Which fearful, flagging once,

strong,

Now for its heavenly goal!

How indescribable it is to stand

is hopeful,

Thus, on Death's untried shore;

To feel the deep peace of Immanuel's land, To hear our dull world's roar !

Not mine, now that hath

Our world?

come at last,

For which my heart hath sigh'd,

[past,

Whilst sorely through the sinful sorrowing

My spirit hath been tried.

And joy unutterable pervades my breast,

That earth's wild warfare o'er,

I, weary victor, from the tents of rest
Shall wander forth no more!

Rest, loving friends!--not of dissolving clay,

Not of insensate dust;

But of essential active life alway

With the foregather'd just!

Yes, I must die!--all through the solemn night

Strange voices told me so ;

And my soul, fraught with awful, sad delight,

Is languishing to go.

Already, Heaven's ten thousand gates of gold,

Blazing afar, I see;

'Ere night returneth here, one shall unfold,

And ever close on me!

Beyond the god-like city's unborn light,
The vital river's shore ;

[white,"

I ken, "the multitudes who walk in The long blest gone before.

And, lo! lost loved ones smile, fond voices call,

Hands beckon me-'Tis done;

Hark! how ineffable !-Farewell, earth

all!

Great God! is Heaven won?

TO A ROSE-TREE, BLOOMING IN

NOVEMBER.

THOU beauteous flower! O! who that's seen

Thy blush in summer skies serene,
From thee would turn away?

To see thee thus, and see thee here,
My heart is mov'd to wish thee where
The rest are in decay.

The rest!-a brilliant world of flowers

That were when shone the summer hours;

But now they are no more!

They faded with the fading time,

Nor liv'd, like thee, 'till summer's prime

And loveliness were o'er.

Why art thou not with them? For thou Art blooming desolately now,

A solitary tree!

A being in a joyless spot,

By every former friend forgot,

Too well resembles thee.

Yet, lone one! still I love thee more
Than all the rich and fragrant store

That scented warmer air:

There was no lack of sweets to cull;
Then-many were the beautiful;
Now-thou alone art fair.

And there's a charm which thou can'st

own,

To summer breezes never known ;

To please when most there's need: Thus blooming 'neath a colder sky, How sweetly dost thou cheer the eye! Thou art a Rose indeed!

Thou choice one !-art thou not in this

An emblem of religion's bliss,

That blesses most in woe?

Of that, which when all other joys
Parental Providence destroys,

Can only peace bestow.

THE BEST GIFT FROM HEAVEN.

SAY, what is hope, thou wand'rer lone!
Child of misfortune! what is hope?
An instant ray that sudden shone,
A star in man's dim horoscope.
Is it a boon to man's wild woe,
Is it a gift in mercy given?
Sure, 'tis an angel here below,

The purest gift to earth from Heaven.

Say, what is faith? thou Christian mild,
Whose eye is beaming forth so bright;
Faith is the Christian's hope, my child!

The beacon ray, that turns each night,

Tho' low'ring, dark, more light than day; More bright than when the sun has

driven

The morning mists from earth away

Faith is the holiest gift of Heaven.

T. H. M.