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The more we know of earthly grief,
Of Disappointment's chill,
The more we turn to seek relief

From something cherish'd still.

Who can have pass'd thro' life, nor known
ONE whom the heart would fain
Have lov'd and cherish'd as its own-
ONE it would meet again?

Here, then, we make our stand-on this
Our strong appeal we rest;

As on a spell-in bale or bliss,
By every heart confest :

If there be one it cannot move,
That heart has liv'd in vain;

Finding not One whom it could love,
And long to meet again!

B. B.

HUMILITY.

BY JAMES MONTGOMERY, ESQ.

THE Bird that soars on highest wing
Builds on the ground her lowly nest;
And she that doth most sweetly sing,
Sings in the shade when all things rest:
-In Lark and Nightingale we see
What honour hath Humility.

When Mary chose the better part,
She meekly sat at Jesus' feet;

And Lydia's gently-open'd heart

Was made for God's own temple meet:

-Fairest and most adorn'd is She,

Whose clothing is Humility.

The Saint, that wears heaven's brightest

crown,

In deepest adoration bends;

The weight of glory bows him down,

Then most when most his soul ascends : -Nearest the Throne itself must be The footstool of Humility.

DR. ANDERSON'S DEATH-BED,

SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY HIS DAUGHTER.

BY JAMES WHYTT, ESQ.

THE scene is deep imprest upon me now; My father's death-bed I shall ne'er forget;

As tho' the radiance of his sainted brow

Ling❜red behind him when his sun was set.

E'en those who count their every feeling

task'd,

If called to see a funeral pass by, Without emotion might have almost ask'd, Is he departed?" Is it this to die?"

More peacefully he thought upon the grave, And met with calm delight his latest hour, Than summer-breezes kiss the glassy wave,

Or waft the fragrance of a scented flower.

Whatever anguish fill'd my throbbing heart,
A promise would alleviate my pain;
And though I wept to think that we must
part,

I joy'd to think that we should meet again.

And though my grief would through my bosom rave,

I still would feel a thrill of pleasure given; For, though I knew that he was near his

[ven.

grave, I knew that he was just as near his hea

O could the sons of dissipation see
How peacefully the Christian meets his

end;

And how the tones of tuneful melody

With every sigh and every accent blend :

And how the hope of heaven could him beguile,

The fear of dying, with its kind relief, Could they have seen the sunshine of his smile

Burst by its radiance through our tears of grief:

Although their world were laid upon the bier,

And though the measured toll had been

its knell,

They would have left the world without a

tear,

And to its fading pleasures bid farewell.

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