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THE PENITENT. “And He said unto her, Thy sins are forgiven. Luke vii. 48.

Oh! shrink not from her, gaze upon that brow,
So young and fair, with sorrow shaded now;
The sad expression of her downcast eye,
The falling tear that asks for sympathy;
The trembling sigh that heaves her troubled

breast,
And breathes a hope, a yearning hope of rest;
Yet conscious sinner, whither canst thou go,
To ease thy burdened spirit of its woe?
Where wilt thou find a resting-place, a home
Where bitter taunts, nor keen reproaches

come? Proud man would spurn thee, woman would

not own A wretched outcast-thou must weep alone.-Yet not alone, one eye still turns to thee, One loving heart still beats in sympathy;

To Jesu's feet thy heavy burden bear,
Thy sin-stained soul shall find a refuge there
The throb of grief that stirs thy spirit's tone,
Wakens a kindred feeling in His own :
He woos thy love, and longs to set thee free,
Free from the bonds of sin and slavery.
Thy ransom paid, thy pardon sought and won,
Go! sin no more, thou say'd and rescu'd one.

ON THE DEATH OF A CHRISTIAN

FRIEND.

“Thou wilt shew me the path of life; in Thy presence is fulness of joy; at Thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore.”—Psalm xvi. 11,

“We are confident, I say, and willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord.”--2 Cor. v. 8.

The last sigh is hush'd; and the spirit has

flown To the presence of Jesus, before His bright

throne,

With rapture is bending, to gaze on that brow, At the sight of whose glory e'en cherubim bow. No trouble can darken the heavenly home, Where the soul now reposes, no longer to

roam In this dark world of sorrow, the purified

sight, Beholds the full blaze of ineffable light. What vision can picture that world all divine, Where the beams of Jehovah in majesty shine What heart can imagine a glory like this, Where the soul ever dwells in the fulness of

bliss ? Then why should we sorrow o'er those that are

gone, Or grieve that their triumph has left us alone Let us rather rejoice, and look up from the

tomb, To a region where pleasures immortally bloom.

BATH: PRINTED BY BINNS AND GOODWIN.

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