As the airy gossamere,

Floating in the sunlight clear,
Where'er it toucheth clingeth tightly
Round glossy leaf or stump unsightly,
So from his spirit wandered out
Tendrils spreading all about,
Knitting all things to its thrall
With a perfect love of all:

O stern word-Nevermore!

He did but float a little way

Adown the stream of time,

With dreamy eyes watching the ripples play, Or listening their fairy chime;

His slender sail

Ne'er felt the gale;

He did but float a little way,
And, putting to the shore,
While yet 'twas early day,
Went calmly on his way,

To dwell with us no more;

No jarring did he feel,

No grating on his vessel's keel;
A strip of silver sand

Mingled the waters with the land

Where he was seen no more:
O stern word-Nevermore !

Full short his journey was; no dust
Of earth unto his sandals clave;

The weary weight that old men must,
He bore not to the grave.

He seemed a cherub who had lost his way
And wandered hither, so his stay

With us was short, and 'twas most meet
That he should be no delver in earth's clod,
Nor need to pause and cleanse his feet
To stand before his God:

O blest word-Evermore!

J. R. LOWELL.

GOD KNOWS WHAT IS BEST FOR US.

MOURNER, whatever may be your grief for the death of your children, it might have been still greater for their life. Bitter experience once led a good man to say, "It is better to weep for ten children dead, than for one living." Remember the heart-piercing affliction of David, whose son sought his life. Your love for your children will hardly admit of the thought of such a thing as possible, in your own case. They appeared innocent and amiable; and you fondly believed, that through your care and prayers, they would have become the joy of your hearts. But may not Esau, when a child, have promised as much comfort to his parents as Jacob? Probably he had as many of their prayers and

counsels. But as years advanced, he despised their admonitions, and filled their hearts with grief. As a promoter of family religion, who ever received such an encomium from the God of heaven as Abraham? How tenderly did the good man pray for Ishmael! "O that Ishmael might live before Thee!" Yet how little comfort did Ishmael afford.

Alas! in these days of degeneracy, parents much more frequently witness the vices of their children than their virtues. And even should your children prove amiable and promising, you might live to be the wretched witness of their sufferings. Some parents have felt unutterable agonies of this kind.

God may have taken the lamented objects of your affection from the evil to come. When extraordinary calamities are coming on the world, He frequently hides some of His feebler children in the grave. Surely, at such a portentous period, it is happier, for such as are prepared, to be lodged in that peaceful mansion, than to be exposed to calamities and distresses here. Thus intimates the prophet Jeremiah,

66

Weep not for the dead, neither bemoan him; but weep sore for him that goeth away; for he shall return no more, nor see his native country." It was in a day when the faith and patience of the saints were peculiarly tried, that the voice from heaven said, "Write, blessed are the dead, which die in the Lord, from henceforth."

FLAVEL.

ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD.

WHEREFORE should I make my moan,
Now the darling child is dead?

He to rest is early gone,
He to paradise is fled!
I shall go to him, but he
Never shall return to me.

Faith cries out, "It is the Lord!

Let Him do what seems Him good:

Be thy holy name adored,

Take the gift awhile bestowed; Take the child, no longer mine; Thine he is, for ever thine!"

CHARLES WESLEY.

THE DEATH OF A CHILD AT DAYBREAK.

"Let me go, for the day breaketh."

GEN. XXXI. 35.

CEASE here longer to detain me,
Kindest mother, drowned in woe;
How thy fond caresses pain me
Morn advances-let me go.

See

yon orient streak appearing,
Harbinger of endless day;

Hark! a voice, the darkness cheering,
Calls my new-born soul away!

Lately launched, a trembling stranger,
On this world's wild boisterous flood,
Pierced with sorrow, tossed with danger,
Gladly I return to God.

Now

my

cries shall cease to grieve thee, Now my trembling heart finds rest, Kinder arms than thine receive me, Softer pillow than thy breast.

Weep not o'er these eyes that languish,
Upward turned towards their home;
Raptured they'll forget all anguish,

While they wait to see thee come.