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Oh! 't is a song for days of grief,
Whate'er their depths unfold.

As one whose mother comforts him,

I will lift up my head.
No wound of Thine mall take the life'

From words which Thou haft said,
And in the fulness of Thy truth

I mall be comforted.

Miss A. L. Waring.


GOD doth not leave his own!
The night of weeping for a time may laft;
Then, tears all paft,
His going forth fhall as the morning fhine;
The sunrise of his favor fhall be thine,—
God doth not leave his own.

God doth not leave his own!
Though "few and evil" all their days appear,

Though grief and fear
Come in the train of earth and hell's dark crowd,
The trufting heart says, even in the cloud,

God doth not leave his own.

God doth not leave his own!
This sorrow in their life he doth permit,

Yea, useth it
To speed his children on their heavenward way, —
He guides the winds. — Faith, Hope and Love all say

God doth not leave his own.


WE will not weep; for God is ftanding by us,
And tears will blind us to the blefled fight;
We will not doubt, if darkness ftill doth try us,
Our souls have promise of sereneft light.

We will not faint, — if heavy burdens bind us,
They press no harder than our souls can bear,

The thornieft way is lying ftill behind us,
We fhall be braver for the paft despair.

O, not in doubt mall be our journey's ending;

Sin with its fears fhall leave us at the laft, — All its beft hopes in glad fulfilment blending,

Life fhall be with us when the Death is paft.

Help us, O Father! when the world is prefling

On our frail hearts, that faint without their friend,—

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Help us, O Father! let thy conftant blefling
Strengthen our weakness — till the joyful end.

W. H. Hurlburt.


AH! why fhould bitter tears be fhed
In sorrow o'er the mounded sod,
When verily there are no dead
Of all the children of our God?

They who are loft to outward sense
Have but flung off" their robes of clay,

And, clothed in heavenly radiance, "'
Attend us on our lowly way.

And oft their spirits breathe in ours

The hope and ftrength and love of theirs,

Which bloom as bloom the early flowers
In breath of summer's viewless airs.

And filent aspirations ftart,

In promptings of their purer thought,
Which gently lead the troubled heart

To joys not even Hope had wrought.

While sorrow's tears our eyes have wet,

Shed o'er the consecrated duft, Too much our darkened souls forget

The lefTbns of enduring Truft.

Let living Faith serenely pour

Her sunlight on our pathway dim,

And Death can have no terrors more;
But holy Joy fhall walk with him.

G. S. Burleigh.

THERE is a land where beauty cannot fade,
Nor sorrow dim the eye;
Where true love fhall not droop nor be dismayed,
And none fhall ever die!
Where is that land, O where?
For I would haften there!
Tell me, I fain would go,
For I am wearied with a heavy woe!
The beautiful have left me all alone:
The true, the tender, from my path are gone!
O, guide me with thy hand,
If thou doft know the land,
For I am burthened with oppreflive care,
And I am weak and fearful with despair!

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