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slept." Yea, in triumphant hope the dying saint can sing:

"God, my Redeemer, lives,

And ever from the skies

Looks down, and watches all my dust

'Till he shall bid it rise."

The soul, in its pristine state, stood forth in the glorious image of its great Original. To this glory it may be restored. And as the body, when in union with the soul, uncontaminated by sin, was immortal, so, when reunited to the redeemed and purified spirit, it shall be glorified. Its vileness shall forever disappear, and it shall wear the glory of heaven's own light. No longer encumbered with its present appetencies, nor subject to decay, but

"Forever happy, and forever young,"

it shall be a fit habitation for the soul, amid the unending joys, and increasing felicities of heaven.

THE YOUNG SUPERANNUATE.*

BY REV. WILLIAM FORD.

He started while a youth: the rosy light

Of twice ten summers scarce on him had shone,
When, like an angel from the Empyrean bright,
Impelled by one divine impulse alone,

He ventured forth, in grateful haste to own
And glorify that sweet, celestial grace

Which changed to flesh his own proud heart of stone,
To show the contrite Jesus' smiling face,

And preach the gospel tidings to our sinful race.

This subject was selected by special request.-S. P.

He sought the fallen; and each holy day

Poured forth his message o'er the listening throng: A light from heaven illumed his humble way;

His days were crowned with peace, his nights with song; And 'midst the cares which to his work belong

The burdens, toils, the trials, hopes and fears

Which none with him can share,-his soul is strong;
His Master's promise echoes in his ears,

And faith and burning love atone for lack of years.

The Lord was with him, giving to his speech
Of heavenly mould an eloquence divine;-
A power the conscience most debased to reach,-
A light around the darkest soul to shine.

His was the skill distinctly to define

With logical precision what he taught;—
To read the spirit in each outward sign;

With heavenly wisdom all his themes were fraught,
And hence to Jesus' cross a multitude was brought.

Some heard delighted what he said or sung

(For Truth finds favor with each upright mind), But some, who heard, with conscious guilt were stung; So eyes diseased e'en sunlight painful find.

As when the skillful surgeon gives the blind

The power again to view the landscape bright,

Rejoices, grateful thus to bless his kind,

So he, exultant in the Spirit's might,

Rejoiced to spread the glorious beams of Gospel light.

Just as the morn, which kisses first the East,

Progresses till full-orbed we have the day;

So through his labors God his church increased-
E'en those who heard to scoff were taught to pray.
'Mong the souls thus turned from error's way,
Right early some the ministry had sought:
These, like the star which led where Jesus lay
The pilgrim Magi who Messiah sought,

Full many a sinful wanderer to the Savior brought.

Through grace he counted worldly good but dross;
And 'midst these scenes of honor and success,

Hung all his laurels on the bleeding cross;
No toil his buoyant spirits could depress.

But while he labored thus mankind to bless
Disease fell on him with its fearful blight,-
A dread, unlooked for source of keen distress,
A fearful blast which undermined his might,
Whilst clouds of doubt and darkness settled on his sight.

It came not sudden, like the earthquake's tread,
Or like the pestilence with 'whelming stroke,
To demonstrate at once its victim dead;—

But as the lightning rives the living oak
And leaves it standing, leafless, creaking, broke,
Scathed and unsightly, moaning to decay—
So fell the blow on him; and thus he spoke,

As anguish deep impelled his heart to pray,
Now driven to seek for light in Heaven's appointed way.

"Almighty God, I know thy ways are just,

When thou dost lift the humble up on high,—
And when thou bringest loftiness to dust,—
Or mak'st thine enemies with terror fly;-
But then, my God and Savior, why, O! why,
If thou didst call me to proclaim thy truth,
Must I thus early be from work laid by?

To linger like some wounded, moaning bird,

Or, like the stricken deer, which, bleeding, leaves the herd!"

"I see the fields all for the harvest ripe,

The golden grain, rich laden, bending low;
And must I feel, O God, the iron gripe
Of living fetters round my ancles grow?
Whilst joyful reapers to their triumphs go,

And gather in their sheaves rejoicingly,
Must I lie useless like a broken bow?

Must I no more Truth's mighty battles see,
But to myself henceforth a crushing burden be?

"I know the world has ample good in store
For those its treasures diligently seek
But what to me is gold or fame? No more

Than dancing meteors, which the selfish seek,
As means to make them blessed. The spirit, meek
And heavenly in its tendency and thought,
Feels not attracted by a force so weak

Much less can he, who views mankind as bought

By Christ, that all might be to God's salvation brought.

"On me the knowledge of thy will bestow;

I tremble lest I grieve the Holy Ghost.
Shall I to reap thy vineyard halting go,

And, like some hero, perish at my post?
Thus young to die and join the heavenly host
Who fell, like Fisk and Summerfield, were sweet;
But would such death subserve thy glory most?

Or wait and suffer were this course more meet?
My soul, distressed, implores this knowledge at thy feet,"
While thus he bowed beneath the chastening stroke.
And sought to know his Master's chosen way,
A light celestial o'er his vision broke

And on his pathway poured the beams of day. "Wait, child, and suffer," Jesus seemed to say,

66 My choice for thee and for my church is best." He heard; and as the watcher hails the ray

That heralds morn's approach, serenely blest,

He praised the Lord, and said, "Amen, 'tis thy behest."

He ceased, and as the strife by winds and billows waged,
On Galilee obeyed the Master's will,
The spirit storm which in his bosom raged,
Obeyed the same omnific "Peace, be still."
As quick as at Niagara one could fill

His cup with sparkling water, all his soul
Did with a joy serene, unearthly thrill;

And, as the dews of grace upon him stole

Once more he vowed to strive to gain the heavenly goal.

Hope sits enthroned upon his placid brow;

Peace sways her sceptre o'er his stricken heart;

He hears the shouting of the captains now,

And in the conflict fain would bear a part:

But Satan, though he plies his magic art

To lead astray, nor yet the trump, which sounds

The battle charge, and still his pulses start,
Can lead him to o'erstep his chosen bounds,
Contented, like the sentinel, to pace his rounds.

THE CHRISTIAN PROFESSION.

BY REV. W. A. MILLER.

A religious life, both at its commencement and in its progress, is ever attended with more or less difficulty.

It will, for instance, always be contrary to our natural inclinations, and ever be accompanied with selfdenial. The preciseness of its regimen can never be relaxed; the uncompromising character of its virtues can never be surrendered. Its "gate " will always be

66

straight," and its "way narrow." Only the "hungry" will ever be "filled," while the "proud” must always be sent empty away."

The fundamental law, "ye must be born again," announced even to a master in Israel, has never been repealed, while a broken and a contrite heart are still the only acceptable sacrifice.

And although the fires of persecution may slumber, and the civil arm be raised in the defence instead of the extirpation of the Christian professor, still, it is not without its perils. The antagonists of the Christian, if not as palpable as formerly, are, consequently, more insidious, numerous, and difficult to oppose. They

may be found in our own hearts, where our judgment is less scrutinizing, and more partial, or among our associates, who may be our kindred, benefactors, or superiors.

Our enemies may sometimes approach us with the charms of novelty-in the garb of a fascinating literature, or in the bold pretensions of a false philosophy. They may come in the name of benevolence or philanthropy, while, both in spirit and in principles, they subvert the

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