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“WATCH YE!"-(Mark xiv. 38.) WHEN summer decks thy path with flowers,

And pleasure's smile is sweetest;
When not a cloud above thee lours,
When sunshine leads thy happy hours,

Thy happiest and thy fleetest :
Oh ! watch thou then, lest pleasure's smile,
Thy spirit of its hope beguile.
When round thee gathering storms are nigh,

And grief thy days bath shaded ;
When earthly joys but bloom to die,
And tears suffuse thy weeping eye,

And hope's bright bow hath faded; Oh! watch thou then, lest anxious care Invade thy heart and rankle there. Through all life's scenes, through weal and woe,

Through days of mirth and sadness, Where'er thy wandering footsteps go, 0! think how transient here below

Thy sorrow and thy gladness;
And watch thou always, lest thou stray
From Him who points the heavenward way.

COMPARISON. Those wither'd leaves along the cold ground spread,

Did once the sweetest of all flowers compose; And though full many a sun hath seen them shed,

They still are odorous as the living rose. So breathes the meinory of departed worth,

Wben years have mourn’d it in the silent tomb, There is a fragrance in the holy earth

Where virtue sleeps, that time cannot consume; The good man dies; but with his parting breath, Bequeaths the world a sweet that knows no death.

THE NIGHTINGALE.
I LOVE to hear the nightingale

Alone, at evening's close,
Pouring her notes along the vale,

While other birds repose :

And fancy as it floats along,

By earthly sounds unbroken, In every note of her sweet song,

Her Maker's praise is spoken.

THE PLACE OF REST.
There is an hour of peaceful rest,

To mourning wanderers given ;
There is a tear for souls distress'd,
A balm for every wounded breast-

'Tis found above-in heaven!

THE SEA. BEAUTIFUL, sublime and glorious,

Mild, majestic, foaming, free,
Over time itself victorious;

Image of Eternity.
Such art thou, stupendous ocean!

But if overwhelmed by thee,
Can we think without emotion

What must thy Creator be?

Barton.

GLORIOU8 things of thee are spoken,

Zion, city of our God!
He whose word cannot be broken,

Form'd thee for his own abode :
On the rock of ages founded,

What can shake thy sure repose ? With salvation's walls surrounded,

Thou may'st smile at all thy foes.
See! the streams of living waters,

Springing from eternal love,
Well supply thy sons and daughters,

And all fear of want remove :
Who can faint while such a river

Ever flows their thirst t' assuage ? Grace, which like the Lord, the giver,

Never fails from age to age.

Newton.

As the winged arrow flies,

Speedily the mark to find; As the lightning from the skies

Darts and leaves no trace behind; Swiftly thus our fleeting days

Bear us down life’s rapid stream ; Upwards, Lord, our spirits raise,

All below is but a dream ; Thanks for mercies past receive,

Pardon of our sins renew;
Teach us henceforth bow to live,

With eternity in view :
Bless the word to young and old,

Fill us with a Saviour's love;
And when life's short tale is told,

May we dwell with thee above.

Newton.

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ANOTHER year hath closed. How swift they pass,
When once Fate's tardy hand the thread hath spun!
Once set, the sand within Time's hour-glass
Is quickly run.
While waited for-how slow the days advanced !
Pass'd by-how like a dream their speed appears !
Looked forward to-how bright the distance glanced !
Looked back upon-how dimmed with secret tears !
Barrier of hopes fulfilled, ambition gained !
Mysterious goal, which seeins to end the race,
How little in thy course nath been obtained !
And now another year must take thy place,

G

Ere we pass on with eager, hasty strides,
To this new portion of uncertain time-
Ere we would rend the shadowy veil which hides
Those future hours of joy, or love, or crime-
Shall we not pause and take a slow review
Of days whose deeds no effort can recall,
And n:ingle sorrow in that long adieu,
Ev'n though their sweetness hath been tinged with gall?
Shall we not part from thee, departing year,
With tenderness as from a dying friend,
Whose very faults (familiar faults !) grow dear
When all which charmed or saddened hath an end ?
Those faults—we know they can offend no more;
Those days—we feel they never may return;
We were impatient till they both were o'er;
And yet that they are passed doth make us mourn:
Is this the instinct of mortality,
Which makes us judge each step that leads us on to die?
It matters not. We have no power to stay
Time's even march, or slack his rapid way:
Welcome or not, to sad or cheerful homes,-
Dreaded or longed for, wintry Christmas comes.
From the rich lord whose ermined limbs scarce know
How chill the air when dim with drifting snow,
To the poor wretch whose scanty store denies
A purchased shelter from th’inclement skies ;
From the young school-boy, who with glowing hands
Lifts the dear latch, and on home's threshold stands,
Gazes with dazzled eyes a moment round,
And gains his mother's breast with one glad bound-
To the grave statesman, full of plodding care,
With wrinkled brow and meditative air;
Plotting and planning, harassed, worn, and vexed,
Dreaming, throughout this Christmas, of the next;
And, in the chance of future change or strife,
Losing the present of his weary life.
To all it comes! but not to all the same;
Different its aspect, though unchanged the name.

Hon. Mrs. Norton. LOGOGRAPHIC QUERIES. 1. Name two English words, one of which being of one syllable only shall contain as many letters as the other of five syllables ?

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