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And when I'm in the green earth's breast,

Let Henry go to sea,
Because he's stronger than the rest,

And of a spirit free.
That God who stills the roaring wind

Charge over him shall take;
And the old boatswain will be kind

To Henry, for my sake.

And oh! dear mother, when you cry,

(For grieve I know you will,) Remember there's a God on high

Who sees and pities still ;
And murmur to yourself the word

You taught us long ago,
That still by Him the wail is heard
Which none will heed below."

Wild storms had met that vessel's track,

And broke the sea in foam ;
Loud winds had roared around, yet Jack

Had sailed in safety home.
But now He called, who was his stay

Upon that boisterous tide,
And in his bed one sunny day

The little sailor died !

Long, long, beside the cottage hearth

They missed him from his place;
His loud, light laugh, his voice of mirth,

His happy, eager face!
They played no cricket on the green,

No game of bat and ball;
For he was gone who once had been

The spirit of them all.

But round his grave each Sabbath-day,

Silently, hand in hand, (Thinking how kind he was--how gay) His once-loved playmates stand.

Oh, little children of a race

To whom short time is given,
So part on earth, that, face to face,
Ye all may meet in heaven!

Hon. MRS. NORTON.

JERUSALEM.

FALLEN is thy throne, O Israel !

Silence is o'er thy plains ! Thy dwellings all lie desolate,

Thy children weep in chains.
Where are the dews that fed thee

On Etham's barren shore ?
The fire from heaven that led thee

Now lights thy path no more !

Lord, thou didst love Jerusalem ;

Once she was all thine ownHer love thy fairest heritage,

Her power thy glory's throne;
Till evil came and blighted

Thy long-loved olive-tree,
And Salem's shrines were lighted

For other gods than thee.

Then sank the star of Solyma,

Then passed her glory's day, Like heath that in the wilderness

The light wind whirls away. Silent and waste her bowers,

Where once the mighty trod; And sunk those guilty towers,

Where Baal reigned as God.

“Go," said the Lord, “ye conquerors,

Steep in her blood your swords; And raze to earth her battlements,

For they are not the Lord's. Tell Zion's mournful daughter

O'er kindred bones she'll tread,

And Hinnom's vale of slaughter

Shall hide but half her dead.”

But soon shall other pictured scenes

In brighter vision rise, When Zion's sun shall sevenfold shine

On all her mourners' eyes; And on her mountains beauteous stand

The messengers of peace; — “Salvation by the Lord's right hand !"

They shout and never cease.

MOORE.

CHRIST BETRAYED.

EIGHTEEN hundred years agone
Was that deed of darkness done-
Was that sacred thorn-crowned head
To a shameful death betrayed ;
And Iscariot's traitor name
Blazoned in eternal shame.-
Thou, disciple of our time,
Follower of the faith sublime,
Who with high and holy scorn
Of that trait'rous deed dost burn,
Though the years may never more
To our earth that form restore,
The Christ-spirit ever lives-
Ever in thy heart He strives.
When pale misery mutely calls;
When thy brother tempted falls;
When thy gentle words may chain
Hate and anger and disdain,
Or thy loving smile impart
Courage to some sinking heart;
When within thy troubled breast
Good and evil thoughts contest
Though unconscious thou mayst be,
The Christ-spirit strives with thee.

When He trod the Holy Land
With his small disciple band,
And the fated hour had come
For that august martyrdom--
When the man, the human love,
And the God within Him strove-
As in Gethsemane He wept,
They, the faithless watchers, slept :
While for them He wept and prayed,
One denied and one betrayed !

If to-day thou turn'st aside
In thy luxury and pride,
Wrapped within thyself, and blind
To the sorrows of thy kind,
Thou a faithless watch dost keep
Thou art one of those who sleep :
Or if, waking, thou dost see
Nothing of Divinity
In our fallen, struggling race ;
If in them thou seest no trace
Of a glory dimmed, not gone,
Of a future to be won,
Of a future, hopeful, high-
Thou, like Peter, dost deny :
But if, seeing, thou believest,
If the Evangel thou receivest,
Yet if thou art bound to sin,
False to the ideal within,
Slave of ease, or slave of gold-
Thou the Son of God hast sold.

A. C. LYNCH.

GEMS FROM SHAKSPEARE.

1.—THE END OF ALL THINGS. THESE our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air : And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,

The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

II.-DUTY OF FORGIVENESS.
ALAS! alas !
Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once,
And He that might the vantage best have took
Found out the remedy. How would you be,
If He, which is the top of judgment, should
But judge you as you are? O, think on that;
And mercy then will breathe within your lips,
Like man new made.

III.—THE MIND ALONE VALUABLE.
'Tis the mind that makes the body rich;
And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds,
So honour peereth in the meanest habit.
What! is the jay more precious than the lark,
Because his feathers are more beautiful ?
Or is the adder better than the eel,
Because his painted skin contents the eye ?
O, no, good Kate: neither art thou the worse
For this poor furniture and mean array.

IV.--DESPISED OLD AGE. I HAVE lived long enough : my way of life Is fallen into the sear, the yellow leaf; And that which should accompany old age, As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, I must not look to have; but in their stead, Curses, not loud, but deep, mouth-honour, breath, Which the poor heart would fain deny, but dare not.

V.-DISEASES OF THE MIND. Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased ; Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow;

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