There is a star in the untroubled sky, That caught the first light which its Maker madeIt led the hymn of other orbs on high; "Twill shine when all the fires of heaven shall fade Pilgrims at Salem's porch, be that your aid! For it has kept its watch on Palestine! Look to its holy light, nor be dismayed, Though broken is each consecrated shrine, Though crushed and ruined all—which men have called divine. NOTE.-Godfrey and Baldwin were the first Christian kings at Jerusalem. The empress Helena, mother of Constantine the Great, built the church of the sepulchre on Mount Calvary. The walls are of stone, and the roof of cedar. The four lamps which light it are very costly. It is kept in repair by the offerings of pilgrims who resort to it. The mosque was originally a Jewish temple. The emperor Julian undertook to rebuild the temple of Jerusalem at very great expense, to disprove the prophecy of our Savior, as it was understood by the Jews; but the work and the workmen were destroyed by an earthquake. The pools of Bethesda and Gihon-the tomb of the Virgin Mary, and of king Jehoshaphat-the pillar of Absalom-the tomb of Zachariah-and the campo santo, or holy field, which is supposed to have been purchased with the price of Judas' treason-are, or were lately, the most interesting parts of Jerusalem. The Angler's Song.-I. McLellan, Jun. "There is no life more pleasant than the life of the well-governed angler."-Isaac Walton. WHEN first the flame of day And from the valley rolls away The haze, by the sunbeam kissed, Then to the lonely woods I pass, With angling rod and line, While yet the dew-drops, in the grass, Like flashing diamonds shine. How vast the mossy forest-halls, Silent, and full of gloom! Through the high roof the daybeam falls, Like torch-light in a tomb. The old trunks of trees rise round Like pillars in a church of old, And the wind fills them with a sound As if a bell were tolled. Where falls the noisy stream, In many a bubble bright, Along whose grassy margin gleam Flowers gaudy to the sight, There silently I stand, Watching my angle play, Oft, ere the carrion bird has left Or ere the eagle's wing hath cleft Or ere the lark's swift pinion speeds My foot hath shaken the bending reeds, And when the Twilight, with a blush And Evening's universal hush Fills all the darkened sky, And steadily the tapers burn In villages far away, Then from the lonely stream I turn And from the forests gray. Who is my Neighbor ?-ANONYMOUS. THY neighbor? It is he whom thou Thy neighbor? 'Tis the fainting poor, Whom hunger sends from door to door,- Thy neighbor? 'Tis that weary man, Bent low with sickness, cares and pain:- Thy neighbor? 'Tis the heart bereft Widow and orphan, helpless left:- Thy neighbor? Yonder toiling slave, Whene'er thou meet'st a human form Oh, pass not, pass not heedless by; Hymn. Matthew, xxvi. 6—13.-CHRISTIAN MIRROR. SHE loved her Savior, and to him To crown his head, or grace his name, And though the prudent worldling frowned, Christ's humble friend sweet comfort found, So let the Savior be adored, And not the poor despised; Give to the hungry from your hoard, But all, give all to Christ. The poor are always with us here. That mutual wants and mutual care Go. clothe the naked, lead the blind, For Sorrow's children comfort find, But give to Christ alone thy heart, Broken-hearted, weep no more.-EPISCOPAL WATCHMAN BROKEN-HEARTED, weep no more! Hear what comfort He hath spoken, Come, with grief, with sin oppressed, Lamb of Jesus' blood-bought flock, Broken-hearted, weep no more! He who calls hath felt thy wound, Seen thy weeping, heard thy sighing: Bring thy broken heart to me; Welcome offering it shall be ; The Sweet Brier.-BRAINARD. OUR sweet autumnal western-scented wind In all the blooming waste it left behind, As that the sweet brier yields it; and the shower The poor girl's path-way, by the poor man's door. And humble as the bud, so humble be the song. I love it, for it takes its untouched stand You love your flowers and plants, and will you hate The little four-leaved rose that I love best, That freshest will awake, and sweetest go to rest? Mother, what is Death?-MRS. GILMAN. "MOTHER, how still the baby lies! I cannot hear his breath; My little work I thought to bring, They say that he again will rise, That God will bless him in the skies- "Daughter, do you remember, dear, |