Ye tempting sweets forbear—

Ye dearest idols fall:

My love ye must not share ;

Jesus shall have it all:

'Tis bitter pain-'tis cruel smart,

But O! thou must consent, my heart!

Ye fair enchanting throng,
Ye golden dreams, farewell!
Earth has prevailed too long,
And now I break the spell:
Ye cherished joys of early years!
Jesus forgive these parting tears.

But must I part with all,

My heart still fondly pleads: Yes-Dagon's self must fall :

It beats, it throbs, it bleeds: Is there no balm in Gilead found

To soothe and heal the smarting wound?

O yes, there is a balm,

A kind physician there,

My fevered mind to calm,

To bid me not despair :

Dear Saviour! help me, set me free,

And I will all resign to thee!

WHILE o'er this dear remain affection weeps,
A voice proclaims-"She is not dead, but sleeps:"

Jesus again descending from the skies

Shall break her slumbers, saying

-" Maid arise;"

Then gently lead her to her Father's feet,
With kind command to give her angels' meat,
Assured in hope, we wait the promised hour
'Tis sown in weakness-it is raised in power.

ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT.

WITH what unknown delight the mother smiled When this frail treasure in her arms she pressed! Her prayer was heard—she clasped a living child; But how the gift transcends the poor request! A child was all she asked, with many a vow;— Mother-Behold the child an angel now!

Now in her Father's house she finds a place;
Or if to earth she take a transient flight,
'Tis to fulfil the purpose of His grace,

To guide thy footsteps to the world of light ;—

A ministering spirit sent to thee,

That where she is, there thou mayst also be.

R

ON VISITING AN OLD FAMILY RESIDENCE.

LET pensive Memory trace her wonted round
In these familiar walks:-'tis fairy ground :
Still to her view upheld in bright array,
Birds in the bowers, and roses ever gay.
Let grateful thought with deeper musings roam
Through each loved haunt of this deserted home.
Long from the social altar, year by year,
The patriarch's prayer went up accepted here,
And lo! in answer to the faithful call,

On children's children showers of blessings fall.
Embowered retreat! how fair to Christians' eyes:
Sure 'twas heaven's gate! a nursery for the skies!

TRITE THOUGHTS IN A PLACE OF WORSHIP.

THESE Courts, how amiable! 'tis sweet

To spend the day of rest,

Where minds in pure communion meet

(Though but a stranger guest),

Where Peace and Love their hearts expand

And Friendship's holy flame is fanned.

When clouds of fragrant incense rise (The prayer of hearts sincere)

When hymns of praise address the skies, "Tis pleasant to be here!

But while my soul the influence feels,

A vision o'er my fancy steals.

I hear the rush of noiseless wings,
A viewless form descry;

The keys of death and hell he brings,
Commissioned from on high:

The walls with solemn airs resound,
And sable banners wave around.

Angel of death!—with pallid shroud
O'er his high stature spread,

He moves amid the unconscious crowd,
With slow and silent tread ;

Marks who shall first, and latest fall;
But drops the mantle over all.

May none escape—the chosen few,

That Friendship fain would spare?

Nay, Death hath oft his favourites too,

And O, his taste is rare!

The crowd he often passes by—

To fix on such his hollow eye.