"Nay, father, for my soul is strong.' "Seest thou the thither shore ?"

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"I see it, father-and its banks are green with immortal verdure.'

"Hearest thou the voices of its inhabitants ?"

“I hear them, father, as the voices of angels, falling from afar in the still and solemn night-time; and they call me-her voice, too, father, oh, I heard it then."

"Doth she speak to thee?”

“She speaketh in tones most heavenly." "Doth she smile?"

"An angel smile! But a cold, calm smile. But I am cold, cold-cold! Father, there is a mist in the room. You'll be lonely. Is this death

father?"

"It is death, my Mary."

"Thank God!"

Sabbath evening came, and a slow, sad procession wound through the forest to the little schoolhouse. There, with simple rites, the good clergyman performed his duty, and went to the grave. The procession was short. There were hardy men and rough, in shooting jackets, and some with rifles on their shoulders. But their warm hearts gave beauty to their unshaven faces, as they stood in

reverent silence by the grave. The river murmured and the birds sung, and so we buried her.

I saw the sun go down from the same spot-and the stars were bright before I left-for I always had an idea that a grave-yard was the nearest place to heaven on earth-and, with old Sir Thomas Brown, I love to see a church in a grave-yard, for even as we pass through the place of graves to the Temple of God on earth, so we must pass through the grave to the Temple of God on high.

The Land which no ort:l may Know.

HOUGH Earth has full many a beautiful spot,

As a poet or painter might show;

Yet more lovely and beautiful, holy and

bright,

To the hopes of the heart, and the spirit's glad

sight,

Is the Land that no mortal may know.

There the crystalline stream, bursting forth from the throne,

Flows on, and forever will flow;

Its waves, as they roll, are with melody rife,
And its waters are sparkling with beauty and life,
In the Land which no mortal may know.

And there on its margin, with leaves ever green,
With its fruits healing sickness and woe,
The fair Tree of Life! in its glory and pride,
Is fed by the deep, inexhaustible tide,

On the Land which no mortal may know.

There, too, are the lost! whom we lov'd on this

earth,

With those mem'ries our bosoms yet glow;

Their reliques we gave to the place of the dead,
But their glorified spirits before us have fled
To the Land which no mortal may know.

There the pale orb of Night, and the fountain of
Day,

Nor beauty nor splendor bestow;

But the presence of Him, the unchanging I AM! And the holy, the pure, the immaculate Lamb! Light the Land which no mortal may know.

Oh, who must but pine in this dark vale of tears, From its clouds and its shadows to go;

To walk in the light of the glory above,

And to share in the peace, and the joy, and the love, Of the Land which no mortal may know.

BERNARD BARTON.

Longing for the Heavenly City.

ET us advance on the way of life, and return. to the heavenly city, where we shall be fellow-citizens, and of the household of God. Let us gaze on its glory so far as we can with mortal vision. It stands written of it, that sorrow and sighing shall flee away. There is no age, nor toil of age, for all have come to the stature of perfect men in Christ. What can be happier than such a life, where there is no poverty to fear, no sickness to suffer, where no one will hurt, none is angry, no impure passion excites, no hunger gnaws, no ambition torments, no devil terrifies, no hell threatens? Evil and strife are far away. Peace and joy evermore reign. The night is far spent, the clouds scatter, an illustrious day is breaking, for that city needs no sun, nor moon, but the glory of the Lord shall enlighten it, and the Lamb is the light of it. Why do we not hasten in faith and love to our

great multitude there awaits us.

native land? A What joy, what