As o'er the cheek's warm glow,
And the soft breathing low

Of babes, that grew and faded on her breast;

If then the dove-like tone

Of those faint murmurs gone,

O'er her sick sense too piercing to return;
If for the soft bright hair,

And brow and bosom fair,

And life, now dust, her soul too deeply yearn;

O gentle forms, entwined

Like tendrils, which the wind

May wave, so clasped, but never can unlink,
Send from your calm profound

A still, small voice, a sound

Of hope, forbidding that lone heart to sink.

By all the pure, meek mind
Of your pale beauty shrined,

By childhood's love-too bright a bloom to die-
O'er her worn spirit shed,

O fairest, holiest dead!

The Faith, Trust, Light of Immortality!

MRS. HEMANS.

On the Death of a Child.

As the sweet flower that scents the morn,
But withers in the rising day,

Thus lovely seemed the infant's dawn,
Thus swiftly fled his life away.

Ere sin could blight or sorrow fade,
Death timely came with friendly care,
The opening bud to heaven conveyed,
And bade it bloom for ever there.

Yet the sad hour that took the boy
Perhaps has spared a heavier doom,
Snatched him from scenes of guilty joy,
Or from the pangs of ills to come.

He died before his infant soul

Had ever burned with wrong desire, Had ever spurned at Heaven's control, Or madly quenched its sacred fire.

He died to sin, he died to care,

But for a moment felt the rod; Then, springing on the noiseless air,

Spread his light wings, and soared to God.

BELFAST SELECTION OF HYMNS.

On the Death of an Enfant.

WHY dost thou weep? Say, can it be
Because, for ever blest, and free

From sin, from sorrow, and from pain,
Thy babe shall never weep again;
Shall never feel, shall never know
Even half thy little load of wo!

What was thy prayer, when his first smile
Did thy young mother-heart beguile;
When his first cry was in thine ear,
And on thy cheek his first warm tear,
And to thy heart at first were pressed
The throbbings of his little breast?

What was thy prayer? Canst thou not now
See in his bright cherubic brow,
Hear in his soft seraphic strain,
So full of joy, so free from pain,
An answer, (as if God did speak,)
To all thy love had dared to seek?

Why, wherefore weep, when all the cares,
The doubts, the troubles, and the snares,
The threatening clouds, the falling tears,
Childhood's wild hopes, and manhood's fears,
That might have been for him, for thee,
Have passed away, and ne'er shall be ?

He scarcely suffered, then was crowned;
Was scarcely lost till he was found;
And scarcely heaved one mortal sigh,
Then entered immortality :

A child of thine, a child of bliss!
Why, wherefore weep for joy like this?

Nay, rather strive to praise the love
That could so tenderly reprove;
That, when it wounded, left no sting
Of self-consuming suffering;
But with thy profit linked the joy
Of thy beloved and sainted boy.

J. S. MONSEll.

Mine Earthly Children Round Me Bloom.

MINE earthly children round me bloom,

Lovely alike in smiles and tears;
My fairest sleeps within the tomb,
Through long and silent years.

And earthly ties are round me wound,
And earthly feelings fondly nursed;

And yet the spell is not unbound

That linked me to my

first-my first!

A fairy thing with flaxen hair,

And eyes of blue, and downy cheek,
And frolic limbs, and lips that were
Striving for evermore to speak;

A thing as lovely as the day;

Fair as the shapes that span the beams;

As innocent as flowers of May;

As frail, as fading as our dreams.

I see the seals of childhood fade

Slowly from each young living brow;

Yet still, in sunshine and in shade,
That infant is an infant now.

Seasons may roll, and manhood's pride

Each youthful breast with care may fill ;