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tively happy. My dear brother, if you can give up all desire to be great, and feel heartily willing to be nothing, you will be happy too."

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Longings for Home.

HE glories of my Father's land, ,

Wake many a keen desire-
Its realms of ether, broad and deep,

Its orbs of sacred fire;
Its climate ever purely bright,

Its halls and harps of gold,
Its people free from guilt and death,

Its joys which grow not old.
Ye radiant hosts, that strictly keep

Your ceaseless watch on high,
Walking in fair and holy ranks,

The wide and azure sky, Behold one form'd to climb and range

Those fields of stainless blue; Support one worn by strife and pain,

Far off from Heaven and you.

Yet know that He, who cares for all,

And rules by laws divine, Who bids me toil in grief and gloom,

While ye rejoice and shine,

Has said that meek and steadfast faith,

His choicest gifts insures :-
A Christian's place and state with Him

Shall more than equal yours.

Be mine the green and dewy turf

The turf which wraps the dead,
With trees and flowers to wave and bloom

Above my last low bed.
I fain would leave this weary world :-

Dwellers in yon starr'd dome,
Bend earthward from your shining seats,
And take an exile home.

Rev. J. G. Lyons, LL.D.
(Suggested by an Ode of Casimir Sarbiewski.)

The Blessed Home.

OME! To be at home is the wish of the seaman on stormy seas and lonely watch. Home is the wish of the soldier, and tender visions mingle with the troubled dreams of

trench and tented field. Where the palmtree waves its graceful plumes, and birds of jewelled lustre flash and flicker among gorgeous flowers, the exile sits staring upon vacancy; a faraway home lies upon his heart; and borne upon the wings of fancy, over intervening seas and lands, he has swept away to home, and hears the lark singing above his father's fields, and sees his fairhaired boy-brother, with light foot and childhood's glee, chasing the butterfly by his native stream. And in his best hours, home, his own sinless home, a home with his Father above that starry sky, will be the wish of every Christian man.

He looks around him; the world is full of suffering; he is distressed by its sorrows, and vexed with its sins. He looks within him; he finds much in his own

corruptions to grieve for. In the language of a heart repelled, grieved, vexed, he often turns his eye upward, saying, “I would not live here always; no, not for all the gold of the world's mines; not for all the pearls of her seas; not for all the pleasures of her flashy, frothy cup; not for all the crowns of her kingdoms, would I live here always.” Like a bird about to migrate to those sunny lands where no winter sheds her snows, or strips the grove, or binds the dancing streams, he will often in spirit be pluming his wing for the hour of his flight to glory.

GUTHRIE.

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