Erha?

I STOOD On the banks of a swift-flowing river, While I mark'd its clear current roll speedily

past,

It seem'd to my fancy for ever repeating

That the dearest enjoyment of life would not last. "Oh! tell me,” I said, "rapid stream of the valley,

That bear'st in thy course the blue waters away, Can the joys of life's morning awake but to vanish, Can the feelings of love be all doom'd to decay?" An Echo repeated-" All doom'd to decay."

"Flow on in thy course, rapid stream of the valley, Since the pleasures of life we so quickly resign, My heart shall rejoice in the wild scenes of Nature, And Friendship's delights, while they yet may be mine.

Must all the sweet charms of Mortality perish, And Friendship's endearments-ah! will they not stay?

The simple enchantments of soft-blooming Nature, And the pleasures of mind-Must they too fade away?"

The Echo slow answer'd-"They too fade away."

"Then where," I exclaimed, "is there hope for the

mourner,

A balm for his sorrow, a smile for his grief? If beautiful scenes like the present shall vanish,

Where, where shall we seek for the surest relief?" "Ofly," said my soul, "to the feet of the Saviour

Believe in his mercy-for pardon now prayWith him there is fulness of joy and salvation, There gladness shall live, and shall never decay:" The Echo said sweetly-"Shall never decay."

ANON.

The Beacon.

THE scene was more beautiful far to my eye,
Than if day in its pride had array'd it;
The land-breeze blew mild, and the azure-arch'd sky
Look'd pure as the Spirit that made it.

The murmur rose soft as I silently gazed

On the shadowy waves' playful motion:

From the dim distant isle, till the beacon-fire blazed Like a star in the midst of the ocean.

156

THE BEACON.

No longer the joy of the sailor-boy's breast

Was heard in the wildly breathed numbers; The sea-bird had flown to her wave-girdled nest, The fisherman sank to his slumbers.

I sigh'd as I look'd from the hill's gentle slope;
All hush'd was the billows' commotion:

And I thought that the beacon look'd lovely as
Hope,

That star of life's tremulous ocean.

The time is long past, and the scene is afar,
Yet when my head rests on its pillow,
Will memory sometimes rekindle the star.
That blazed on the breast of the billow.

In life's closing hour, when the trembling soul flies,
And death stills the heart's last emotion,

O then may the seraph of mercy arise,

Like a star on eternity's ocean!

M. P. JAMES.