I did, and, going, did a rainbow note. "Surely," thought I, "This is the lace of Peace's coat; I will search out the matter." But, while I look'd, the clouds immediately Then went I to a garden, and did spy The Crown Imperial. “Sure,” said I, But, when I digg'd, I saw a worm devour At length, I met a reverend, good old man ; I did demand, he thus began : "There was a prince of old In Salem dwelt, who lived with good increase Of flock and fold. "He sweetly lived; yet sweetness did not save His life from foes: But, after death, out of his grave There sprang twelve stalks of wheat, Which many, wondering at, got some of those, To plant and set. "It prosper'd strangely, and did soon disperse Through all the earth. For they that taste it do rehearse, That virtue lies therein; A secret virtue, bringing peace and mirth, "Take of this grain, which in my garden grows, And grows for you: Make bread of it; and that repose And peace which everywhere With so much earnestness you do pursue, Is only there." THE DEATH OF THE VIRTUOUS. SWEET is the scene when virtue dies! So fades a summer cloud away; So sinks the gale when storms are o'er ; Triumphant smiles the victor brow, Farewell, conflicting joys and fears, Where light and shade alternate dwell: How bright the unchanging morn appears! Farewell, inconstant world, farewell! Its duty done-as sinks the clay, Light from its load the spirit flies; While heaven and earth combine to say, "Sweet is the scene when virtue dies." LOVE TO CHRIST. If Love, the noblest, purest, best, OUR LOVE! yea, sooner may the hand There's not a hope, with comfort fraught, His image meets me in the hour I see him in the daily round Of social duty, mild and meek; With him I tread the hallow'd ground, Communion with my God to seek. I see his pitying, gentle eye, When lonely want appeals for aid; I hear him in the frequent sigh, That mourns the waste which sin has made. I meet him at the lowly tomb; Does friendship gild my favor'd state, And pray for truth, for love like thine! Then ask me not to live, and be Must warm my soul at Jesus' name. ORIENTAL ILLUSTRATION OF A CHRIS TIAN PRECEPT. FORGIVE thy foes;-nor that alone, Fill those with joy who leave thee none, So does the fragrant sandal* bow, *An aromatic tree. UPON THE DEATH OF A WIFE. WHOE'ER, like me, with trembling anguish brings The starting tear I check'd,—I kiss'd the rod,- |