TAKEN AWAY IN LOVE.

Jane Taylor.

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 takes 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.

"LOVE YOUR ENEMIES."

Ir is the duty of a man

To bless his greatest foe,

And shield the arm that late was rais'd
To work his direst woe.

Just so the scented sandal tree,

In all its pride and bloom,

Sheds on the axe that lays it low,
Its sweet and rich perfume.

THE HOUR OF DEATH.

Mrs. Bemans.

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.

Day is for mortal care,

Eve for glad meetings round the joyous hearth. Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer, But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth!

The banquet hath its hour,

Its feverish hour of mirth, and song, and wine: There comes a day for grief's o'erwhelming power, A time for softer tears-but all are thine!

Youth and the opening rose

May look like things too glorious for decay,
And smile at thee;-but thou art not of those
That wait the ripen'd bloom to seize their

Leaves have their time to fall,

prey!

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!

We know when moons shall wane,

When summer-birds from far shall cross the sea, When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grain; But who shall teach us when to look for thee?

Is it when spring's first gale

Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie ?
Is it when roses in our paths grow pale ?
They have one season—all are ours to die!

Thou art where billows foam,

Thou art where music melts upon the air;
Thou art around us in our peaceful home,
And the world calls us forth-and thou art there!

Thou art where friend meets friend,

Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest;

Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest.

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!

"AS THY DAYS, SO SHALL THY
STRENGTH BE."

WHEN adverse winds and waves arise,
And in my heart despondence sighs-
When life her throng of care reveals,
And weakness o'er my spirit steals—
Grateful I hear the kind decree,

That "as thy days, thy strength shall be."

When with sad footstep memory roves
'Mid smitten joys and buried loves-
When sleep my tearful pillow flies,
And dewy morning drinks my sighs-
Still to thy promise, Lord, I flee,

That “as thy days, thy strength shall be."

One trial more must yet be past,
One pang,-the keenest and the last ;
And when, with brow convulsed and pale,
My feeble, quiv'ring heart-strings fail,
Redeemer, grant my soul to see

That as her day her strength shall be.

GOD IS LOVE.

Bishop Ken.

By various names we thy perfection call,
But pure, unfathom'd love exhausts them all;
By love all things were made and are sustain'd,
Love, all things to allure man's love ordained;
Love, vengeance from laps'd human race suspends;
Love, our salvation, when provoked, intends;
Love, Lord, thy infinite perfections join'd
Into all forms of love to save mankind;
Enlightening wisdom and supporting might,
Grace to forgive, compassion to invite ;

Thy bounty in rewards which thought exceed, Munificence to promise all we need;

Truth to perform; paternal, tender care,
A patient mildness, long to wait, and spare;
A justice to chastise love's hateful foes,
With jealousy curs'd rivals to oppose;
Benignity to hear a sinner's cry,
Unbounded all-sufficience to supply ;-
They all are love, love only is their aim:
My verse shall love and hymn thee by thy name.

"TOUCH

ME

NOT."

Anon.

"YE who wait in wistful gaze
Where young infants lie,
Learning faith and silent praise
From each pure calm sigh,

Say, 'mid all those beaming glances,
Starts, and gleams, and silent trances,
When the fond heart highest dances,
Feeling heaven so nigh ?"

"Hard it is, 'mid gifts so sweet
Choosing out the prime :

But no brighter smiles we meet
Than at waking time,