly sounding,
While a guardian angel waits,

All her soul with rapture bounding;
To that angel it is given,

For her holy life on earth,

To receive three babes in heaven,
In their new celestial birth.

A timid hand at first essays
To undo the portal fair,
And the angel veils the blaze
Of the glory everywhere;

"I am lonely, I am lonely!

Now I see no darling brother,
No fond father! Angel, only, -
Take, O take me to my mother ! ”

But the angel, with caresses,
Gently leads the cherub in,

And the young immortal blesses,

Saved from sorrow and from sin.

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