« PreviousContinue »
was found to be yet living, though in a most precarious condition; as indeed was his friend, whose feeble frame had hardly suffered less from the cold and exposure.
For many weeks both lay at the inn, almost hovering between life and death; and there was no one so watchful over them, or so good a nurse, as Joe, who, better accustomed to rough weather, was soon restored to his usual vigour.
But God was pleased to restore both the young men, and to bless to them that fearful night; for years after they both owned that their first serious impression of life's uncertainty, and the awfulness of appearing unprepared before God, had been indelibly stamped upon them by that means. They have frequently been since to visit Joe, who is now a very old and infirm man, not far from the grave, and who speaks of both as if they were almost his own children. He still lives in his tiny old house, with his little Lucy, who is still “ Little Lucy" in name and in fact; nor do I know what the villagers, or any of us will do when Joe is gone; for none assuredly can take his place among us.
THE LOST DAY,
Mrs. Lydia H. SIGOURNEY.
Lost! lost! lost !
A gem of countless price,
And graved in paradise :
Large diamonds, clear and bright,
All changeful as the light.
Lost—where the thoughtless throng
In Fashion's mazes wind,
Leaving a sting behind :
A golden harp to buy,
To deathless minstrelsy. .
I feel all search is vain;
Can ne'er be mine again :
For till these heart-strings sever,
Is reft away for ever.
Like burning scroll have fled,
Who judgeth quick and dead,
That man can ne'er repair,
What shall it answer there?
THE PRESENCE OF GOD.
AMELIA B. Welby. 0, Thou who flingst so fair a robe
Of clouds around the hills untrod Those mountain-pillars of the globe
Whose peaks sustain thy throne, O GOD! All glittering round the sunset skies,
Their fleecy wings are lightly furld, As if to shade from mortal eyes
The glories of yon upper world;
There, while the evening star upholds
The summer-flowers, the fair, the sweet
Up-springing freely from the sod,
At every step, thy smiles, O GOD!
They bloom in palace-hall, or cot, —
Contented with my lowly lot;
Hark! from yon casement, low and dim,
What sounds are these that fill the breeze? It is the peasant's evening hymn
Arrests the fisher on the seas; The old man leans his silver hairs
Upon his light suspended oar,
Have died like ripples on the shore.
The birds among the summer blooms
Pour forth to Thee their hymns of love, When, trembling on uplifted plumes,
They leave the earth and soar above; We hear their sweet, familiar airs
Where'er a sunny spot is found : How lovely is a life like theirs,
Diffusing sweetness all around !
From elime to clime, from pole to pole,
The stars—those floating isles of light,
Round which the clouds unfurl their sails, Pure as a woman's robe of white
That trembles round the form it veils,—
Yet set the soaring fancy free;
Of faith, of peace, of love, and Thee.
The spirit, oft oppress'd with doubt,
May strive to cast Thee from its thought; But who can shut Thy presence out,
Thou mighty Guest that com’st unsought! In spite of all our cold resolves,
Magnetic-like, where'er we be,
And points, all trembling, up to Thee.
Yet, far beyond the clouds outspread,
Where soaring fancy oft hath been, . There is a land where Thou hast said
The pure in heart shall enter in; There, in those realms so calmly bright,
How many a loved and gentle one Bathe their soft plumes in living light,
That sparkles from thy radiant throne !
There, souls once soft and sad as ours
THE ELDER'S DEATH-BED.
PROFESSOR Wilson. For six years' Sabbaths, I had seen the Elder in his accustomed place beneath the pulpit ;-and, with a sort of solemn fear, had looked on his steadfast countenance, during sermon, psalm, and prayer, I met the pastor, going to pray by his death-bed:—and, with the privilege which nature gives us to behold, even in their last extremity, the loving and beloved, I turned to accompany him to the house of sorrow, of resignation, and of death.
And now, for the first time, I observed, walking close to the feet of his horse, a little boy about ten years of age, who kept frequently looking up in the pastor's face, with his blue eyes bathed in tears. A changeful expression of grief, hope, and despair, made almost pale, cheeks which otherwise were blooming in health and beauty ;-and I recognised, in the small features and smooth forehead of childhood, a resemblance to the aged man, who, we understood, was now lying on his death-bed. “They had to send his grandson for me through the snow, mere child as he is,” said the minister, looking tenderly on the boy ; “but love makes the young heart bold;—and there is One who tempers the wind to the shorn lamb."
As we slowly approached the cottage through a deep snowdrift, we saw, peeping out from the door, brothers and sisters of our little guide, who quickly disappeared ; and then their mother showed herself in their stead;