LOOK BEYOND.

WHEN thy bosom swells with joy,
Pleasures all thy hours employ ;

When thy heart is free from sorrow,

Careless of each coming morrow;

When bright flowers are round thee strewn,

Hope's fair mantle o'er thee thrown;

LOOK BEYOND these scenes so gay,

Fleeting, soon they'll pass away.

When thy brow with care is clouded,

Youth's fond dreams in darkness shrouded;

When the light is faded-gone

That around thy pathway shone;

When thine eye is dimmed with tears,

Sad thy spirit filled with fears;

LOOK BEYOND this world of woe,

Peace and joy can God bestow.

When the loved, who now are thine,
Leave thee for a brighter clime;
When the grave, the bier, the pall,
From thy gaze, have taken all;
When thy lonely heart doth mourn
Hours that never can return;

LOOK BEYOND the silent tomb,
CHRIST hath scatter'd far its gloom.

When thy days are finished here,
Death's dark valley drawing near;
When thy feeble frame decays,
Faint and pale life's flickering rays;
When bright angels o'er thee bend,
Home thy spirit to attend;

LOOK BEYOND the parting hour,

Trust thy Saviour's grace and power!

C.

THE INDIAN SACRIFICE.

My life, though I am still young, has been to me a very eventful one; I have never resided but a few years at a time in one place; for it has seemed the intention of a wise Providence that I should literally have here no abiding place or continuing city. I have lived in the town and in the country, in the village and in the wilderness, in society and in solitude. But I trust I have learned in whatsoever state I am, there with to be content. I have never passed a day without experiencing much, very much, for which to be thankful, and have truly been led to say:

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Through all the various changing scenes

Of life's uncertain ill, or good,

Thy hand, O God, conducts unseen

The beautiful vicissitude."

One afternoon, being surrounded by a circle of young friends, who had seldom been out of the busy hum of city life, I was urged by them to nar

rate some facts connected with my residence in the "Western country."

"Oh, yes," said one of them; "something about the Indians."

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'your ideas about Indians are

"Ah!" said I, very different from mine.

You think of the fierce

Black Hawk, or the bold and wild Oseola, as savage men, who should not be suffered to live; and you imagine that all red men are of the same disposition. But, when I think of this wronged people, my heart aches. Who shall tell of the aggressions and frauds and oppressions which the whites have practised upon this doomed race; for, as the famous Red Jacket once affectionately said, The whites can exaggerate every effort made by the red men to retaliate the injuries and insults we receive; but we have no newspapers to tell what we suffer.' Who shall tell the story of the traders coming to them under the garb of friendship, and giving them the fire-water,' as they appropriately styled ardent spirits; and how, under its strange influence, they have been persuaded for a paltry sum to part with their extensive tracts of lands, containing their hunting-grounds, their dense forests, and, more sacred than all, the graves of their fathers. Oh, if you had seen them, as I have, when the time came for the fulfilment of their

contract to remove, leaving the home which their nation had enjoyed for ages past, and departing in a body, while, from time to time, they looked back towards their loved habitations, their bitter wailings testifying to the intensity of their grief, you would at least have sympathised with them. Long after their forms were lost to view, at intervals the loud lamentations of these 'sons of the forest' were borne on the wind to our ears. It seemed the death-knell of their happiness. Did not that cry go up to heaven, and enter into the ears of the God of mercy?

"It has seemed the intention of Providence to cause this race to pass away from the face of the earth, and to give their possessions to the civilised inhabitants of this continent. While our population is rapidly increasing, they are yearly diminishing in numbers, and in all probability their generations will soon become extinct, and but few imperfect records will be left of the aboriginal inhabitants of this country.

"Their fate has been a cruel, a melancholy one. They have been abused, insulted, oppressed by those who called themselves Christians. No wonder that one of their chiefs said, in answer to a request that they would receive missionaries, 'Let them go and preach to our white brethren, and