RESIGNED IN HOPE.

WILLIAM T. M'AUSLANE, GLASGOW.

OUR little boy is gone!

His gladsome voice, whose music lately filled
Our homes and hearts, is now for ever stilled!

How changed his looks! Closed are his bright eyes now;
Pale is his cheek, as marble cold his brow;
Those limbs, before so active, are at rest,
The spring is broken, motionless the breast,
Life, light, and joy are flown!

Oh, earthly hopes, how vain!

Frail is the fabric, fair though it appear,
Which on uncertain human life we rear;
Before some sudden storm it yields away,
A ruin lies, and sinks into decay.

So have our hopes of what, in future days,
Our boy might prove, crumbled before our gaze,
Ne'er to revive again!

But why should we repine?

Our darling child was only ours in loan,

God, when he lent him, lent what was His own.
And shall we feel displeased He now should come
To claim and take him to the Heavenly Home?
O rather let us, though 'tis sad to part,

Yield up the loved one, and, with thankful heart,
Bow to the will Divine!

Then let our tearful eyes

Turn from the little tenement of clay

From which the ransom'd soul has passed away;

Let us behold, by faith, that land so fair,

Now dearer to us that our boy is there.

And may we seek to join him on that shore

Where, when we meet, we meet to part no more,
But dwell beyond the skies.

T

TO A BEREAVED MOTHER.

REV. HENRY BATCHELOR, GLASGOW.

THE life etherial, sublime,

Wastes not beneath the senseless clod.
The folded bud has changed its clime,
And opens in the light of God-

The soul its mortal chrysalis has riven,
And spreads its wings a seraph bright in heaven.

THE CONTRAST.

REV. A. WALLACE, D.D., GLASGOW.
WEEP not for me-the smoking flax
Shall flame in heaven a radiant star;
The bruised reed shall stronger wax,

In grace and strength surpassing far
The cedar on the mountain's brow-
No withered, wavering weakling now,
But fairest workmanship of love,
A pillar in the courts above.

ACROSTIC.*

COLD, cruel, unrelenting Death,
A decade since, cut short thy breath;
To thee the change was lasting gain,
Heaven's music struck a joyful strain,
Enraptured hosts thine entrance hailed,
Rejoicing angels then unveiled,

In sweetest ecstasy, to see

Near to the throne, thy spirit free,
Eternally on high to be.

Resigned and hopeful let us move

Along the path of truth and love,
Expecting soon to meet above.

* Suggested to A. R. by the tenth Anniversary (2nd April, 1869) of the death of the beloved child of the Editor's old friend, Robert Rae, London.

"THE ANGELS SINGING."

JAMES D. BURNS, M.A., LONDON.

I HEARD the angels singing

As they went up through the sky,
A sweet infant's spirit bringing
To its Father's house on high:
"Happy thou, so soon ascended, ·
With thy shining raiment on!
Happy thou, whose race is ended
With a crown so quickly won!
"Hushed is now thy lamentation,
And the first words to thee given
Will be words of adoration

In the blesséd speech of Heaven;
For the blood thou mightst have slighted
Hath now made thee pure within,
And the evil seed is blighted

That had ripened unto sin.

"We will lead thee by a river,

Where the flowers are blooming fair;

We will sing to thee for ever,
For no night may darken there.
Thou shalt walk in robes of glory;
Thou shalt wear a golden crown;
Thou shalt sing Redemption's story,
With the saints around the throne.

"Thou shalt see that better country,
Where a tear-drop never fell,-
Where a foe made never entry,

And a friend ne'er said farewell;

Where, upon the radiant faces

That will shine on thee alway, Thou shalt never see the traces

Of estrangement or decay.

"Thee we bear, a lily-blossom,

To a sunnier clime above;
There to lay thee in a bosom

Warm with more than mother's love.
Happy thou, so timely gathered

From a region cold and bare,

To bloom on, a flower unwither'd,
Through an endless summer there!"*

NOT DEAD BUT CHANGED.

WILLIAM FREELAND, GLASGOW.

LATE living, and now dead! O beauteous boy,
So early dead, who wast so late a joy!

Ah, me! how still and strange

Is this God's dream of change!

Transfigured in the light of death,
Thou seemest breathing without breath!

How shall we fill our hearts with other glee,

Who loved, of all the world, but thee-but thee!
Can ever we behold

So sweet a bud unfold?

O pale cold snowdrop of our married spring,
How deep God pierces with so slight a thing!

So slight a thing! Man's pyramids shall yield
Their high borne heads unto the humblest field:
Each ancient star and sun

Shall crumble one by one:

But thou, who keep'st with death such early tryste,
Shalt bloom eternal in the realms of Christ!

*The Vision of Prophecy, and other Poems. By James D. Burns, M..A, London: James Nisbet & Co.

1865.

THE LAMBS ALL SAFELY FOLDED.

I LOVED them so,

That when the Elder Shepherd of the fold,

Came, covered with the storm, and pale and cold,
And begged for one of my sweet lambs to hold,
I bade Him go.

He claimed the pet;

A little fondling thing, that to my breast
Clung always, either in quiet or unrest;
I thought of all my lambs I loved him best,
And yet-and yet-

I laid him down,

In those white shrouded arms, with bitter tears;
For some voice told me that, in after years,
He should know nought of passion, grief, or fears,
As I had known.

And yet again

That Elder Shepherd came; my heart grew faint-
He claim'd another lamb, with sadder plaint.
Another! She, who, gentle as a saint,
Ne'er gave me pain.

Aghast I turned away;

There sat she, lovely as an angel's dream,
Her golden locks with sunlight all agleam,
Her holy eyes with heaven in their beam;
I knelt to pray:

"Is it Thy will?

My Father! say, must this pet lamb be given?
O, thou hast many such, dear Lord, in heaven!"
And a soft voice said, "Nobly hast thou striven;
But-peace, be still!"