(Original.)

THE SPRING.

RICHARD HUIE, M.D.

It was a spring, a trickling spring,
Which by the road I spied!
A shallow, calm, and limpid thing,
And scarcely two feet wide:
But there it was, as clear as day,
And glistening in the solar ray.

The hedge-flowers cluster'd round the brink,
A garland bright and green;

And while they stoop'd its wave to drink,
They strove its cup to screen

From summer's heat, and winter's frost;

And thus the fount was never lost.

Meet emblem of that faith divine,

Which fills the contrite heart;

And of those gifts which round it twine,
And ceaseless joys impart :
Faith makes the Christian graces grow,

And these aid faith's perennial flow.

Faith raises hope this world above,
And hope makes faith more strong;
Faith tunes her golden lyre for love,
And love lends faith her song,

And weaves the fragrant wreath which binds
In sympathy congenial minds.

Thus with immortal youth endued,

Heaven's gifts adorn the soul;

While through the heart by grace renew'd,

Faith's healing waters roll;

A sparkling tide, with transport rife,
And springing up to endless life!

ON THE DEATH OF A MOTHER.

SIR EDWARD DENNY.

"Said I not unto thee, that if thou wouldest believe thou should'st see the glory of God?"

Friendship! however sweet thou art
To soothe the suffering, breaking heart
With kindly word or sigh,

Thine hour of comfort now is past,

And sympathy herself at last

Will languish, faint, and die.

Yet to one ever-listening ear
The weakest sigh of faith is dear,
Nor will be lost in air;

Far less that ear will turn away
From souls that plead from day to day,
Victorious o'er despair.

Thus have I pray'd! while others slept,
I've pray'd, and pray'd again, and wept
Through half the livelong night,

For one, whose bright and beauteous brow

A crown of glory circles now,

A blessed saint in light.

Oh! 'twas a mother greatly loved,
Who thus my fervent spirit moved
To seek a Saviour's aid:

And ye who love your parents well—
Who love their souls, may surely tell
How deeply I have pray'd.

Ye, too, may fancy all I felt

To watch the softening spirit melt
Beneath a Saviour's love-

To see her in her utmost need,

From every doubt and shadow freed,
Sure of a home above.

Once when the Saviour's cross I named,

Her own beloved lips proclaim'd

Her fleeting soul forgiven;

While many a heavenward look and prayer
Show'd all was calm and happy there,
And breathed alone of heaven.

What resting-place is half so meet
For dying saints, so calm and sweet,
As Jesus' holy breast!

She pillow'd there her drooping head,
And when her gentle spirit fled,

I knew that she was blest.

Ye praying souls, who long to lead
The dear ones of your souls to feed
Within the fold of love-

For

you who wait Jehovah's will, A treasury of mercy still

Is richly stored above.

The Lord of love is still the same
As when the Gentile mother came,
And pleaded for her child;

His words though first they seem'd severe,
But made his last reply appear

More loving and more mild.

Though distant from the heavenly way
Are those you love for whom you pray,
Ah! why need ye despair?

Plead on! and ye shall live to prove

That God is power-that "God is love," And loves to answer prayer.