Sisters! there's music here,
From countless harps it flows,
Throughout this bright celestial sphere,
Nor pause, nor discord knows;
The seal is melted from mine ear
By love divine,

And what through life I pin'd to hear,
Is mine! Is mine!

The warbling of an ever-tuneful choir,
And the full deep response of David's sacred lyre.
Did kind earth hide from me

Her broken harmony,

That thus the melodies of Heaven might roll, And whelm in deeper tides of bliss, my rapt, my wondering soul?

Joy! I am mute no more;

My sad and silent years,

With all their loneliness are o'er;

Sweet sister! dry your tears.

Listen, at hush of eve-listen, at dawn of day-
List, at the hour of prayer, can you not hear my lay?
Untaught, unchecked it came,

As light from chaos beamed,

Praising his everlasting name,

Whose blood from Calvary streamed,

And still it swells that highest strain-the song of the redeemed.

Brother!-my only one!

Beloved from childhood's hours,
With whom beneath the vernal sun,
I wandered, when our task was done,
To gather early flowers,-

I cannot come to thee;

Though 'twas so sweet to rest

Upon thy gently guiding arm, thy sympathising breast,

'Tis better here to be.

No disappointments shroud
The angel bower of joy ;
Our knowledge hath no cloud,
Our pleasures no alloy;
The fearful words-to part,

Are never breath'd above;
Heaven hath no broken heart-
Call me not hence-my love.

Oh mother! He is here,

To whom my soul so grew,
That when death's fatal spear,
Stretch'd him upon his bier,

I fain must follow too.

His smile my infant griefs restrained:
His image in my childish dream,

And o'er my young affections reign'd,
With gratitude unuttered and supreme;

But yet, till these refulgent skies burst forth in

radiant glow,

I knew not half th' unmeasur'd debt, a daughter's

heart doth owe.

Ask ye, if still his heart returns its ardent glow?
Ask ye if filial love

Embodied spirits prove?

Look! 'tis a little space, ere thou shalt rise to know,

I bend to sooth thy woes,

How near, thou canst not see,

I watch thy lone repose

Alice doth comfort thee;

To welcome thee I wait,-blest mother, come to me.

Hartford, Connecticut.

LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY.

RECOLLECTIONS OF IRELAND.

No. V.

THE OUTCAST.

[Concluded from page 313.]

By the Author of 'A Visit to my Birth-place,' &c.

THERE is something always particularly interesting to me, as there is perhaps to every one who feels the peculiar earthliness of his own heart, in the appearance, the language, the whole demeanour of one who can more practically take up the words of St. Paul, and say, "The world is crucified unto me, and I unto the world."

66

That deadness to the world which is felt in the heart, is often expressed in the countenance; and there is nothing unlovely in the expression; while there is nothing morose or gloomy, there is that indescribable peculiarity which conveys the impression that they are strangers and pilgrims " below, whose path, we must believe in mercy, has been rendered barren, if not thorny; and while their very smiles appear to us to tell of the crucifixion of earthly hopes, earthly joys, earthly affections, we take pleasure in thinking that if life is to them a dreary, it will be at least, a short passage to "a better country "—that

soon the pilgrim shall be at home-the wandering mariner through life's storms, at "the haven where he would be."

Such were the feelings with which I regarded the afflicted, patient, happy Mary-afflicted, because she was through much tribulation to enter the kingdom of God-patient, because that mind was in her which was also in Christ Jesus-happy, because she rejoiced in hope of the glory of God.

I had before this desired her continuance on earth; I now saw how selfish was the wish, and turned with satisfaction from the dreariness of the present hour, to the brightness of that "perfect day," which I trusted would shortly arise upon her freed, her joyous spirit, when, of her mortal one, "the shadows should flee away." But her passage to that "better land" was a tedious one; and a very cheerless and disturbed one, at least so far as earthly matters were concerned.

One day, when I was sitting with her, she quoted a passage which proved, unintentionally, the cause of a fresh disturbance, though perhaps, unknown to us, good might afterwards have arisen from it. It was "the wicked shall not stand in the judgment, neither sinners in the congregation of the righteous." Of the general judgment, the resurrection of the righteous, the final triumph of the Church, and dominion of the Saviour, Mary loved to speak; but the quotation in question made me remark how needful it was for all persons to inquire how they should be able to stand in the judgment.

They must do penance for their sins, and get the absolution of their Priests, and do good works for the salvation of their souls,' was the unexpected reply