him. He was gone.

once knew him no more.

lived; he yet lives.

The places that knew him

But he was not lost. He

A certain prophet of the Lord was walking with another whom he tenderly loved; and suddenly there "appeared a chariot of fire, and horses of fire, and parted them both asunder; and Elijah went up by a whirlwind into heaven. And Elisha saw it, and he cried, My father, my father, the chariot of Israel and the horses thereof. And he saw him no more." He was gone, but not lost.

A disconsolate female came to the grave of her best beloved friend, and as she saw that his precious remains were gone, she cried, "They have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid him." She thought in her sorrow, as most of the bereaved are wont to think, that she had lost her all; when one stood before her and said, "Mary," and the joy of life from the dead burst in rapture on her soul. It was the voice of her beloved. She had found her Lord. He was gone, but not lost.

This was a natural, if not a profitable train of thought. A believer writes this inscription over the ashes of a departed saint. Day by day disease wears away the tabernacle of clay; by and by

death dashes in pieces the "golden bowl," and the wheel at the cistern stands still. But the freed spirit starts into new existence before the eternal throne, and like an angel of light, leaps in gladness and glory unutterable and inconceivable. And is that saint lost? In a diamond mine is found a clod of earth that contains a gem of great price. It is taken from him that found it, and polished for him who owns the mine and all its gems; and now it sparkles on the bosom of the queen, or shines radiantly in the royal coronet. Is that jewel lost? And if the Monarch of the Universe could find in the darkness of this lower world, gems that infinite skill can polish for His use, shall we count them lost when He makes up His jewels and takes them to Himself?

The Christian Mourner's Prospect.

HE hour, the hour, the parting hour,
That takes from this dark world its power,
And lays at once its thorn and flower

On the same withering bier, my soul!
The hour that ends all earthly woes,
And gives the wearied soul repose,—
How soft, how sweet, that last, long close
Of mortal hope and fear, my soul!

How sweet, while on this broken lyre
The melodies of time expire,

To feel it strung with chords of fire,

To praise the Immortal One, my soul!
And while our farewell tears we pour
To those we leave on this cold shore,
To feel that we shall weep no more,

Nor dwell in heaven alone, my soul!

How sweet, while waning fast away
The stars of this dim world decay,
To see, prophetic of the day,

The golden dawn above, my soul!
To feel we only sleep to rise
In sunnier lands in fairer skies,
To bind again our broken ties

In ever-living love, my soul!

The hour, the hour, so pure and calm, . That bathes the wounded soul in balm, And round the pale brow binds the palm,

That shuns this wintry clime, my soul! The hour that draws o'er earth and all Its briers and blooms, the mortal pall,How soft, how sweet that evening-fall

Of fear, and grief, and time, my soul!

Jacint

Simon Zelotes.

"Simon, called Zelotes."

Victory.

HE JACINTH, or Ligure, is the precious stone of the eleventh foundation of the Home of the Sanctified, where it is inscribed with the name of Simon. The

Jacinth is a gem of a warm orange or amber color, about semi-transparent. It is called the Ligure, from its native place, Ligurea, a country of Italy. Having no reliable guidance in assigning to it a character, I am disposed to consider it as figurative of VICTORY, from the language of Moses to Gad, when, in the memorable closing scene of his eventful pilgrimage, the great Legislator blessed the twelve tribes, and foretold their individual destinies. He thus prophesied to Gad of a victorious career and triumphant success over his enemies: "Blessed be he that enlargeth Gad, he dwelleth as a lion, and teareth the arm with the crown of the head." The rich saffron