Chere remaineth a Rest for the People
of God."

WHEN trials beset us, and earth's comforts fly,
And nothing is seen in the future but gloom,
How sweet are the tidings reveal'd from on high,
That a happier world lies beyond the cold tomb!
O who would not gladly partake of the cares

That accompany mortals remaining below, Since they're given to wean us away from the snares Of the tempter, who plunges his victims in woe? The God who display'd his compassionate love, By sending his Son for our sins to atone— If we trust in this Saviour-will take us above, Where sorrow and tears are for ever unknown. With prospects so glorious, why should we fear

The few fleeting years yet on earth to be passed? Every pain we endure without murmuring here, Will but heighten the glory of heaven at last! "Eye hath not beheld, nor hath ear ever heard, "Nor can mortals the fulness and glory conceive" Of the bliss which is promised in God's holy word,

As reserved for His children who love and believe. Then may we in future more patiently bear

Each stroke which our Father sees fit to impose, Assured that His presence, if ask'd for in prayer, Will sustain us till death all our trials shall close!

WILLIAM GURNER.

The Beavenly Jerusalem.

HIGH in yonder realms of light,
Far above these lower skies,
Fair and exquisitely bright,
Heaven's unfading mansions rise:
Built of pure and massy gold,

Strong and durable are they;
Deck'd with gems of worth untold,
Subjected to no decay!

Glad within these blest abodes,
Dwell the raptured saints above.
Where no anxious care corrodes,
Happy in Emanuel's love!
Once, indeed, like us below,
Pilgrims in this vale of tears,
Torturing pain and heavy woe,
Gloomy doubts, distressing fears!

These, alas! full well they knew,
Sad companions of their way;
Oft on them the tempest blew,
Through the long, the cheerless day!

Oft their vileness they deplored,

Wills perverse, and hearts untrue, Grieved they could not love their Lord, Love him as they wish'd to do.

THE HEAVENLY JERUSALEM.

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Oft the big, unbidden tear,

Stealing down the furrow'd cheek,
Told, in eloquence sincere,

Tales of woe they could not speak;
But these days of weeping o'er,
Past this scene of toil and pain,
They shall feel distress no more,
Never, never weep again!

'Mid the chorus of the skies,
'Mid th' angelic lyres above,
Hark! their songs melodious rise,
Songs of praise to Jesu's love!
Happy spirits! ye are fled,

Where no grief can entrance find:
Lull'd to rest the aching head,
Soothed the anguish of the mind.

All is tranquil and serene,

Calm and undisturb'd repose;

There no cloud can intervene,

There no angry tempest blows.

Every tear is wiped away,

Sigh no more shall heave the breast,

Night is lost in endless day;

Sorrow, in eternal rest!

RAFFLES.