Weary One, Wait.

WEARY one, wait! the dawn is approaching;
Soothe thee, and faint not, the day is at hand;
The sorrow that tries thee, on joy though encroaching,
Will meeten thy soul for the beautiful land!

Weary one, wait! the grief that oppresses,

Though it comes not as friends do, in friendship will end;
With the pitiless storm, the heart that distresses,
The sunshine of mercy will speedily blend.

Weary one, wait! the Lord thou adorest
Watches the progress of grace in thy soul;
Abhorring intensely the sins thou abhorrest,
He wills to pronounce thee 'every whit whole.'

Then, weary one, wait! thy Jesus hath waited

Much longer for thee, to bring thee to God;
Let thy soul, which His Spirit anew hath created,
Exult in His friendship, and bow to His rod !

A little while yet, and thou wilt delight thee
In treasures of happiness passing belief;
Then, let not the heat of the furnace affright thee,
Thy God worketh gladness eternal from grief.

LEASK.

II.

'Thus saith the Lord, As one whom his mother comforteth, so will I comfort you; and ye shall be comforted in Jerusalem.'

'LET ME GO, FOR THE DAY BREAKETH.'

T was indeed a season of intense agony to you when you saw your darling child about to pass away from you; your heart almost rebelled at the painful dispensation, until the sweet smile which played upon his face, spoke of the dawning of heaven upon his soul; and could he have put his joyous feelings into language, he would have said, 'Dear mother, let me go! and weep not for me. "Let me go" to join the infant throng in my Father's house; "let me go," for

Angels beckon me away,
And Jesus bids me come.

I feel that the day of heaven is dawning on my soul-a day which shall never be suc

ceeded by the darkness of night, for "there is no night there." I am going to my heavenly home. I have found a sweet shelter in your bosom; but I am going to the bosom of the Good Shepherd. This world is full of sin, and therefore full of sorrow; but I now go where there is no sin and no sorrow.'

There pain and sickness never come,
And grief no more complains;
Health triumphs in immortal bloom,
And endless pleasure reigns!

No cloud those blissful regions know,—
For ever bright and fair!

For sin, the source of mortal woe,
Can never enter there.

Then you felt that angels were close at hand to bear his spirit home; then did you think of the dangers and sins of the world from which he would escape, and the purity and felicity and glory he would gain; then you felt willing to let him go; and looking upwards, you were enabled to say, ‘Even so, Father, for so it seemeth good in Thy sight.'

Ever cultivate this feeling of meek submission, for it is indeed

'Sweet to lie passive in His hands,
And know no will but His.'

Think of the snares of sin and of Satan which your darling has escaped the short wilderness journey is over; the soul washed and made clean in the blood of Jesus; and everlasting glory is gained. Truly 'the day of death is better than the day of one's birth.'

6 COMFORT YE, COMFORT YE MY PEOPLE, SAITH YOUR GOD.'

The Dying Infant.

CEASE here longer to detain

me,

Fondest mother drown'd in woe: Now thy kind 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 launch'd, a trembling stranger,
On the world's wide boist'rous flood;
Pierced with sorrows, toss'd 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 pillows than thy breast.

Weep not o'er these eyes that languish,
Upward turning toward their home!
Raptured, they'll forget all anguish,
While they wait to see thee come.

There, my mother, pleasures centre ;
Weeping, parting, care, or woe,
Ne'er our Father's house shall enter :
Morn advances-let me go.

As through this calm, this holy dawning,
Silent glides my parting breath
To an everlasting morning,

Gently close my eyes in death.

Blessings, endless, richest blessings,
Pour their streams upon thy heart!
(Though no language yet possessing)-
Breathes my spirit ere we part.

Yet to leave thee sorrowing rends me,
Though again His voice I hear :
Rise! may every grace attend thee;
Rise and seek to meet me there.

CECIL.