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From Jesse's root this floweret sprang, Its seed from Abraham came;

The royal David of it sang,

And Sharon is its name.

In Bethlehem its bud sent forth
So fragrant a perfume,

That Herod, in his vengeful wrath,
Determined on its doom.

Transplanted thence to Egypt's soil,
T'avert this stern decree;

It blossom'd 'neath its parent stem
In sweet simplicity.

Soon as this full-blown rose displayed
The glory of its birth,

A price in silver then was paid
To root it from the earth.

The garden of Gethsemane

Receiv'd this sacred flower;

But sheltered there it could not be
In Satan's darkest hour.

Yet still it rear'd its head on high,
Tho' marr'd was oft its bloom;
And e'en where 'twas condemned to die,
Shed sweetness o'er the tomb.

Forsaken and forlorn, 'twas cast
'Midst thorns and briers bound;
Its leaves were scattered by the blast,
To heal the nations round.

THE LAST TRUMPET.
BY G. R. CARTER.

S. M.

IT breath'd not like the torrent's voice Amid the distant hills,

When spring awakes triumphantly

The music of its rills.

It echo'd like the thunder-peal,
When clouds to clouds reply;

And the departing sun resigns
His empire in the sky.

N

It summon'd not the banded brave

To battle on the seas,

Or bade the purple banners wave
Their symbols to the breeze.

The earthquake-shock that overwhelms
The bravest hearts with dread,
Resoundeth like that trumpet's voice,
Which rous'd the quick and dead!

Its awful mandate shook the hills,
As tempests shake the wave,
And broke the dreamless leaden sleep
Of millions in the grave!

The spirit shall resume its life

When that proud trumpet rings,

And rise to immortality

Before the King of kings!

FLOWERS.

"Flowers, wherefore do ye bloom?

We strew thy pathway to the tomb."

MONTGOMERY.

FROM the lilies of the field the Son of God bade us draw a striking lesson of our Heavenly Father's providence. "Consider the lilies of the field," says the Divine Teacher: "they toil not, neither do they spin; yet, I say unto you, that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, which to day is, and tomorrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O! ye of little faith?"

Flowers are emblems at once of death and immortality. They bloom-they fade --they die-they rise up again in re

newed youth and beauty. They form the bridal garland-they strew the bier -they spring up spontaneously over the grave, lending their sweet perfume and lovely colours to the lonely vale of death. Even ambition receives a lesson from the humble herb of the field. Alexander found his conquests easier than his ineffectual attempt to make the ivy grow in Babylon. The simple weed reproved the victor's pride. He who destroyed nations could not make it grow in a land to which its Creator had not adapted it.

Flowers are the first inanimate objects that attract the eyes of the child. He gathers, and hangs delighted over them, admiring their gay colours, and inhaling their rich perfumes. They perish in his grasp he weeps; and, from a pious mother's lips, learns that he, too, only blooms to die. She tells him that a second spring

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