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Oh! change-oh! wondrous change-
Burst are the prison bars—
This moment there, so low,
So agonized, and now
Beyond the stars!

Oh! change-stupendous change!
There lies the soulless clod:

The sun eternal breaks,

The new immortal wakes-
Wakes with his God.

THE UNKNOWN WAY.-Bryant.

A BURNING sky is o'er me,
The sands beneath me glow,
As onward, onward, wearily,
In the sultry morn I go.

From the dusty path there opens,
Eastward, an unknown way;
Above its windings, pleasantly,
The woodland branches play.

A silvery brook comes stealing

From the shadow of its trees,
Where slender herbs of the forest stoop

Before the entering breeze.

Along those pleasant windings

I would my journey lay,

Where the shade is cast and the dew of night Is not yet dried away.

Path of the flowery woodland!

Oh, whither dost thou lead,

Wandering by grassy orchard grounds

Or by the open mead?

Goest thou by nestling cottage?

Goest thou by stately hall,

Where the broad elm droops, a leafy dome, And woodbines flaunt on the wall?

By steeps where children gather
Flowers of the yet fresh year?
By lonely walks where lovers stray
Till the tender stars appear?

Or haply dost thou linger

On barren plains and bare,
Or clamber the bald mountain-side
Into the thinner air ?

Where they who journey upward
Walk in a weary track,
And oft upon the shady vale
With longing eyes look back?

I hear a solemn murmur,

And listening to the sound,
I knew the voice of the mighty sea,
Beating his pebbly bound.

Dost thou, O path of the woodland!
End where those waters roar,
Like human life, on a trackless beach,
With a boundless Sea before?

WHO IS MY NEIGHBOUR?

THY neighbour? It is he whom thou
Hast power to aid and bless,
Whose aching heart or burning brow
Thy soothing hand may press.

Thy neighbour? 'Tis the fainting poor,
Whose eye with want is dim,

Whom hunger sends from door to door,—
Go thou and shelter him.

Thy neighbour? "Tis that weary man,
Whose years are at their brim,

But low with sickness, cares, and pain:
Go thou and comfort him.

Whose hopes are all beyond the grave,―
Go thou and ransom him.

Whene'er thou meet'st a human form
Less favoured than thine own,
Remember 'tis thy neighbour worm,
Thy brother, or thy son.

Oh! pass not, pass not heedless by,
Perhaps thou canst redeem
The breaking heart from misery,
Go, share thy lot with him.

TELL ME. A PARABLE.-Dr. G. Macdonald.

'TRAVELLER, what lies over the hill?
Traveller, tell to me:

I am only a child-from the window-sill
Over I cannot see.'

Child, there's a valley over there,
Pretty and wooded and shy;

And a little brook that says-"Take care,
Or I'll drown you by and by."

'And what comes next?' 'A little town;

And a towering hill again;

More hills and valleys, up and down,
And a river now and then.'

' And what comes next?' 'A lonely moor,
Without a beaten way;

And grey clouds sailing slow before
A wind that will not stay.'

And then ?' 'Dark rocks and yellow sand,
And a moaning sea beside.'

'And then?' 'More sea, more sea, more land,

And rivers deep and wide.'

'And then ?' 'Oh! rock and mountain and vale, Rivers and fields and men,

Over and over-a weary tale

And round to your home again.'

'And is that all? Have you told the best ?'

'No, neither the best nor the end.

On summer eves, away in the west,

You will see a stair ascend,

'Built of all colours of lovely stones—

A stair up into the sky,

Where no one is weary, and no one moans,

Or wants to be laid by.'

'I will go.'

'But the steps are very steep:

If you will climb up there,

You must lie at the foot, as still as sleep,

A very step of the stair.

'Feet of others on you will stand,
To reach the stones high-piled.
But One will stoop and take your hand,
And say-" Come up, My child.""

I STOOD On the bridge at midnight,
As the clocks were striking the hour,
And the moon rose o'er the city,
Behind the dark church-tower.

I saw her bright reflection
In the waters under me,
Like a golden goblet falling
And sinking into the sea.

And far in the hazy distance
Of that lovely night in June,
The blaze of the flaming furnace
Gleamed redder than the moon.

Among the long, black rafters

The wavering shadows lay,

And the current that came from the ocean Seemed to lift and bear them away;

As, sweeping and eddying through them,
Rose the belated tide,

And, streaming into the moonlight,
The seaweed floated wide.

And like those waters rushing
Among the wooden piers,
A flood of thoughts came o'er me
That filled my eyes with tears.

How often, oh, how often,

In the days that had gone by,
I had stood on that bridge at midnight
And gazed on that wave and sky!