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MRS. JUDSON'S BURIAL AT ST. HELENA.
Gaze on that brow;
In quietude now;
The loved to her rest,
The turf on her breast.
So have ye buried her
Up! and depart
With undismayed heart:
Of the stranger will keep
In the Rock of the deep.
peace to thy bosom,
Thou hast before trod;
By the Hopia tree,
In the Rock of the sea.
Ecclesiastes, xii. 1
O, COME, pluck sweet flowers
Entwine a bright wreath for thy brow;
Their perfume around thy path throw.
When thy young eye is bright,
Go, gather the sweet flowers of love ;
And that kindness which comes from above.
Let wisdom direct
Those flowerets which never decay;
Fading not in life's wintry day.
Let the pages of truth
With their precepts and lessons sublime ;
Those jewels untarnished by time.
TO MY SISTER WITH A BIBLE.
TO MY SISTER WITH A BIBLE.
God's holy word,
Bright morning star,
The only star
The only mirror
To Him who died,
A brother's gift;
It gives you light,
It brings you life,
O, prize it well; 'Tis heaven's chart to guide you home
To worlds of light,
Where, robed in white,
As swift as a river,
Our time passes on; And sooner or later,
Its streams will be gone. How lovely the budding
Of life's early morn! How sad are the feelings
When pleasures are gone ! But time, in its fleetness,
Runs smooth over me; Why should I repine, then,
Who am joyful and free? But death, in its darkness,
Comes onward at last, And sooner or later
Its stream will be past. How pleasant the parting,
Life's drama played well, FIow joyful the feelings,
Which words cannot tell ! Then let us be joyful,
And glad let us be,
Shall set us all free!
All who enter on the world are in pursuit of happiness. Each one questions of another where it is; or fancies he perceives it from afar; but very few confess that they have found it. The young, starting into life with sanguine hopes and spirits gay, expect it every where: the more experienced, having sought it long and found it not, decide that it is nowhere. The moralist tells us there is no such thing; and the historian almost proves it by the miseries he details. Poverty says, “It is not with me;" and Wealth says, “Not with me." Splendor dashes by the cottage door, heaves the rich jewel on her bosom with a sigh, and says that the dwellers there are happier than she is. Penury looks out upon her as she passes, loathes her own portion, and silently envies what she must not share. Ignorance, with dazzled and misjudging eye, admires the learned, and esteems them happy. Learning decides that "ignorance is bliss," and bewails the enlargement of capacity it cannot find enough to fill. Wherever we ask, the answer is still, “Seek farther.” Is it so, then, that there is no happiness on earth? Or if it does exist, is it a thing of cir