But first the sorrowful and then the glad: Tears for a day; for earth of tears is full, Then we forget that we were ever sad.

Not first the bright, and after that the dark,

But first the dark and after that the bright; First the thick cloud, and then the rainbow's arc; First the dark grave, then resurrection light.

'Tis first the night-stern night of storm and war,-
Long night of heavy clouds and veiled skies;
Then the far sparkle of the morning star,
That bids the saints awake, and dawn arise.

DR. BONAR.

Missionary's Farewell.

TILL on the shores of home my feet are standing,

But home itself e'en now behind me lies; Still my ship's anchor holds-but fast are breaking

Round this sad heart the dearest strongest ties.

Slowly and painfully those bonds are parting.
Now only known to clasp so close, so strong ;-
Fain would the tree grow on, nor bear transplanting
From the loved soil where it has stood so long!

Yonder, where I must go, the earth and heaven
Another aspect will appear to wear :

A fiercer sun will shine in noonday splendour,
And stars unknown light up the darkness there.

The cradle song, which soothed my childhood's slumbers,

The words of love and prayer will sound no more, All harsh will seem the unfamiliar accents

Which greet the stranger on that distant shore.

"Remain, remain !" I hear my dear ones calling, "Remain among us, loved and loving still; Tempt not the wild wave of the stormy ocean, "Tempt not the blinded heathen's wilder will!”

Yes, I would stay, did I not hear another,

A heavenly call, which tells me to depart;
His voice, who lingered not, when love and pity
For helpless, hopeless sinners filled his heart.

His voice I hear-and theirs, the lost, the dying-
The wail of heathen anguish o'er the sea!
They must not perish thus, unheard, unheeded,
The slaves of Satan must be yet set free!

Lord, I obey; I go where Thou appointest,
A willing servant to the harvest field;
Nor will I turn again, my post forsaking,

Though only thorns and briars the toil should yield.

The signal waves adieu, my own, my dearest !
Remember in your prayers the absent one;
And mourn me not, ye know the Friend Almighty,
Allwise, all-loving, who hath with me gone!

Hymns from the Land of Luther.

Scorn

corn not the east.

16TH CENTURY.

HERE words are weak, and foes encount'ring strong,

Where mightier do assault than do defend, The feebler part puts up enforcéd wrong, And silent sees that speech could not amend: Yet higher powers must think, though they repine,

When sun is set, the little stars will shine.

While pike doth range, the silly tench doth fly,
And crouch in quiet creeks with smaller fish ;
Yet pike are caught when little fish go by,

These fleet afloat, while those doth fill the dish;
There is a time e'en for the worms to creep,
And suck the dew while all their foes do sleep.

The Merlin cannot ever soar on high,

Nor greedy greyhound still pursue the chase; The tender lark will find a time to fly,

And fearful hare to run a quiet race;

He that high growth on cedars did bestow,
Gave also lowly mushrooms leave to grow.
In Haman's pomp poor Mordichæus wept,
Yet God did turn his fate upon his foe.
The Lazar pined, while Dives' feast was kept,
Yet he to Heaven-to Hell did Dives go.
We trample grass, and prize the flowers of May,
Yet grass is green,
when flowers do fade away.

ROBERT SOUthwell.

The Soul Bird.

("When an Indian maiden dies, they imprison a young bird until it first begins to try its powers of song; and then, loading it with kisses and caresses, they loose its bonds over the grave, in the belief that it will not fold its wings, nor close its eyes, until it has flown to the Spirit-land, and delivered its precious burthen of affection to the loved and lost.")

ERIEL-Courier to the spirits immortal,

Up from the grave where the Indian maid lies; Buoyant and onward, steer straight to Heaven's portal

Up from thy prison, and soar thro' the skies.
On thy beautiful pinions, love-laden and holy,
Bright be thy pathway through the ether and
light-

Fearless thy sanctified course pursue wholly-
Fold not thy wings, nor thine eyes close in flight.

For thine is a mission which angels have charge o'er-
The blessings of mortals thou journeyest to bear
To the souls of the lov'd who have passed on before,
To the bright land which knows neither sorrow or

care.

Up as thou fliest, thy sweet carols singing,

Soul-bird, to cheer thee, and gladden thy way; The treasure thou bear'st on thy onward course springing,

Are star-lamps of glory to light thee to day. Onward bear boldly-though faint yet pursuing, Up to Heaven's gate the commission safe bearAngels attend thee-bright spirits are viewing,

And, oh! what a welcome awaiteth thee there! Fold not thy wings till the end of thy travel

Close not thine eyes till thy mission is done; And when the bright levin of light shall unravel, And the glory of Heaven shall burst like a sun, On thy gorgeous plumage, and gladden thy gazing, Soul-bird, with visions of exquisite bliss

Then yield up thy treasures of love so amazing

Each freighted caress, and each soul-chartered kiss. From the lov'd and the left, who wait, on earth traveltossed,

The summons that calls thee away, to rejoin, Before the Great Spirit, the long-mourn'd, regretted, lost And inherit the joys of Heaven's prairie divine.

UMBRA.