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(Original.)

TO A FRIEND.

"If any man thirst, let him come unto me and drink."--John vii. 37.

ELFRIDA ST AUBYN.

It is thy Saviour's soul-refreshing voice-
Hear, child of man! and wonder and rejoice:
"Let him who thirsts come unto me and drink."
Oh! let not any fainting spirit sink,

While such a sympathising friend is near,
Such words of comfort sounded in his ear.

Full well indeed did He who spake them, know
How vain it is to dream that aught below
Could render an immortal spirit blest,

Or bring the human heart its longed-for rest!
Earth's brightest joys allure but to deceive—
Friends most beloved oft-times most deeply grieve.

Oh! wherefore do we linger? wherefore stay
'Mid flowers that bloom and wither in a day?
Can Gilead give no balm to soothe our pain,
That we will search elsewhere, and search in vain-
And strive to quench our thirst from every rill,
Yet finding all but broken cisterns still—
Wearied with vainly building on the sand,

Yet proudly turning from the Rock at hand?—
The Rock that 'midst earth's storms and floods shall last,
A shelter still from the destroying blast-

A refuge for the needy in distress,

A shadow in the sultry wilderness,

A beacon to mankind in

mercy given

To guide our wandering footsteps unto heaven;-
Yes! and when all beside is overthrown,

That Rock shall stand, a "precious corner-stone."

And now, dear friend! who these few lines dost read,
It may be thou hast known the soul's deep need
Of something wanting earth can ne'er supply,
The quenchless thirst it cannot satisfy-
Hopes that elude thy fondest wishes still,
A void the purest friendship cannot fill,
Save His alone, who thus addresses thee,
"Let him that is athirst come unto me."
Oh! let Him find thee building on the rock,
And number thee among his little flock!
Thus shall thy soul oft rise to Him above,

And while on earth be happy in His love;
E'en as the lark, which pants to reach the skies,
More sweetly sings the higher it doth rise.
Remember this my prayer, dear friend! for thee,
Whene'er thou giv'st a passing thought to me.

I linger but to make thee one request,

(Oh! that thou may'st in granting it, be blest!) Whene'er thy soul, opprest by fear or grief, Seeks from the cares of earth to find relief, Then wilt thou on these words of mercy think— "Let him who thirsts come unto me and drink!"

A DYING PRAYER.

MARY HOWITT.

ALMIGHTY GOD! look down

Upon thy feeble servant! strengthen him!
Give him the victor's crown,
And let not faith be dim!

Oh! how unworthy of thy grace,

How poor, how needy, stain'd with sin!
How can I enter in

Thy Kingdom, and behold thy face!
Except thou hadst redeem'd me, I had gone
Without sustaining knowledge, to the grave!
For this I bless thee, O thou gracious One!
And thou wilt surely save.

I bless thee for the life which thou hast crown'd
With never-ending good;

For pleasures that were found,

Like way-side flowers, in quiet solitude.

I bless thee for the love that watch'd o'er me

Through the weak years of infancy,
That has been, like thine everlasting truth,
The guide, the guardian angel of my youth.
Oh, thou! that didst the mother's heart bestow,
Sustain it in its wo,

For mourning give it joy, and praise for heaviness!

COMMENTARY

ON A LINE OF SALVATOR ROSA.

"Nasci pœna, vita labor, necesse mori."

BERNARD BARTON.

OH! say not that the boon of birth

Is punishment alone;

God, who bestow'd it, knew its worth!

The gift was all his own—

Design'd to serve a noble end,

Would but thy thoughts to Him ascend.

Think not that life is nothing more

Than labour. Hath it not,

'Mid paths by thorns besprinkled o'er,
Full many a flowery spot,

Whence gentle feelings, musings high,
May soar to immortality?

M

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