And purest incense throws its flame

From bloodiest shrines; and saddest shame
Wails in the wild harp's softest sound;
And greenest, freshest leaves surround

The place where gloomy graves are found.
As loveliest buds are culled to deck the tomb,

So for the purest hearts Earth seeks her heaviest doom. Thus am I sad : but He, who

gave

thee life,

Arms thee to brave the temptress in successful strife;
Earth plots thy ruin, for this she spreads her toils,
But God, for those who love him, Earth's temptation

foils;

JESUS was sinless in a world of sin,

Now low before his throne bend burning seraphin;

Like Him, reject its guilt, and dare its gloom,

Thy fadeless victor-wreath and crown in blissful heaven shall bloom."

"Father," the child replied, "I too seek heaven, I wish the victor-wreath to Christians given; Point me their path, who for that crown have striven."

Her firm resolve well-pleased he heard her tell,
To sojourn on the earth, in heaven to dwell,
Then happy bade the Christian child farewell.

"Now, gentle girl!

Why sadly meet thee?

Soon to our Father's house we 'll come;

Thou gentle girl,

I gladly greet thee,

Soon we shall reach our distant home.

Our Saviour leads the way,

And we must pray,

And never stay,

Until we see the golden dome,
Which shines in endless day,
And join the lay,

Which angels pay,

No more from heaven to stray,

Nor in this weary world to roam.

Seek, then, thy Saviour, while he may be found,
Let thy young heart in his pure love abound;

He'll save thee from the grasp of sin, and earth's death-whirl,

And God will give thee grace and glory, gentle girl.”

10*

SONNET.

My weary spirit, looking hence
Up to the empyrean of the blest,
GOD's heaven of sinless, holy rest,
Abjures the vanities of sense;

I'll fight the fight of faith, and wake,
Revived, by thine omnipotence,

Oh CHRIST, my strength and confidence,
From death, the crown of life to take;
To glorious company of saint
And angel I press on, nor faint,
To taste the joys time cannot taint;
And "glorying only in thy cross,"
For thee the fiend's temptations toss
Aside, and "count all things but loss.'

THE WIDOW'S SON.*

"Now when he came nigh to the gate of the city, behold, there was a dead man carried out, the only son of his mother, and she was a widow and much people of the city was with her. And when the LORD saw her, he had compassion on her, and said unto her, weep not."— ST. LUKE, vii. 12, 13.

THE mother looked in vain

For every coming morrow;

Her son had sailed from far New-Spain;
She knew not yet her sorrow.

Long days, that lingered on,
To many weeks amounted.
No tidings from her only son!
The passing hours she counted.

Perhaps he pined away,

On desert head-land stranded;
Perhaps beneath the waves he lay,
With coral sea-shroud banded.

Sure, 't is but vain to strive,

When fears within are centred.

But now good news! her hopes revive;
The tardy ship has entered.

Quick is the news-list read;

No Thomas there is noted.

* Lines suggested by the death of Thomas I—m, the only child of his widowed mother, on his passage from Mexico to New York.

Alas! alas! he must be dead,

On whom that widow doted!

The black-sealed letter soon

The dreadful truth attested;
He died in young life's brightest noon,
In ocean's caves he rested.

One joy all griefs permit,

One comfort still remaining;

His clothes, which once he wore, she 'll sit And tend, while life is waning.

Oh mournful, mournful tale!

That widow's bitter anguish !

Words die unheard, our thoughts all fail,

Long will that lone heart languish !

He was her darling child;

She never nursed another :

His heart so soft! his voice so mild !
He dearly loved his mother!

Now tell me, ye that feel

This widow's lonely sadness,

Can earth her wounded spirit heal?
Earth can yield nought but madness.

Poor mother! pray to GoD,

Go to thy SAVIOUR often;

This woful world thy SAVIOUR trod,

Thy sorrows HE will soften.