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Not slain, but caught up as it were,
To meet my Saviour in the air !
So would I die!
Oh! how bright
Were the realms of light
Bursting at once upon the sight!
Even so,
I long to go,
These parting hours, how sad and slow!
His voice grew faint, and fixed was his eye,
As if gazing on visions of ecstasy :
The hue of his cheek and lips decayed,
Around his mouth a sweet smile played ;-
They looked-he was dead !
His spirit had fled :
Painless and swift as his own desire,
The soul undressed,
From her mortal vest,
And stepped in her car of heavenly fire;
And proved how bright
Were the realms of light
Bursting at once upon the sight.

Edmiston.

A MOTHER'S GRIEF.
To mark the sufferings of the babe

That cannot speak its woe;
To see the infant tears gush forth,

Yet know not why they flow;
To meet the meek uplifted eye,

That fain would ask relief,
Yet can but tell of agony,

This is a Mother's grief.
Through dreary days and darker nights

To trace the march of death;
To hear the faint and frequent sigh,

The quick and shortened breath:
To watch the last dread strife draw near,

And pray that struggle brief,
Though all is ended with its close,

This is a Mother's grief.

To see in one short hour decayed

The hope of future years ;
To feel how vain a Father's prayers,

How vain a Mother's tears :
To think the cold grave now must close

O'er what was once the chief
Of all the treasured joys of earth,-

This is a Mother's grief.
Yet when the first wild throb is past

Of anguish and despair,
To lift the eye of faith to heaven,

And think-my child is there ;
This best can dry the gushing tear,

This yields the heart relief, Until the Christian's pious hope

O’ercomes a Mother's grief!

Dale.

YIELD to the Lord, with simple heart,
All that thou hast and all thou art;
Renounce all strength, but strength divine,
And peace shall be for ever thine.

Madame Guion.

REFLECTED on the lake, I love
To mark the star of evening glow;
So tranquil in the heaven above,
So restless on the wave below.
Thus, heavenly hope is all serene,
But earthly hope, how bright soe'er,
Still fluctuates o'er this changing scene,
As false and fleeting, as 'tis fair.

C. H. Townshend.

TO MY INFANT SON.

(On!) may'st thou early learn to prize
The plaudits of the good and wise

Alone as real fame;
Nor let the race absorb thy soul,
But keep thine eye fixed on the goal.

How sweet to the heart is the thought of to-morrow,
When Hope's fairy pictures bright colours display ;
How sweet when we can from futurity borrow
A balm for the griefs that afflict us to-day.

J. Brown.

ANAGRAMS. 1. Guess a fearful ruin. 2. I am an unreal plant. 3. Emma is burt. 4. Is pity love. 5. Men tigers. 6. 'Tis ye govern. 7. Great helps. 8. Moon-starers. 9. Frantic disturbers. 10. Honor est a Nilo. 11. Sly ware. 12. May I repent it. 13. Comical trade. 14. To love ruin. 15. Nine thumps. 16. Rare mad frolic.

ANSWERS. 1. Universal suffrage. 2. Annual parliament. 3. Rheumatism. 4. Positively. 5. Regiments. 6. Sovereignty. 7. Telegraphs. 8. Astronomers. 9. Sir Francis Burdett. 1o. Horatio Nelson. 11. Lawyers. 12. Penitentiary. 13. Democratical. 14. Revolution. 15. Punishment. 16. Radical Reform.

TO THE RAINBOW.
TRIUMPHAL arch, that fill'st the sky

When storms prepare to part,
I ask not proud philosophy

To teach me what thou art.
When science from creation's face,

Enchantment's veil withdraws,
What lovely visions yield their place

To cold material laws.
Nor ever shall the muse's eye,

Unraptured greet thy beam:
Theme of primeval prophecy,

Be still the poet's theme !
For faithful to its sacred page,

Heaven still rebuilds the span,
Nor lets the type grow pale with age,

That first spoke peace to man. T Campbell

INFANT'S PRAYER.
O THOU! who mak'st the sun to rise,
Beam on my soul, illume mine eyes,
And guide ine through this world of care :
The wandering atom thou canst see,
The falling sparrow's marked by thee,
Then, turning Mercy's ear to me,

Listen! Listen!
Listen to an infant's prayer!

Neele.

WHERE IS HE ?
AND where is be? Nut by the side

Of her whose wants he lov'd to tend;
Not o'er those valleys wandering wide,

Where sweetly lost, he oft would wend ! That form belov'd he marks no more ;

Those scenes admir'd no more shall see; Those scenes are lovely as before,

And she is fair,—but where is he? No! no! the radiance is not dim,

That used to gild his favourite hill ; The pleasures that were dear to him,

Are dear to life and nature still ; But ah! his home is not as fair,

Neglected must his garden be, The lilies droop and wither there,

And seem to whisper, where is he? His

pomp,

the crowded hall! But where is now the proud display? His riches, honours, pleasures, all

Desire could frame; but where are they? And he, as some tall rock that stands

Protected by the circling sea, Surrounded by admiring bands,

Seemed proudly strong,—and where is he? The churchyard bears an added stone,

The fireside shows a vacant chair! Here sadness dwells and weeps alone,

And death displays his banners there :

was the

The life has gone, the breath has fled,

And what has been no more shall be; The well-known form, the welcome tread,

Oh! where are they, and where is he?

Id.

THE ERRING.
THINK kindly of the erring !
Ye know not of the power
With which the dark temptation came,
In some ungarded hour.
Ye may not know how earnestly
The struggled, or how well,
Until the hour of weakness came,
And sadly thus they fell.
Think kindly of the erring!
Ob! do not then forget,
However darkly stained by sin,
He is my brother yet ;
Heir of the self-same heritage,
Child of the self-same God,
He hath but stumbled in the path
Thou hast in weakness trod.
Speak gently of the erring !
For is it not enough,
That innocence and peace are gone,
Without thy censure rough ?
It sure must be a weary

lot
The sin-crush'd heart to bear;
And they who have a happier lot,
Their chidings well may spare.
Speak kindly to the erring!
And thou may'st lead them back,
With holy words and tones of love
From misery's thorny track.
Forget not thou hast often sinn'd,
And sinful yet may be-
Deal gently with the erring one,
As God hath dealt with thee!

Family Economist, Feb., 1850.

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