2. Their bright prospects are clouded', and their sun is set never to rise. No house of their own receives them', while from poorer to poorer tenements they descend', and to harder and harder fare', as improvidence dries up their resources'.

3. And now, who are those that wait on their footsteps with muffled faces and sable garments? That is a fatherand that is a mother'-whose gray hairs are coming with sorrow to the grave'. That is a sister', weeping over evils which she cannot arrest'; and there is the broken-hearted wife; and there are the children', hapless innocents', for whom their father has provided the inheritance only of dishonor', and nakedness', and woe'.

4. And is this, beloved young men', the history of your course' ? In this scene of desolation', do you behold the image of your future selves'? Is this the poverty and disease which, as an armed man', shall take hold of you'? And are your fathers', and mothers', and sisters', and wives', and children', to succeed to those who now move on in this mournful procession', weeping as they go'?

5. Yes : bright as your morning now opens', and high as your hopes beat', this is your noon', and your night', unless you shun those habits of intemperance', which have thus early made theirs a day of clouds', and of thick darkness'. If you frequent places of evening resort for social drinking; if you set out with drinking, daily, a little temperately, prudently, it is yourselves which, as in a glass, you behold.

LESSON LXVIII.

DEAD IN THE STREET.

1. UNDER the lamp-light, dead in the street,
Delicate, fair, and only twenty,

There she lies,

Face to the skies,

Starved to death in a city of plenty.

Spurned by all that is pure and sweet,

Passed by busy and cheerful feet;

Hundreds bent upon folly and pleasure,
Hundreds with plenty of time and leisure,-
Leisure to speed Christ's mission below,

To teach the erring and raise the lowly,
Plenty in Charity's name to show,

That life has something divine and holy.

2. Boasted charms', classical brow',

Delicate features', look at them now!
Look at her lips'!-once they could smile;
Eyes, well, nevermore shall they beguile;
Nevermore!-nevermore words of hers

A blush shall bring to the saintliest face.
She has found, let us hope and trust,
Peace in a higher and better place.

3. And yet', despite of all', still I ween
Joy of some hearth she must have been'.
Some fond mother', fond of the task',

Has stooped to finger the dainty curl`;
Some proud father has bowed to ask

A blessing for her', his darling girl'.
Hard to think', as we look at her there',
Of all the tenderness', love', and care',
Lonely watching', and sore heart-ache',-
All the agony', burning tears',

Joys' and sorrows', hopes' and fears',
Breathed' and suffered' for her sweet sake'.

4. Fancy will picture a home afar',

Out where the daisies and buttercups are',

Out where life-giving breezes flow',

Far from those sodden streets', foul and low`;
Fancy will picture a lonely hearth',

And an aged couple', dead to mirth',
Kneeling beside a bed to pray',

Or lying awake o' nights to hark

For things that may come in the rain and dark',

A hollow-eyed woman with weary feet':
Better they never know

She whom they cherished so
Lies this night lone and low,-

DEAD IN THE STREET!

LESSON LXIX.

TRIUMPH OF FAITH.

JOSEPH S. BUCKMINSTER.

1. WOULD you know the value of this principle of faith to the bereaved'? Go', and follow a corpse to the grave'. See the body deposited there', and hear the earth thrown in upon all that remains of your friend'. Return now', if you will', and brood over the lesson which your senses have given you', and derive from it what consolation you can'. You have learned nothing but an unconsoling fact. No voice of comfort issues from the tomb. All is still there', and blank`, and lifeless', and has been so for ages. You see nothing but bodies dissolving and successively mingling with the clods which cover them', the grass growing over the spot', and the trees waving in sullen majesty over this region of eternal silence.

2. And what is there more'? Nothing'.-Come, Faith', and people these deserts! Come', and reanimate these regions of forgetfulness'! Mothers'! take again your children to your arms, for they are living. Sons'! your aged parents are coming forth in the vigor of regenerated years'. Friends'! behold, your dearest connections are waiting to embrace you. The tombs are burst'! Generations long since in slumbers are awakening'! They are coming from the east' and the west, from the north' and from the south', to constitute the community of the blessed.

3. Come now, and follow me to the bed of the dying believer'. Would you see in what peace a Christian can die'? Watch the last gleams of thought which stream from his dying eyes'. Do you see anything like apprehension'? The

world', it is true', begins to shut in'. The shadows of evening collect around his senses'. A dark mist thickens', and rests upon the objects which have hitherto engaged his observation'. The countenances of his friends become more and more indistinct. The sweet expressions of love and friendship are no longer intelligible. His ear wakes no more at the well-known voice of his children', and the soothing accents of tender affection die away', unheard', upon his decaying senses'.

4. To him the spectacle of human life is drawing to its close', and the curtain is descending', which shuts out this earth', its actors', and its scenes'. He is no longer interested in all that is done under the sun. Oh! that I could now open to you the recesses of his soul; that I could reveal to you the light', which darts into the chambers of his understanding'. He approaches that world which he has so long seen in faith. The imagination now collects its diminished strength', and the eye of faith opens wide'. Friends'! do not stand', thus fixed in sorrow', around this bed of death'. Why are you so still and silent? Fear not to move'; you cannot disturb the last visions which enchant this holy spirit'. Your lamentations break not in upon the songs of seraphs', which enwrap his hearing in ecstacy'.

5. Crowd, if you choose, around his couch-he heeds you not already he sees the spirits of the just advancing together to receive a kindred soul. Press him not with importunities'; urge him not with alleviations'. Think you he wants now these tones of mortal voices-these material, these gross consolations'? No! He is going to add another to the myriads of the just', that are every moment crowding into the portals of heaven'! He is entering on a nobler life! He leaves youhe leaves you', weeping children of mortality', to grope about a little longer among the miseries and sensualities of a worldly life'.

6. Already he cries to you from the regions of bliss! Will you not join him there'? Will you not taste the sublime joys of faith? There are your predecessors in virtue'; there', too', are places left for your contemporaries'! There are seats for you in the assembly of the just made perfect', in

the innumerable company of angels', where is Jesus', the mediator of the new covenant', and God', the judge of all.

LESSON LXX.

OVER THE RIVER.

MISS N. A. W. PRIEST.

1. OVER the river they beckon me',—

Loved ones who've crossed to the further side';
The gleam of their snowy robes I see',

But their voices are drowned in the rushing tide'.
There's one with ringlets of sunny gold',

And eyes', the reflection of heaven's own blue';
He crossed in the twilight', gray and cold',

And the pale mist hid him from mortal view'.
We saw not the angels who met him there';
The gates of the city we could not see';
Over the river', over the river',

My brother stands waiting to welcome me'!

2. Over the river', the boatman pale

Carried another',—the household pet';
Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale',-
Darling Minnie'! I see her yet.

She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands',
And fearlessly entered the phantom bark':
We watched it glide from the silver sands',
And all our sunshine grew strangely dark'.
We know she is safe on the further side',
Where all the ransomed and angels be
Over the river', the mystic river',

My childhood's idol is waiting for me'.

3. For none return from those quiet shores',
Who cross with the boatman cold and pale';

We hear the dip of the golden oars',

And catch a gleam of the snowy sail',