raising herself up in bed, she heard the following stanzas sung in a gay though tender strain.

"Oh! ope thine eyes, my lov'd, my dearest,
Oh! wake, and thy fond lover see;
For, trust me sweet, 'till thou appearest,
Return can give no joy to me.

"Oh! wake and say that wavering never,
Thy heart has still been kind and true;
That thou art mine-and thus forever,
We'll every vow of faith renew.

"And thus our hopes and wishes blending,
Each passing year new joy shall give;
And with our hearts to Heaven ascending,
Blest and blessing we will live.

"Then ope thine eyes, my lov'd, my dearest,
Oh! wake and thy fond lover see;
For trust me sweet, 'till thou appearest,
Return can give no joy to me."

"He is come, he is come," cried the delighted girl, and jumping out of bed, she dressed with an expedition that few maidens could rival; and flew down stairs. What pen would have the presumption to attempt to paint the meeting.

A HYMN OF TIME.

HOW THE PILGRIM SANG TO CHEER HIS WAY.

BY THOMAS G. SPEAR.

BE not weary, gentle spirit!

Sink not sorrowing by the way;-
Light there is ahead, draw near it—
Glory, rise to share its ray;
And, with scenes sublime in view,
Plume thy wings to soar anew.

Wherefore droops thy glittering pinion,
Wherefore sigh'st thou in distress,
When God's smile is thy dominion,
Beautiful and shadowless?

Stir thee! stir thee! wake! arise!
Seek the gates of Paradise.

While his staff the traveller handles,
In his weary journeying,

Thorns may tear his dusty sandals,
Fangs his tender feet may sting;

But were life devoid of pain,
Bliss were proffer'd man in vain.

Look aloft, where light is breaking
Through this doubt-envelop'd sky-
Forward leap, the joy partaking
Of a higher destiny.

Lift thy staff and move apace,
In the pilgrim-thronging race.

Faltering oft-times, yet ascending,

Till beyond the world's dismay, Thither many a wanderer wending

Ere thee, sped the self-same way— Hoping through the darkest night, Happy when the dawn was bright.

"Upward! onward!" cry their legions,
Onward to the heavenly goal!
Bliss awaits, in brighter regions,
Every pure and steadfast soul;

And a glory shines abroad,
From the dwelling-place of God.

O'er life's yielding sand and gravel, 'Midst its trials and delights,

See, along yon paths of travel,

What glad mottoes skirt the heightsThence proclaiming, far and wide, How they triumph'd who have tried.

Be their lessons thine, when shaken
With despondency and pain-
Heed their cheerings, and awaken
To renew the march again.
Raise, my soul! thy drooping wing!
Pilgrim lift thy voice and sing!

Life is not enacted dreaming

Drowsily, or looking on

Then, to glory's beacons gleaming,

Rouse thee! rouse thee! and begone! There is bliss for those that strive, Happiness for all alive!

Though we meet but death around us,
Ashes in its best array,

Yet let not despair confound us-
Things there are beyond decay:
These the soul to gain must try,
Ere its vesture is laid by.

Then bestir thee! Life is action-
Hope a guide to lure it on-
Duty is the high exaction

God has fix'd our fates upon;
And despair not, soul of mine!
There are promises divine.

Ever hoping-ever soaring
Like the eagle to the sun,
Onward speed, with thoughts adoring,
Till the better land is won-

Till thy pilgrimage is o'er,

And new worlds expand before.

THE END