and the strength of sin is the law; but, thanks be to God, who giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." But the portion of joy and felicity, which awaits the righteous, must be desired and sought, before it can be attained. Alas! what multitudes around us never make it a matter of real concern, of serious thought! Their efforts and contrivances are incessantly employed to banish all the apprehensions and fears of futurity. Our Lord exhorts us to seek first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; to labour, not for the meat which perisheth, but for the meat which endureth to everlasting life. And are not these exhortations reasonable and highly important? Who can expect a place in the kingdom of God, without a title to it, and a fitness for it? Beyond the confines of this world, there are but two dwelling places for the souls of men,-heaven and hell. Heaven is a prepared place, for a prepared people, and the impenitent and unbelieving can have no residence there. Think of this, while the glad tidings of salvation are sounding in your ears; while the glorious Sun of Righteousness is pouring the beams of spiritual day around you. Think of this, ye slaves of Mammon, ye sons and daughters of gaity and dissipation, ye who are lovers of pleasure more than lovers of God. If your days are cut short while you remain in a carnal and unrenewed state, your hope will be cut off for ever.

To the humble and devout, who believe in Christ with all their heart, the king of terrors is transformed into a messenger of peace. Sin is pardoned; and a good hope, through grace, raises and animates the mind. "Death to a good man," says Dr. Watts, "is but passing through a dark entry, out of one little dusky room of his Father's

house, into another that is fair and large, lightsome, and glorious, and divinely entertaining." The pious Doddridge could say in his last hours, "I am full of confidence; and this is my confidence, there is a hope set before me; I have fled, I still fly, for refuge to that hope. In him I trust; in him I have strong consolation; and shall assuredly be accepted in the Beloved of my soul. The spirit of adoption is given me; and I have no doubt that life and death, and all my present exercises, are directed in mercy by my adored heavenly Father." Oh! how small a matter is the breaking up of the clay tabernacle, if we know that we have "a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens." Happy, thrice happy change, to quit these frail tenements of flesh, that we may be clothed in vestures of celestial, radiance, and enter into the joy of our Lord!

"There is a land of pure delight,
Where saints immortal reign;
Infinite day excludes the night,
And pleasures banish pain."

ANONYMOUS.

THE BURIAL.

DEPARTED Soul, whose poor remains
This hallow'd lowly grave contains;
Whose passing storm of life is o'er,
Whose pains and sorrows are no more;
Bless'd be thou with the bless'd above!
Where all is joy, and purity, and love.

Let HIM, in might and mercy dread,
Lord of the living and the dead;

In whom the stars of heaven rejoice,
And the ocean lifts its voice;

Thy spirit, purified, to glory raise,

To sing with holy saints his everlasting praise!
Departed soul, who in this earthly scene
Hast our lowly sister been,

Swift be thy way to where the blessed dwell!
Until we meet thee there, farewell! farewell!
JOANNA BAILLIE.

THE MARCH AND THE END OF LIFE.

'Dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.' GEN. iii.19.

"Then shall the dust return to the dust as it was, and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it.-ECCL. xii. 7.

"How loved, how valued once, avails thee not,-
To whom related, or by whom begot,

A heap of dust alone remains of thee,

"Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be,"

Pope's Miscell.

WE are hastening on-we are hastening on,
To the sleep of the years that are vanish'd and

gone,

To the voiceless chambers that lie beneath,

To the silent halls of darkness and death!
Like the instant flashing,-the fitful light,
Of the passing meteors in their flight;
Like the sunset hues of the summer's eve,
Like the forms that in fancy's loom we weave
Like the flowers that blush at the opening day,
We are blushing and blooming, and fading away.

Through life's checquer'd mazes of joy and woe, Through the grief and the gloom of this vale below,

With the fair, and the brave, and the proud, and

the just,

We are hastening to dust! we are hastening to dust!

Ye beautiful throng of the bright and fair,
With your locks of glossy and golden hair,
With your sparkling eyes, and their rays divine,
That languishing beam, or brilliantly shine;
With your crimson lips, and their coral strain,
As sweet as the wave-utter'd songs of the main,
With your forms that before us and round us

sweep,

Like the phantoms that float in the realms of sleep,

'Midst hope, and joy, and faith, and trust,

Ye are hastening to dust! ye are hastening to dust!
Ye plumed band of the strong and the brave,
With your burnish'd swords, and plumes that wave;
With you banners that stream on the breezes un-
furl'd,

And your shouts that frighten the trembling world,
With your battles that burst like a flaming flood,
And pour out their gather'd tides of blood;
With your red cannon's wrath, and war that make
The mountains, the valleys, the oceans quake;
With your bared arms, and your uplifted lance,
And your blacken'd brow, and your fearful glance,
'Midst the sabre's stroke, and the dagger's thrust,
Ye are hastening to dust! ye are hastening to
dust!

Ye scoffing tribes of the rich and proud,

With your necks unbent, and your knees unbow'd

With your minion train of the mean and vile, That crouch before you, and fawn and smile; With your spurning foot, and your threatening

eye,

That stagger the poor as they pass you by;

With your menacing tones of wrath and pride, That frighten the fearful who wait at your side; With your smiles of scorn, and your frowns of hate,

With your robes of gold, and your halls of state, With all your pomp, and power, and trust,

Ye are hastening to dust! ye are hastening to dust!

Ye lovely train of the humble and meek,
Who wipe the tears from the aged cheek;
Whose voice the gathering cares beguile,
And maketh the hearts of the sad to smile;
With your tears, that stream o'er the chilling bier
Of the pious, that dwell no longer here;
With your smiles that bind up the broken in heart,
And pour in a balm on the poison'd dart;

With your prayers that rise to the throne above,
And bring down the blessings of peace and love;
With the fair, and the brave, and the proud, and
the just,

Ye are hastening to dust! ye are hastening to dust!

ANONYMOUS.

THE HOUR OF DEATH.

LEAVES have their time to fall,

And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath,

And stars to set-but all,

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!