harmless and slow, to throw off fear is the way to do it; and prayer is the way to do that. If thou wilt be fearless of death, endeavor to be in love with the felicities of saints and angels, and be once persuaded to believe that there is a condition of living better than this; that there are creatures more noble than we; that above there is a country better than ours; that the inhabitants know more and know better, and are in places of rest and desire; and first learn to value it, and then learn to purchase it, and death cannot be a formidable thing, which lets us into so much joy and so much felicity. "The dead that die in the Lord" shall converse with St. Paul, and all the college of the apostles, and all the saints and martyrs, with all the good men whose memory we preserve in honor, with excellent kings and holy bishops, and with the great Shepherd and Bishop of our souls, Jesus Christ, and with God himself. For "Christ died for us, that, whether we wake or sleep, we might live together with him." Then we shall be free from lust and envy, from fear and rage, from covetousness and sorrow, from tears and cowardice; and these, indeed, properly are the only evils that are contrary to felicity and wisdom. Then we shall see strange things, and know new propositions, and all things, in another manner, and to higher purposes.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me." -PSALM Xxiii.

104

ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND.

ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND.

BISHOP HEBER.

THOU art gone to the grave! but we will not deplore thee;

Though sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb, Thy Savior has passed through its portals before thee, And the lamp of his love is thy guide through the

gloom!

Thou art gone to the grave! we no longer behold thee, Nor tread the rough paths of the world by thy side; But the wide arms of Mercy are spread to infold thee, And sinners may die, for the SINLESS has died!

Thou art gone to the grave! and, its mansion forsaking,

Perchance thy weak spirit in fear lingered long; But the mild rays of paradise beamed on thy waking, And the sound which thou heard'st was the seraphim’s song!

Thou art gone to the grave! but we will not deplore thee,

Whose God was thy ransom, thy guardian and guide; He gave thee, he took thee, and he will restore thee, And death has no sting, for the Savior has died!

IN AFFLICTION DWELL UPON THE BREVITY OF LIFE.

REV. T. BROOKS.

To silence and quiet your souls under the afflicting hand of God, dwell much upon the brevity or shortness of man's life. This present life is not life, but a motion, a journey towards life. Man's life, saith one, is the shadow of smoke, yea, the dream of a shadow. Saith another, Man's life is so short, that Austin doubted whether to call it a dying life or a living death. Thou hast but a day to live, and perhaps thou mayst be now in the twelfth hour of that day; therefore hold out faith and patience, thy troubles and thy life will shortly end together; therefore hold thy peace, thy grave is going to be made, thy sun is near setting, death begins to call thee off the stage of this world, death stands at thy back, thou must shortly sail forth upon the ocean of eternity; though thou hast a great deal of work to do, a God to honor, a Christ to close with, a soul to save, a race to run, a crown to win, a hell to escape, a pardon to beg, a heaven to make sure, yet thou hast but a little time to do it in; thou hast one foot in the grave, thou art even going ashore on eternity; and wilt thou not cry out of thy afflictions? Wilt thou not mutter and murmur when thou art entering upon an unchangeable condition?

106

DIRGE IN AUTUMN.

What extreme folly and madness is it for a man to mutter and murmur when he is just going out of prison, and his bolts and chains are just knocking off! Why, Christian, this is just thy case; therefore hold thy peace; thy life is but short, therefore thy troubles cannot be long; hold up, and hold out quietly and patiently a little longer, (Rom. viii. 18,) and heaven shall make amends for all.

DIRGE IN AUTUMN.

WILLIS GAYLORD CLARK.

"TIS an autumnal eve-the low winds sighing
To wet leaves, rustling as they hasten by;
The eddying gusts to tossing boughs replying,
And ebon darkness filling all the sky;
The moon, pale mistress, palled in solemn vapor;
The rack swift wandering through the void above,
As I, a mourner by my lonely taper,

Send back to faded hours the plaint of love.

Blossoms of peace, once in my pathway springing, Where have your brightness and your splendor gone?

And thou, whose voice to me came sweet as singing, What region holds thee, in the vast unknown? What star far brighter than the rest contains thee, Beloved, departed-empress of my heart?

What bond of full beatitude enchains thee
In realms unveiled by pen or prophet's art?

Ah, loved and lost! in these autumnal hours,

When fairy colors deck the painted tree,
When the vast woodlands seem a sea of flowers,
O, then my soul, exulting, bounds to thee-
Springs as to clasp thee yet in this existence,
Yet to behold thee at my lonely side;

But the fond vision melts at once to distance,
And my sad heart gives echo - she has died!

Yes! when the morning of her years was brightest,
That angel presence into dust went down;
While yet with rosy dreams her rest was lightest,

Death, for the olive, wove the cypress crown; Sleep which no waking knows o'ercame her bosom, O'ercame her large, bright, spiritual eyes ; Spared in her bower connubial one fair blossom Then bore her spirit to the upper skies.

There let me meet her, when, life's struggles over, The pure in love and thought their faith renew,Where man's forgiving and redeeming Lover Spreads out his paradise to every view.

Let the dim autumn, with its leaves descending, Howl on the winter's verge!-yet spring will

So

come:

my freed soul, no more 'gainst fate contending, With all it loveth shall regain its home!