For God's promises are sure,

His rewards for aye endure.

"Come away

Where are no shadows in the glass,
Where are no things that come and pass
To decay;

But the leaf that shall not fade,
And the lights that throw no shade.

"Ever stay

Where the happy skies above,
Are the home of them that love
All the day;

And good spirits o'er our head,
As on happy stars they tread,
Sing alway.

"Here on earth ye can but clasp
Things that perish in the grasp;
While ye may

To the heavens lift your eyes,
God himself shall be your prize.

Come away."

Newland's Confirmation Lectures.

YOUTH AND AGE.

"I have been young, and now am old; yet saw I never the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging their bread."--Psalm xxxvii. 25.

Two gates unto the road of life there are,
And to the happy youth both seem afar,—
Both seem afar; so far the past one seems,
The gate of birth, made dim with many dreams,
Bright with remembered hopes, beset with flowers,→→→
So far it seems, he cannot count the hours
That to this midway path have led him on,
Where every joy of life now seemeth won,—

So far, he thinks not of the other gate,

Within whose shade the ghosts of dead hopes wait To call upon him as he draws anear,

Despoiled, alone, and dull with many a fear : "Where is thy work? how little thou hast done; Where are thy friends? Why art thou so alone?”

How shall he weigh his life? Slow goes the time The while the fresh dew-sprinkled hill we climb, Thinking of what shall be the other side; Slow pass, perchance, the minutes we abide On the gained summit, blinking at the sun; But when the downward journey is begun, No more our feet may loiter—past our ears Shrieks the harsh wind, scarce noted midst our fears; And battling with the hostile things we meet, Till, ere we know it, our weak shrinking feet Have brought us to the end, and all is done.

Weary with longing, blind with great amaze,
We struggled now with past and future days;
And not in vain our former joy we thought,
Since thirty years our wandering feet had brought
To this at last;—and yet, what will you have?
Can man be made content? We wished to save
The bygone years: our hope, our painted toy,
We feared to miss, drowned in that sea of joy.
Old faces still reproached us:-"We are gone,
And ye are entering into bliss alone;

And can ye now forget? Year passes year,
And still ye live on joyous, free from fear;
But where are we? Where is the memory
Of us, to whom ye once were drawn so nigh?
Forgetting and alone ye enter in :

Remembering all, alone we wait our sin,
And cannot touch you."-Ah, the blessed pain!
When heaven, just gained, was scarcely all a gain ;
How could we weigh that boundless treasure then,
Or count the sorrows of the sons of men?

W. Morris.

THE WRECK OF WORLDLY HOPES.

"Oh, that I had wings like a dove! for then would I fly away, and be at rest.-Psalm lv. 6.

BUT now, awake, his worn face once more sank
Between his hands, and, murmuring not, he drank
The draught of death that must that thirst allay.

But while he sat and waited for the day,
A sudden light across the bare rock streamed,
Which at the first he noted not but deemed
The moon her fleecy veil had broken through;
But ruddier, indeed, this new light grew

Than were the moon's grey beams, and, therewithal,
Soft far-off music on his ears did fall;

Yet moved he not, but murmured, "This is death,---
An easy thing like this to yield my breath,
Awake, yet dreaming, with no sounds of fear,
No dreadful sights to tell me it is near.

Yea, God, I thank thee;" but with that last word
It seemed to him that he his own name heard
Whispered, as though the wind had borne it past:
With that he gat unto his feet at last,

But still awhile he stood with sunken head,
And in a low and trembling voice he said:
"Lord, I am ready; whither shall I go?
I pray thee, unto me some token show."
And, as he said this, round about he turned,
And in the east beheld a light that burned

As bright as day; then, though his flesh might fear
The coming change that he believed so near,
Yet did his soul rejoice, for now he thought
Unto the very heaven to be brought;

And, though he felt alive, deemed it might be
That he in sleep had died full easily.

Then toward that light did he begin to go, And still those strains he heard, far off and low,

That grew no louder; still that bright light streamed
Over the rocks, yet nothing brighter seemed,
But, like the light of some unseen bright flame,
Shone round about, until at last he came
Unto the dreary islet's other shore,

And then the minstrelsy he heard no more,
And softer seemed the strange light unto him;
But yet, or ever it had grown quite dim,
Beneath its waning light could he behold
A mighty palace, set about with gold,
Above green meads and groves of summer trees,
Far-off across the welter of the seas;

But, as he gazed, it faded from his sight,
And the grey hidden moon's diffused soft light,
Which soothly was but darkness to him now,
His sea-girt island prison did but show.

But o'er the sea he still gazed wistfully,
And said, "Alas! and when will this go by,
And leave my soul in peace? Must I still dream
Of life that once so dear a thing did seem,
That, when I wake, death may the better be?
Here will I sit until he come to me,

And hide mine eyes, and think upon my sin,
That so a little calm I yet may win,
Before I stand within the awful place."
Then down he sat and covered up his face.

W. Morris.

A RUINED CITY.

"One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh; but the earth abideth for ever."-Eccles. i. 4.

UPON the river-bank there stood

Temple, and tower, and streets decayed,
Shrine, palace, arch, and colonnade-
A vast and kingly solitude.

Dark creepers like a woven vest

Were round each standing pillar pressed;
Between the broken columns sprung
Horse-tail and rankest adder's-tongue.
No voice of man or beast was heard,
No vesper-song of plaining bird,
No insect's hum, no breath did seem
To rise from those that sleep and dream
Among yon cypress rows that stand
For half a league or more inland.
The city lay in mute distress

On the edge of a stretching wilderness.
Where have ye gone, ye townsmen great,
That have left your homes so desolate ?
Where left what ye lived for lying here?
And have ye vanished, king and peer,
Sin can follow where gold may not,
Pictures and books the damp may rot,
And creepers may hang frail lines of flowers
Down the crevices of ancient towers;

But what hath passed from the soul of mortal,
Be it word or thought of pride,

Hath gone with him through the dim low portal,
And waiteth by his side.

F. W. Faber.

NOTES.-Plaining is put for complaining. Portal, gate.

THE JEWS' LAMENT-A TRANSLATION.

This is a translation from one of the elegies sung at midnight by the Jews of Jerusalem at the Fast.

A VOICE of woe from Ramah's hoary tower,
A voice of wail from Zion's sainted hill;
Alas! my diadem and queenly dower,
The youthful honours I remember still,
Dark is to me the solitary bower,

Wont in old time a splendid throne to fill.