I did, and, going, did a rainbow note. "Surely," thought I,

"This is the lace of Peace's coat;

I will search out the matter."

But, while I look'd, the clouds immediately
Did break and scatter.

Then went I to a garden, and did spy
A gallant flower-

The Crown Imperial. “Sure,” said I,
"Peace at the root must dwell."

But, when I digg'd, I saw a worm devour
What show'd so well.

At length, I met a reverend, good old man ;
Whom, when for Peace

I did demand, he thus began :

"There was a prince of old

In Salem dwelt, who lived with good increase Of flock and fold.

"He sweetly lived; yet sweetness did not save

His life from foes:

But, after death, out of his grave

There sprang twelve stalks of wheat,

Which many, wondering at, got some of those, To plant and set.

"It prosper'd strangely, and did soon disperse Through all the earth.

For they that taste it do rehearse,

That virtue lies therein;

A secret virtue, bringing peace and mirth,
By flight from sin.

"Take of this grain, which in my garden grows,

And grows for you:

Make bread of it; and that repose

And peace which everywhere

With so much earnestness you do

pursue,

Is only there."

THE DEATH OF THE VIRTUOUS.

SWEET is the scene when virtue dies!
When sinks a righteous soul to rest,
How mildly beam the closing eyes!
How gently heaves the expiring breast!

So fades a summer cloud away;

So sinks the gale when storms are o'er ;
So gently shuts the eye of day;
So dies a wave along the shore.

Triumphant smiles the victor brow,
Fann'd by some angel's purple wing:
Where is, O Grave! thy victory now?
And where, insidious Death! thy sting?

Farewell, conflicting joys and fears,

Where light and shade alternate dwell: How bright the unchanging morn appears! Farewell, inconstant world, farewell!

Its duty done-as sinks the clay,

Light from its load the spirit flies; While heaven and earth combine to say, "Sweet is the scene when virtue dies."

LOVE TO CHRIST.

If Love, the noblest, purest, best,
If Truth, all other truth above,
Will claim returns from every breast,
O, surely Jesus claims our love!

OUR LOVE! yea, sooner may the hand
Forget its office, than the heart,
Once taught His love to understand,
Desert its own appointed part.

There's not a hope, with comfort fraught,
Triumphant over death and time,
But Jesus mingles in that thought,
Forerunner of our course sublime.

His image meets me in the hour
Of joy, and brightens every smile;
I see him when the tempests lower,
Each terror soothe, each grief beguile.

I see him in the daily round

Of social duty, mild and meek; With him I tread the hallow'd ground, Communion with my God to seek.

I see his pitying, gentle eye,

When lonely want appeals for aid;

I hear him in the frequent sigh,

That mourns the waste which sin has made.

I meet him at the lowly tomb;
I weep where Jesus wept before;
And there, above the grave's dark gloom,
I see him rise-and weep no more.

Does friendship gild my favor'd state,
O faithful to the last! be mine
Thy blessed course to emulate,

And pray for truth, for love like thine!

Then ask me not to live, and be
A stranger to that generous flame,
Which warms, and, to eternity,

Must warm my soul at Jesus' name.

ORIENTAL ILLUSTRATION OF A CHRIS

TIAN PRECEPT.

FORGIVE thy foes;-nor that alone,
Their evil deeds with good repay,

Fill those with joy who leave thee none,
And kiss the hand upraised to slay.

So does the fragrant sandal* bow,
In meek forgiveness, to its doom;
And o'er the axe, at every blow,
Sheds in abundance rich perfume.

*An aromatic tree.

UPON THE DEATH OF A WIFE.

WHOE'ER, like me, with trembling anguish brings
His dearest earthly treasure to these springs;
Whoe'er, like me, to soothe distress and pain,
Shall court these salutary springs in vain,
Condemn'd, like me, to hear the faint reply,
To mark the fading cheek, the sinking eye,
From the chill brow to wipe the damps of death,
And watch, in dumb despair, the shortening breath ;-
If chance should bring him to this humble line,
Let the sad mourner know his pangs were mine,—
Ordain'd to lose the partner of my breast,
Whose virtue warm'd me, and whose beauty bless'd,
Framed every tie that binds the heart to prove,
Her duty friendship, and her friendship love.
But yet, remembering that the parting sigh
Appoints the just to slumber, not to die,

The starting tear I check'd,—I kiss'd the rod,-
And not to earth resign'd her, but to God!