and heaven should be the prominent objects, earthly ties the subordinate; and pleading with the other so to trust to, so to lean on, God's promises, that in living and in dying the actual presence of the Saviour may be realized to the exclusion of personal apprehension.

Shall I err in calling that constant upward tending of the soul of which I have spoken, that aspiration after a purer, more congenial atmosphere,-a habit, a habit that needs to be formed by every Christian, and one that the more it is cultivated becomes so much the more free and spontaneous in its working, until by the grace of God it mingles with every fibre of the spiritual being, and frail humanity is enabled, from the very midst of its choicest earthly blessings, to lift its eyes fearlessly, and not with the lips alone, but with the inmost soul, to speak rejoicingly of the expected summons "to depart and to be with Christ, which is far better?"

It was once the will of God that the writer should stand beside the death-bed of one to whom these last words were singularly applicable; of one who, the centre of peaceful domestic existence, loving and beloved, cherished and respected by a large circle of friends, and well adapted to enjoy life intellectually and socially, had yet so habitually looked upward for her true home that when suddenly the word was said, "Arise, he calleth thee," she heard and obeyed with quiet joyfulness. Intense affection, almost painfully acute, and human fear of suffering and death, had been prevailing features in her natural temperament; but at the end they were as though they had never been, swallowed up in the exceeding sense of God's presence, and in the unwavering assurance of perfect peace in Christ. Not one wish for life, though all she loved best were sorrowing around her; not one expression of alarm, though

the disease that laid her low was one that she had always held in especial dread, escaped her lips; one longing alone, her last earthly desire as she called it, was uttered, that all her beloved ones might in the end join her before the throne of God and of the Lamb. A few days passed, and, as the closing hour drew on, each one of the words of God, the yea and amen for ever, was brought to pass to the very letter. Christ, her Redeemer, stayed her unfaltering faith in Him, and her last words on earth were those of prayer and praise: "Fear not; for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine. When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee." Even so was her experience, and such a holy calmness was spread around, such an exceeding sense of the triumphant joy of the union of the soul with her Maker, and of the full fruition of all the hopes and desires of her pilgrim course, that selfish grief was set aside to give place to adoring gratitude. Every promise of the Scriptures shone out in characters of light at this moment of fulfilment; the infinite marvel of the completed work of the Saviour came with fresh, never before felt power on the soul, and in that hour of solemn and holy awe not one within the room of death could ask a moment's longer tarriance for the departing spirit. The cry was not "Spare her, O Lord!" but rather "Take us also, Father; take us with her to our true home in Thy heaven."

How many lessons full of cheering truth may be drawn from this slight record of the faithfulness of Jehovah towards his servant! Physical timidity, clinging affection, those very things that seem to some of us bands of iron never to be broken, were shown to be as nought when brought into contact with the joys of God's salvation, and freed from the

chain, the soul rose up with alacrity and quitted its earthly house without a sigh. And it was no sudden excitement that lifted it to this point; for years it had been quietly, steadily culminating thither. Why should not all of us also seek for such a blessed freedom, all walk the earth as on it, but not of it;faithfully and happily performing its duties and enjoying its pleasures, but ever rejoicingly remembering that it is but the prelude to better things?

The text that I before quoted, "Strangers and pilgrims, seeking a better country," so completely expresses my meaning that I cannot refrain from repeating it here. Strangers and pilgrims, pressing on to the longed-for goal, not disdaining the brooks by the way, receiving every good gift with gratitude, enjoying the blessings of human companionship and friendship, drawing from every one and every thing around its full measure of satisfaction; but still as strangers and pilgrims, not as home-born residents; not sitting down in the midst of these perishing things; not keeping the eyes fixed on the earth, as though it were the chief part of our lot; but ever looking up, ever looking beyond, ever expecting the choice things in store, ever turning to that purer, brighter, holier sphere, where the now flesh-imprisoned spirit will rise to its full stature of understanding of the things of God; to its perfect powers of adoration and praise before the Lamb, and ever holding even the best beloved ones loosely, ready unselfishly to wish them "God speed," if their race be ended the earliest, or to bid them farewell confidingly, if it be given us to reach our home the first.

Would such a constant reference to the future tend to unfit us for our present duties? Far, indeed, from this, it would be our best preparation for their due and cheerful performance. How lightly should we surmount the petty cares and vexations of life;

how bravely encounter its more serious trials, if the glory of the better world shone steadily and appreciably over our path; and more important still, if when all seemed fairest and happiest, instead of the haunting dread of death and separation which so often mars our domestic joys, we habitually mingled the brighter idea of earlier bliss with the thought of departure. How patiently, how untiringly, should we fulfil our earthly tasks, if in place of trembling mortals ever walking beneath an overhanging sword, or even as outwearied travellers longing for repose, we rose to our true privileges as Christians, and looked forward to the hour of dissolution, come when it might, whether for ourselves or others, as the birthday of the soul, the first moment of true exist

ence.

Do any imagine that such a tone of thought would foster too low an apprehension of the subject of death, and rob it of the solemnity that is its due ? Ah! so long as we are in these frail tabernacles, bound to earth by such tender clinging ties, and so liable to lose sight of our heavenly home amidst the close interests of our mortal state, there is little need for such a fear. The curse of death has been annulled for us by Him in whom we trust; but the weakness of the flesh is ours still, and how sorely it weighs on us at times, we all can tell. But we can, and we do, add to its burden. How much wiser, how much happier, how much more consistent with the honour of God and our own well-being would it be, if in the midst of the natural grief which must find way when death comes to our dwellings, we yet looked upward, rather than downward; if in place of bending over the lifeless clay, dear and precious as it may be even in its emptiness, we turned our eyes and the eyes of the young immortal beings beside us to those bright shores, where safe in one of the many

mansions, the redeemed one has been welcomed by his Lord, and more even than this, because entering more constantly and intimately into every-day life and experience, if the believer, in the family, in the social circle, in the casual meeting, on the many and oft-recurring occasions in which reference to death is made, would habitually speak of it as a Christian ought to speak, solemnly, reverently, but rejoicingly, as the summons home, the hour in which, "Thanks be to God, He giveth us the victory, through Jesus Christ our Lord!"

ANNA D. PEET.

THE CHRISTIAN GRACES.

FROM AN UNPUBLISHED MS. OF JAMES MONTGOMERY.

"And now abideth Faith, Hope, Charity, these three; but the greatest of these is Charity."-1 COR. xiii.

FAITH, Hope, and Charity,-these three,

Yet is the greatest Charity.

Father of Light! these gifts impart

To mine and every human heart.

Faith, that in prayer can never fail;
Hope, that o'er doubting must prevail;
And Charity, whose name above

Is God's own name; for "God is love."

The Morning Star is lost in light;
Faith vanishes at perfect sight;
The rainbow passes with the storm,
And Hope with Sorrow's fading form.

But Charity, serene, sublime,
Beyond the range of Death and Time;
Like the blue sky's all-bounding space,
Holds heaven and earth in its embrace.

The Mount, near Sheffield, Sept. 20th, 1845.

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