music, or eyes to look upon him who sitteth upon the throne, and upon the Lamb, forever; or feet to walk the streets of the New Jerusalem.

Blest spirit! at this still hour of midnight, come, whisper to mine, unrestful and pensive. Come, and in the spirit utterance with which thou communest with the angels, tell me : In that city of thy God, whose glory is its sun, lackest thou anything of or alike thine old tabernacle of clay, to make thy bliss complete ? Is there anything lying here in my mother's grave that thou wouldst have in heaven? Hast thou left behind thee aught of thy being that thou wouldst now recover in that spirit-world, to make up the complement of thy glorious existence? Say; is there a fountain of bliss at which angels drink, sealed against thy spirit-lips?

Is there a scene which they see opening upon endless years and space, and the infinity of God's attributes and glory, shut out of thy new vision? Are the things which human eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor heart conceived, withheld thy fruition, till time shall be no more with mortals here below; or till some other, distant, resurrection shall supply thee with new organs of sense, all unlike the angels'? Thou hast finished thy course. In years of service, thou wert elder than the apostle has thy Redeemer and his said to thee: "Well done, good and faithful servant," and left thee standing in the threshold of the joy of thy Lord; waiting until this grave common ground shall give thee back a hand to reach the crown that hangs by this throne for thee?

of

Methinks I hear,- yes; 't is thy spirit's whisper: "He that believeth in him who is the resurrection and the life, never dies."

CONSOLATIONS.

As healing balm upon the spirit broken
Fall the sweet accents of the Saviour's voice;
Freely and kindly is the promise spoken,

Lift up your head, O mourner, and rejoice,—
Behold, the Great Physician draweth near;
He that hath ears to hear, O let him hear!

"Ye who, by sin, the serpent old, are bitten,

Whose poison rankles festering in your breast; I for your sakes have been most sorely smitten, And through my suffering all men may be blest: Look unto me, O feeble, sin-sick soul!

Thy faith, thy faith in me, shall make thee whole."

Ye, who have sought for clear, refreshing fountains,
And only found Doubt's dark and bitter stream,
For cooling breezes from the heavenly mountains,
That but as simooms to your forehead seem:
As to the woman at Samaria's well,

Jesus to you a glorious truth shall tell.

He is the Well of Life,- there ever floweth,
From out his wounded side, these currents too,-
The sanguine tide of sacrifice, that gloweth,
And crystal water, type of all things true.
Taste, and allayed shall be all thirst, all pain:
He that hath drank shall never thirst again.

Our elder Brother, who redeemed, who bought us,

Gave us, his brethren, these consoling words;
Let us observe the precept that he taught us,-
Submission, peace, and comfort it affords:
"Ask of the Father, in my name, and he
Thine heart's desire will grant unsparingly."

If many trials round your pathway gather,
If storms beset you on your earthly way,
Go to the presence of your Heavenly Father;
Bend to the earth, and lift your heart and pray;
His ready ear attends to all distress;

With rest and peace he will the spirit bless.

And ye, who sad and desolate are weeping

O'er those whose joy, whose life, ye called your own, The while our Father held them in his keeping,

And so recalled them to his heavenly throne.
Soar day by day, on Hope's bright wings of prayer,
Unto his mansions, and behold him there.

Be but his children, fearlessly confiding

In a loved parent's tenderness and care,
And ye shall see God's love through all abiding,
Himself brought nearer by your earnest prayer;
Though fathomless life's mysteries seem to view,
A father's hand shall bear you safely through.

If darkest woes of life and bitterest sorrow

Are mixed for you, e'en then the fearful cup
Shall yet o'erflow with blessings Faith can borrow,
Ere ye have drank the bitter portion up;

And thus shall trial make your robes more white,
And Faith at last give place to perfect light.

Ar every swing of the pendulum, a spirit goes into eternity. The measure of our life is a handbreadth; it is a tale that is told; its rapidity is like the swift shuttle or the flying arrow; it is brief as the fading flower, or the transitory rainbow, or the dazzling meteor; it is a breath; it is a bubble. At every swing of the pendulum, a spirit goes into eternity. Between the rising and the setting sun, forty-three thousand souls are summoned before their Creator. Death is ever busy, night and day, at all seasons, and in all climes. True as well as beautiful are those lines of Mrs. Hemans:

Leaves have their time to fall;

And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath;
And stars to set, - but all,

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death.

He is supplied with a boundless variety of darts and arrows, with which he accomplishes his work. Could all the forms in which Death comes to man be written together, what a long and fearful catalogue would it make! Think of the innumerable number of diseases all at the command of Death. And, as though these were not sufficient, see how man is exposed to fatal accidents on every hand, and at every moment. It was a saying of Flavel,

that "the smallest pore in the body is a door large enough to admit death." "The least gnat in the air," says the same writer, "may choke one, as it did Adrian, a pope of Rome. A little hair in milk may strangle one, as it did a counsellor in Rome. A little skin of a raisin may stop one's breath, as it did the lyric poet, Anacreon." A little hangnail on a finger recently proved the avenue of death to a physician of this city, who was in the vigor of life and health. Even the food we eat to nourish us, and the air we breathe, may introduce death into our systems. And though everything else should fail to harm us, we might fall beneath our own hands, should God permit a cloud to pass over our reason. O how insecure is life! how near is death! What has been said of the mariner in respect to his ship, that "he always sails within four inches of death," may be said of the soul, in relation to the body. If the ship split, then the sailor sinks; if our earthen vessel break, the soul is plunged forever into the shoreless ocean of eternity. Were our senses not benumbed and deadened, we should be constantly reminded of this danger. We should read a warning in every sere leaf, and hear an admonition in every wind that sings. Even sleep, "tired nature's sweet restorer," would be a nightly monitor of death, - an ever-present emblem of mortality.