ON THE LOSS OF CHILDREN.

[We select the following beautiful thoughts from a letter recently received from an esteemed relative in the United States.]

I heard of the death of John, but not, till S's letter arrived, that death had taken two. I know, my sister, how to sympathize with you, and know also that sympathy does not lessen the burden of grief death leaves in his track. Our best comforter is He who wounds to heal, and who, if he removes our jewels from us, takes them to a brighter sphere, that they may become more worthy of our love, and form a natural tie to the bright and invisible world upon which our expectations are exercised. There are joys in the contemplation of our own-parts of ourselves, in heaven, which arise not from other sources-ours, yes, our own, have taken possession of the heavenly inheritance.

When we think of what our darlings are,
And what we yet must be;

When we muse on that world's blessedness
And this world's misery;

When we groan beneath this load of sin,

And feel this grief and pain,

O! we would rather lose the others too,
Than have them back again."

Still we feel the vacancy in our family circle, and our emotions are indescribably

agonizing-but especially so, when the only one is taken away. Such discipline is, however, often necessary for us, we are poor creatures at best, and need to be aroused from worldly influences, which war against our souls; and among the influences that draw us from God, none are more powerful than earthly affections. I hope you were able to resign yourself entirely to Him who "does all things well." "He gives, and blessed be his name, he takes but what he gave."

I think I have felt no loss more severely than the loss of my only boy-sprightly and buoyant, even now I sometimes almost fancy I hear his joyous laugh and sweet voice. I little thought my heart was so wrapped up in the child. I had tried to guard against it, but he lives still there-his playthings, his chair, his clothes, are often seen, and his own curious words are often expressed. But he is gone, he could not leave a world of sin and begin a life of unending bliss too early.

O may we so live, that when our final change shall come, we may meet where changes are unknown!

For an Anniversary.

FRIENDS of Jesus! friends of youth!
Listen to the voice of truth;
Hear an infant's artless lore,
While your bounty I implore.
Once on Zion's hallow'd ground,
In the temple's courts were found,
Children eager to proclaim
Great Immanuel's glorious name.
Gladly they "Hosanna" sung,
With their cries the temple rung.
Thus did babes and sucklings raise,
A tribute to Jehovah's praise :
Nor was their humble labour vain;
Nor did their lowly Lord disdain,
At once to sanction and applaud
Their fervour in the cause of God.
Friends of Jesus! then give ear;
View us, now assembled here,
On this consecrated day,

Which numbers spend in sloth or play; 'Tis our pleasure to be found,

Within this temple's sacred bound;

Here the Holy Book we read,

Which makes poor sinners wise indeed;
Here we learn the Gospel plan,
Which offers life to ruin'd man;
Here redeeming love is shown,
Love that breaks a heart of stone.
Here we humbly bow the knee,
To God's eternal majesty ;

Supplicate the throne of grace,—
Seek our heavenly Father's face.
Here we sing his praises too,
And our hosannas oft renew.
Our Sabbath is a day of rest,
A day, beyond all others, blest;
Fairest, sweetest, of the seven,
Emblem of our future heaven.
We pity children who forsake
The Sunday-school, resolv'd to take
Their pleasure in forbidden deeds,
For, soon or later woe succeeds.
O that they would all repair
Within these walls, with us to share
The benefits of Jesu's grace!
So free for all our sinful race.
Christian friends! with you we plead,
Help in this our time of need:
Each cast his mite into the store,
And God will prosper you the more.
May our kind Teachers still pursue
Their blessed task, and keep in view
The gracious recompence above,
The fruit of our Redeemer's love.
Their efforts may Jehovah bless
With great and permanent success;
May we and all our school-mates know,
The power of grace divine below;
Holy, happy, useful here,

Each in his appointed sphere.

And when all earthly scenes we leave,
May each from Jesus' hands receive
A crown of righteousness, and rise
To endless glory in the skies!

АH! who is it totters along,

And leans on the top of his stick! His wrinkles are many and long,

And his beard is grown silver and thick.

No vigour enlivens his frame,

No cheerfulness beams in his eye,
His limbs are enfeebled and lame,
And he seems as if going to die.

They tell me he once was as gay
As I in my merriest mood;
That he joyously carolled away,
With spirits that nothing subdued.