we are to be blessed with the faculty of vision, a truth which none will dispute, what then will prevent our recognizing all the pious whom we have known, and with whom we have been associated on earth? The thought is delightful; and its delight is increased because the fact is certain. The dead in Christ have only reached their home first; but as their home is to be our home, and their abode to be our abode, at the appointed time we shall meet again, and the joy of meeting will be increased by the temporary separation.

TRULY, the very object of living would seem to be that we may die; and death, instead of being a violence done to our mortal nature a change and a rupture of our condition of being is but the appointed climax of existence here - the turning-point in the tide of our immortal souls! tide, whose receding waves withdraw them, like waifs flung for a season upon the shores of this world, to be borne back again upon the eternal sea which washes THE THRONE OF GOD!

That

- C. F. HOFFMAN.

GOD SHIELD THEE, CHILDLESS
MOTHER.

CHARLES SPRAGUE.

YOUNG mother! what can feeble friendship say, To soothe the anguish of this mournful day? They, they alone, whose hearts like thine have bled,

Know how the living sorrow for the dead;

Each tutored voice, that seeks such grief to cheer,
Strikes cold upon the weeping parent's ear;
I've felt it all,-alas! too well I know
How vain all earthly power to hush thy woe!
GOD cheer thee, childless mother! 't is not given
For man to ward the blow that falls from heaven.

I've felt it all -as thou art feeling now; Like thee, with stricken heart and aching brow, I've sat and watched by dying beauty's bed, And burning tears of hopeless anguish shed; I've gazed upon the sweet, but pallid face, And vainly tried some comfort there to trace; I've listened to the short and struggling breath; I've seen the cherub eye grow dim in death; Like thee, I've veiled my head in speechless gloom,

And laid my first-born in the silent tomb.

DEATH IS OUR DELIVERER.

JEREMY TAYLOR.

DEATH is so far from terrifying such as have made it familiar to them, that it fills them full of joy and comfort. As a child that looks upon his father, who is masked, is frightened, and begins to cry; but if he hath but the courage to pull off the visor, and sees the loved countenance of his parent hid under that deformity, he not only ceases from weeping, and puts away his fears, but also leaps for joy, and embraces him; so, if we look with a timorous eye upon death's outward visage only, we are struck with horror at its hideous appearance; but if we take but the courage to lift up the deceitful visor, we shall soon discover our heavenly Father, and with tears of joy embrace him. The apostles, when they saw at a distance, and in the night, Jesus walking upon the sea, cried out for fear, supposing it had been a spirit; but when he drew nigh to them, and they heard his voice, they perceived him to be their Lord and Saviour; and having received him into their ship, the tem

pest immediately ceased. Thus if we look upon death at a distance, the blindness and ignorance with which we are surrounded will present it to us as a frightful spirit; but if we take a nearer view of it, by the light of the gospel, we shall find it to be our salvation and our deliverance that approaches. All our fears will then be hushed, and our souls will return to our former calmness.

THE CHRISTIAN'S FAITH NOT SHAKEN BY SUFFERING.

REV. HERMAN HOOKER.

THE faith of believers overcomes the world by spreading over it the bright shadowing of 'better things to come.' No darkness or sorrowing moves them out of their course of duty or stays them in it; like the moon, when she suffers an eclipse, they continue on, losing no motion and no order, till they regain the presence and glory of which they are deprived. As shaken trees root deeper, as the blast that beats down the flame causes it to rise higher, so they, when brought low by adversity, mount upwards, or bind themselves closer to the rock they are resting on.

COMFORT IN AFFLICTION.

MOORE.

O! THOU Who dry'st the mourner's tear,
How dark this world would be,
If, when deceived and wounded here,
We could not fly to thee;

The friends who in our sunshine live,
When winter comes, are flown;
And he who has but tears to give,
Must weep those tears alone;
But thou wilt heal that broken heart,
Which, like the plants that throw
Their fragrance from the wounded part,
Breathes sweetness out of woe.

When joy no longer soothes or cheers,
And ev'n the hope, that threw
A moment's sparkle o'er our tears,
Is dimmed and vanished too!

O! who would bear life's stormy doom,
Did not thy wing of love

Come brightly wafting through the gloom,
One peace-branch from above?
Then sorrow, touched by thee, grows bright
With more than rapture's ray;

As darkness shows us worlds of light
We never saw by day.