When at the day's calm close,
Before we seek repose,

I'm, with his mother, offering up our prayer,
Or evening anthems tuning,

In spirit I'm communing

With our boy's spirit, though-he is not there!

Not there!-Where, then, is he?

The form I used to see

Was but the raiment that he used to wear:
The grave, that now doth press
Upon that cast-off dress,

Is but his wardrobe locked; he is not there!

He lives! In all the past

He lives; nor, to the last,

Of seeing him again will I despair.
In dreams I see him now;

And, on his angel brow,

I see it written, "Thou shalt see me there!"

Yes, we all live to God!

Father! Thy chastening rod

So help us, Thine afflicted ones, to bear,

That, in the spirit-land,

Meeting at Thy right hand,

"Twill be our heaven to find that-Thou art there!

THE GOOD SHEPHERD AND THE LAMB.

MEINHOLD.

GENTLE Shepherd, Thou hast still'd

Now Thy little lamb's long weeping;

Ah, how peaceful, pale, and mild,
In its narrow bed 'tis sleeping!

And no sigh of anguish sore
Heaves that little bosom more.

In this world care mi tam.

Lord. Then would'st so longer care 1. To the sunny heaveniv siun

Dost Thou now with by receive t Clothed in robes of spotless white, Now it dwells with Thee night.

Ah, Lord Jesus! grant that we
Where it lives may soon be irving.
And the lovely pastures see

That its heavenly food are giving;
Then the gain of death we prove,
Though Thou take what most we love."

321

ed!

"THE EVENING STAR."

(From the Christian Treasury.,

SHE was "the evening star" I thought would shine
Upon my path, as I, with years decline,
Thought I should watch its lustre softer glow,
Cheering my weary pilgrimage below;

But God has set my bright and gentle star

In heaven afar.

She was my flower: the sad pathway of life,
So full, to sinful man, of care and strife,
Was by her presence stripped of many a thorn.
Making my trials easier to be Lorne
My flower is now in realms of holy light,

In glory bright.

* Lyra Germanica. London: Longman, Green &

Yes, she is there; for, while on earth in pain,
She loved supremely her Redeemer's name;
Now she is with Him, near His throne she stands,
Rests in His arms, one of His folded lambs.
Soon shall we meet before that glorious throne,
My little one.

Yes, there's my child; I see, with eye of faith,
Her happy spirit free from sin and death;
She is a jewel on her Saviour's brow;
Low at His feet her crown she loves to throw;
While He, enthroned in love and mercy mild,
Smiles on my child.

Shall I then grieve my precious one is where
She doth the golden crown and white robe wear?
No; rather would I joy that she is free,
And wait my Father's summons patiently,
To join with her the heavenly blessed throng,

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!"

THE HIGHEST RANK IN HEAVEN.

RALPH ERSKINE.

IN heavenly choirs a question rose,
That stirred up strife will never close;
"What rank of all the ransomed race
Owes highest praise to Sovereign grace?”
Babes thither caught from womb and breast
Claimed right to sing above the rest;
Because they found the happy shore
They never saw nor sought before.

How dearly loved-that fair and faded form, Whose loss I mourn. She lived within my soul; Her voice melodious cheer'd me, and her smile Seem'd gentle sunshine in a cloudy world.

Well! thou art in a happier home than mine, Though peace and sweet affection mingled there; And an Almighty Parent shields thee now, With higher conservance than I could give.

Ah, I would pray to feel that thou, my child, Mine in time past, are still mine evermore; I cannot lose thee, though cold Death between Roll his dark silent river; on that shore,

When at the day's calm close,
Before we seek repose,

I'm, with his mother, offering up our prayer,
Or evening anthems tuning,

In spirit I'm communing

With our boy's spirit, though-he is not there!

Not there!-Where, then, is he?

The form I used to see

Was but the raiment that he used to wear:
The grave, that now doth press
Upon that cast-off dress,

Is but his wardrobe locked;-he is not there!

He lives!-In all the past

He lives; nor, to the last,

Of seeing him again will I despair.
In dreams I see him now;

And, on his angel brow,

I see it written, "Thou shalt see me there!"

Yes, we all live to God!

Father! Thy chastening rod

So help us, Thine afflicted ones, to bear,
That, in the spirit-land,

Meeting at Thy right hand,

'Twill be our heaven to find that-Thou art there!

THE GOOD SHEPHERD AND THE LAMB.

MEINHOLD.

GENTLE Shepherd, Thou hast still'd

Now Thy little lamb's long weeping;

Ah, how peaceful, pale, and mild,
In its narrow bed 'tis sleeping!

And no sigh of anguish sore
Heaves that little bosom more.