MONT PILATRE.

The Proconsul of Judea here found the termination of his impious life; having, after spending years in the recesses of this mountain, which bears his name, at length, in remorse and despair, rather than in penitence, plunged into the dismal lake which occupies the summit. - Legend in Anne of Geierstein.

When Pilate saw that he could prevail nothing, but that rather a tumult was made, he took water, and washed his hands before the multitude, saying, I am innocent of the blood of this just person; see ye to it. St. Matthew, xxvii. 24.

IMMORTAL infamy is his

Who gave the Saviour up

To bear the Jewish scourge and scorn,

And drink the Roman cup.

He washed his hands in sight of men,

And slander thought to kill,

Yet was he foul, and to this hour
His hands are spotted still.

There's something of audacious crime

In guilty Judas found,
Though viler than the vilest thing

That crawls upon the ground;

But he who had not fortitude

In trial's honest hour,

To own the outward influence

Of conscience' secret power,

And whose unfeeling, coward heart,
Intent on selfish ease,

Did seek, with sophistry and art,

Both God and Man to please, —
Of God abhorred, of man despised,

And shunned by fiends below-
Where shall the wretch, to hide himself,
And hide his meanness, go!

NEW ORGAN IN CHRIST CHURCH, PHILADELPHIA.

*

THEY'VE reared the ORGAN. He, whose fond desire
It was to beautify this hoary pile,

Whose voice once lingered sweetly in its aisle,
Is absent from the service. Lo, this spire,
Antique and venerable, looketh down,
As for a century it hath, upon our town;
The doors are open still; along these walls
Swells noble minstrelsy; but now no calls
Of love, persuasive, from his lips shall come —
The pastor that hath wooed for Christ is dumb.
Dumb? No! his song is where ten thousand times
Ten thousand bow; where the melodious chimes
Sound, as abroad the heaven of heavens they roll,
The diapason of the ransomed soul !

*The late Rev. J. W. James, Rector of Christ Church.

A PSALM OF SICKNESS.

But if I must afflicted be,

To suit some wise design,

Then man my soul with firm resolve,

To bear and not repine. - Robert Burns.

SINCE this, my couch, a battle field
Appointed is to me,

May I, all armed with holiness,
And kindly patience be.

While noble spirits boldly make
Strong onset on the foe,

May I, in sufferance, draw the sword,
And deal as sure a blow.

If I shout not, where trump and drum

The army's triumphs swell,

In the soul's solitude I may

Of equal victory tell,

Not less may these, my passive pains,

With fortitude received,

Speak honor to my Prince, than all
High daring hath achieved.

Not less

my

thankfulness for love,

And sympathy's sweet voice,

Than all their thunder-tones of praise,

When all the ranks rejoice.

Then, sickness, come! and darting pain,
That through my frame do fly -
For final ease, I welcome ye :

To live, I gladly die.

With Him who leads the glorious fray,
Whose favor gives renown,
The lowliest bearer of the cross,

If true, shall share the crown.

EVERYS.

EVERY sorrow here,

Which from evil seems to rise,

If it start contrition's tear,

Is a blessing in disguise.

Every friend that grieves,

By frail insincerity,

Teacheth of a Friend that leaves

Never, but still helpeth me.

Every vexing stealth

Fortune maketh of my goods, Only bids me store my wealth Where no cunning thief intrudes.

Every babe to dust

Given, with reluctant pain, Is but my Redeemer's trust,

Which he will restore again.

Every pang that gnaws

Fiercely, this poor frame of mine,

If but sanctified, me draws

Nearer to the bliss divine.

Every little sand

Loosened by this stormy strife,

Minds me of a better land,

And of an unreckoned life.

Every living thing

Or of teeming earth or flood, — Creeping, walking, on the wing — Is a teacher of my God.

Every star that burns

On night's diadem,

If it thought to Jesus turns,

Is a star of Bethlehem.