Thou art gone to the grave! but 'twere wrong to deplore thee,

For God was thy ransom, thy guardian, and guide: He gave thee, he took thee, and he will restore thee; And death has no sting since the Saviour has died.

SONG OF OLD TIME.

I WEAR not the purple of earth-born kings,
Nor the stately ermine of lordly things;
But monarch and courtier, though great they be,
Must fall from their glory and bend to me.

My sceptre is gemless-yet who can say
They will not come under its mighty sway ?
Ye may learn who I am through the passing chime,
And the dial to herald me-Old King Time.

Softly I creep, like a thief in the night,
After cheeks all blooming and eyes all bright;
My steps are seen on the patriarch's brow,
In the deep-worn furrows and locks of snow.

Who laughs at my power? The young and gay;
But they dream not how closely I track their way.
Wait till their first bright sands have run,
And they will not laugh at what Time hath done.

I eat through treasures with moth and rust,
I lay the gorgeous palace in dust,

I make the shell-proof tower my own,

And break the battlement stone from stone.

Work on at your cities and temples, proud man ; Build high as you may and strong as you can; But the marble shall crumble, the pillar shall fall, And Time, Old Time, shall be king over all.

EPITAPH ON A YOUNG GIRL.

OH! why lament her youth,

Or call Death rough?

The gentle girl in soothe
Was old enough.

Not the mere moments flown

Ripen the pure ;

The sinner's death alone

Is premature.

ALL IS WELL.

Bomdler.

WHILE Over life's wide darkling plain
Unheeding as we roam,

Through many a path of joy and pain,
God leads his children home.

And though sometimes in prospect viewed,
- The winding way seems dark and rude;
Ah! who the backward scene hath scanned,
But blessed his Father's guiding hand?

"REMEMBER ME."

Bumphries.

O THOU from whom all goodness flows,
I lift my soul to thee:

In all my sorrows, conflicts, woes,
Dear Lord, remember me.

When on my aching, burdened heart,
My sins lie heavily,

My pardon speak, new peace impart :
In love remember me.

When trials sore obstruct my way,
And ills I cannot flee,

Lord, let my strength be as my day:

For good remember me.

When worn with pain, disease, and grief,

This feeble body see;

Grant patience, rest, and kind relief:

Hear and remember me.

If on my face, for thy dear name,
Shame and reproach shall be,

All hail reproach, and welcome shame,
If thou remember me.

When in the solemn hour of death

I wait thy just decree,

Saviour, with my last parting breath
I'll cry, Remember me!

THROUGH DEATH TO LIFE.

Reu. Dr. Bonar.

"It is sown in dishonour, it is raised in glory."-1 Cox. xv. 43.

THE star is not extinguished when it sets
Upon the dull horizon; it but goes
To shine in other skies, then re-appear
In ours, as fresh as when it first arose.
The river is not lost, when o'er the rock
pours its flood into the abyss below:
Its scattered force re-gathering from the shock,
It hastens onward, with yet fuller flow.

It

The bright sun dies not, when the shadowing orb
Of the eclipsing moon obscures its ray:
It still is shining on; and soon to us

Will burst undimm'd into the joy of day.
The lily dies not, when both flower and leaf

Fade, and are strew'd upon the chill sad ground; Gone down for shelter to its mother-earth,

'Twill rise, re-bloom, and shed its fragrance round. The dewdrop dies not, when it leaves the flower, And passes upward on the beam of morn;

It does but hide itself in light on high,

To its loved flower at twilight to return.

The fine gold has not perished, when the flame
Seizes upon it with consuming glow:
In freshen'd splendour it comes forth anew,
To sparkle on the monarch's throne or brow.

Thus nothing dies, or only dies to live:

Star, stream, sun, flower, the dewdrop, and the gold; Each goodly thing, instinct with buoyant hope, Hastes to put on its purer, finer mould.

So in the quiet joy of kindly trust,

We bid each parting saint a brief farewell: Weeping, yet smiling, we commit their dust To the safe keeping of the silent cell.

Softly within that peaceful resting-place,

We place their wearied limbs; and bid the clay Press lightly on them, till the night be past, And the far east give note of coming day.

The day of re-appearing! how it speeds!
He who is true and faithful speaks the word;
Then shall we ever be with those we love-
Then shall we be for ever with the Lord.

The shout is heard; the archangel's voice goes forth;
The trumpet sounds; the dead awake and sing;
The living put on glory; one glad band,

They hasten up to meet their coming King.

Short death and darkness! Endless life and light! Short dimming-endless shining, in yon sphere, Where all is incorruptible and pure

The joy without the pain, the smile without the tear.