uance here; for though life in the flesh be indeed frail and brittle as glass, still we believe there is a purpose in virtuous Christian love that death will not frustrate, that looks beyond all earthly union, and finds its consummation in other spheres. The love that marries souls - that true conjugal sympathy that makes the two hearts one- - must be immortal, for it is a part of the immortal nature. And though in heaven they "neither marry nor are given in marriage," yet how can we doubt that the pure attachments and virtuous loves of earth, sanctified by piety, will open to mated souls still deeper and purer sources of joy, in that world where the faithful will be " as the angels"?

When Simon Marechal, and his wife,

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BRIDAL WREATH.

71

having been condemned to death for their religion, were approaching the flames that were to consume them both, she turned to ker husband and said to him, "Dear husband, our marriage has hitherto been but an engagement; after this, the Son of God will marry us for eternity."

"Two consorts in Heaven are not two, but one angel."

Is there not a foreshadowing of this here on earth, when the union is sanctified by a oneness of heart and purpose in things heavenly and immortal?

Love sanctified by religion never dies.

"Its holy flame for ever burneth:

From heaven it came, to heaven returneth,

Too oft on earth a troubled guest,

At times deceived, at times oppressed.

It here is tried and purified,

Then has in heaven its perfect rest;

It soweth here in toil and care,

But the harvest-time of love is there."

Happy they who remember that THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN IS WITHIN,- who call Jesus to the marriage, and give him a welcome "abode" in the heart, that his sacred truth and heavenly spirit may make the earthly a preparation for the heavenly home!

POETICAL SELECTIONS.

MOTHER'S PLEA.

DEAL gently thou whose hand hath won
The young bird from its nest away,
Where, careless, 'neath a vernal sun,
She gayly carolled day by day;

The haunt is lone, the heart must grieve,
From whence her timid wing doth soar,
They pensive list, at hush of eve,

Yet hear her gushing song no more.

Deal gently with her; thou art dear
Beyond what vestal lips have told;
And, like a lamb from fountains clear,
She turns confiding to thy fold.

She round thy sweet domestic bower

The wreath of changeless love shall twine; Watch for thy step at vesper hour,

And blend her holiest prayer with thine.

Deal gently thou, when far away,

'Mid stranger scenes her feet shall rove, Nor let thy tender care decay, —

The soul of woman lives in love.

And shouldst thou, wondering, mark a tear, Unconscious from her eyelids break,

Be pitiful, and soothe the fear

That man's strong heart may ne'er partake

A mother yields her gem to thee,

On thy true breast to sparkle rare. She places 'neath thy household tree The idol of her fondest care;