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observed afterwards, that "Mr. Shepherd could not have been more earnest had he known that it would have been the last opportunity afforded him for seeking the salvation of immortal souls, and for testi. fying to the glory and grace of his Divine Lord.” All present were surprised at the energy displayed on this occasion, more especially as the aged servant of Christ was so exhausted as to be unable to give out the hymns, though he selected the last.

On the day following he felt so unwell as to send for his physician, who pronounced the attack to be one of jaundice. His strength from this time gradually declined ; and, on May the 8th, he said to one who visited him, " The great thing is preparation." On Thursday the 9th of May, he said to his youngest son, “I know in whom I have believed ; I am very unworthy

Nothing in my hand I bring.'” He then quoted part of a hymn, respecting the intercession of Christ, which he said had often given him great comfort :

“This instant, now, I may receive

The answer of his powerful prayer;
This instant, now, by Him I live,

His prevalence with God declare,
And soon my spirit in his hands
Shall stand where my Forerunner stands.""

Through the whole of his last hours he evinced great patience and resignation, though his sufferings were most acute. The languor and weakness were so great that he was unable to speak long together ; and this accounts for the remarks he made being often very brief. Alluding at one time to the pain he had suffered, he remarked : “I do not like to call it AGONY, I think that can be applied only to the Saviour's sufferings : but my pain has been very great." He observed, several times, “ How merciful is it that my consciousness has been preserved !” and here he alluded with great feeling to the circumstances connected with the death of his old friend, Mr. Dunn, and also of Mr. Bickersteth. Letters of sympathy from his select friends, and one especially from Dr. Morison, greatly cheered and comforted him.

During a great part of the last few days of his life, he appeared to be in constant communion with his God. He fully experienced the words of his own sweet hymn :

“Mark the weary pilgrim walking

Near to Jordan's fearful streams,
With his heart and Jesus talking,

Canaan's glory on him beams.

Now his journey past retracing,

Sins and mercies mark the road;
Now, the promises embracing,

These ensure his rest with God.” On the last Sabbath, he suffered much through the whole day, and, towards evening, he called his beloved wife and daughters to his bed-side, with the greatest composure and solemnity, telling them he had “ been waiting all day" for a suitable opportunity to speak to them, and had wished to gather all his family around him ; but he found he must not wait any longer, therefore they must tell the rest all he said. And first, addressing his wife, he remarked : “ We met in very different circumstances fifty-four years ago," alluding to the anniversary of their wedding-day, which had just returned ; and after a slight reference to his sufferings, he said, “The will of the Lord be done!" adding, “you have been an invaluable wife to me-'a prudent wife is from the Lord."" He then was obliged to pause for a few moments, and, making a renewed effort, said to his children présent, “You have been all good children ; not so of yourselves, but by the grace of God. Live in unity and godly love. Keep close to God, and he will never forsake yon.” He then appeared quite exhausted, and said no more at that time ; but several sweet sentences, which dropped at intervals from his lips, evinced that his soul was in perfect peace, resting wholly upon Christ ; his confidence firm and unshaken.

On Monday, May the 13th, he said to his youngest son, the Rev. Richard Shepherd, “ Preach Christ faithfully; do not mince matters." He generally asked his friends who came to see him, to pray for him, and emphatically, and with great composure, addressed each as if fully aware of his dying state, and as if it were the last time he should see or speak with them.

On Thursday evening, May 16, at half-past six o'clock, he sweetly and softly fell asleep in Jesus, in the seventy-fifth year of his age. It was difficult to know precisely when the spirit left its earthly tabernacle-so calm and gentle was its dismission.

The materials of our sketch are mainly borrowed from Dr. Morison's Funeral Sermon, preached at Ranelagh Chapel, on the 29th May last.

WAR. A STRICTLY defensive war is a palpable absurdity. All war is aggresive more or less--it ever was and ever will be.

Brit. Con.

POETRY.

“FATHER, COME HOME.” THESE Words formed the postscript of a letter written by a very little child to her long absent parent.]

“Father, come home,”—we miss you so at morn,
When we all gather and kneel down to prayer;
In vain we listen for your well-known voice,
In vain we turn towards your own arm chair,
'Tis vacant still, and oft our mother's eye
Grows tearful at that hour, though we are by.
“Father, come home,"--our pleasant garden bower
Was bare and leafless when you went away;
It had not then a single wreath of green,
It had not then one blooming woodbine spray,
But now 'tis bright, and beautiful, and fair;
We always wish for you while sitting there.
“Father, come home,"—your favorite rose tree now
Bends 'neath the weight of many a blushing flower;
We always water it when twilight comes,
And rich is its sweet perfume at that hour;
Not one has yet been plucked, we save them all;
Oh, will you see them ere they fade and fall.
“Father, come home.” When silent evening brings
The silver stars out in the pale blue sky,
We long again for you, to tell us how
They are real wondrous worlds of light on high.
We want you, father,-oh, then quickly come
To those who wait and watch for you at home.

ANNIE WHITE.

6 THE HEART IS RESTLESS TILL IT RESTS IN THEE."

St. Augustine.
A YOUTH is dreaming for the wreath of fame,
“Oh, could I win it for this longing brow,
“I ne'er should know of misery again,
*Nor feel the wretchedness that I feel now.”

A few short years are passed, that wreath is his,
'Tis bright as worldly worth has ever won;
Say, has he tasted yet of happiness?
Father, forgive him. Still he murmurs on.
At peace, at peace in vain he strives to bé;
“ The heart is restless till it rests in Thee.”

A warrior stands upon a battle plain-
“Oh, if I win this glorious field to-day,
“How gladly shall I seek my home again,
“Bearing the ensigns of my victory."
The day is passed, he stands a conqueror proud,
And blood-stained laurels bind his throbbing brow;
Ten thousand plaudits greet him from the crowd,
All is one triumph. Is he happier now?
Father, at peace in vain he strives to be;
“The heart is restless till it rests in Thee."
A mother watches by her sick one's bed,
“Oh, if he live, my loved, my precious boy,
“ To raise again his drooping, low-bowed head,
“How deep my happiness, how great my joy."
Her wish is granted; to that infant cheek
The rose returns, and the dull eye grows bright;
Yet, if that mother truthfully would speak,
Say, could she tell of lasting calm delight:
Father, in vain at peace she strives to be;
“The heart is restless till it rests in Thee."
A sinner kneels before the throne of grace,
“Pardon, I seek, O Lord, for all my sin,
"Hear my low suit, turn not away thy face,
“Cleanse the corruption that I feel within."
Long, long he kneels there, that poor child of grief,
Long, long he kneels-but see he rises now;
His Father heard his prayer and gives relief;
Nor did he vainly at that footstool bow-
Constrained to thy dear bosom, Lord! to flee
His heart is happy, for it rests in Thee.

ANNIE WHITE.

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