There was a fulness of the heart,
A glistening of the eye,-

A sudden flushing of the cheek,-
I cannot tell you why.

I probed not then the mighty throb
That shook my trembling frame,
I only knew-I only felt

It was my Father's Name.

And cloudless will I keep that name, While God my life will spare ;

It never yet confessed a blot,

Nor stain shall enter there.
In woe or weal, unsullied still
By shadow or by shame,-
Proudly my heart shall beat to tell,
It is my Father's Name.

And when at length they lay me down
Within the peaceful grave,
And He, the mighty Lord of all

Shall claim the breath he gave ;

Let but one line above my tomb,
One sculptured line proclaim,
"He found it spotless, and unstained
Is still his Father's Name!"

THE LOSS OF FRIENDS.

FRIEND after friend departs:

Who hath not lost a friend? There is no union here of hearts That finds not here an end! Were this frail world our final rest, Living or dying, none were blest.

Beyond the flight of time—
Beyond the reign of death—
There surely is some blessed clime,
Where life is not a breath;

Nor life's affection's transient fire,
Whose sparks fly upwards and expire.

There is a world above,

Where parting is unknown,
A long eternity of love,

Form'd for the good alone;
And Faith beholds the dying here,
Translated to that glorious sphere.

Thus star by star declines,

Till all are past away;

As morning high, and higher shines

To pure and perfect day :

Nor sink those stars in empty night,

But hide themselves in heaven's own light.

MONTGOMERY.

THE CHRISTIAN PAUPER'S DEATH-BED.

TREAD Softly-bow the head,

In reverent silence bow,-
No passing bell doth toll,

Yet an immortal soul

Is passing now.

Stranger however great,

With lowly reverence bow;
There's one in that poor shed,
One by that poor bed,

Greater than thou.

Beneath that beggar's roof,

Lo! Death doth keep his state:
Enter-no crowds attend ;

Enter-no guards defend
This palace gate.

That pavement damp and cold,
No smiling courtiers tread;

One silent woman stands
Lifting, with meagre hands,
A dying head.

No mingling voices sound,

An infant wail alone,

A sob suppressed-again

That short, deep gasp, and then
The parting groan.

Oh! change-oh! wondrous change!
Burst are the prison bars,—
This moment there so low,
So agonized, and now
Beyond the stars.

Oh! change-stupendous thange!
There lies the soulless clod;

The sun eternal breaks

The new immortal wakes,

Wakes with his God.

BURNS.

He seized his country's lyre,

With ardent grasp and strong;

And made his soul of fire

Dissolve itself in song.

CAMPBELL.

With all that Nature's fire
Can lend to polish'd art,
He strikes his graceful lyre
To thrill or warm the heart.

HEMANS.

To bid the big tear start
Unchallenged from its shrine,
And thrill the quivering heart
With pity's voice, are thine.

BYRON.

Black clouds his forehead bound,
And at his feet were flowers:
Mirth, madness, magic, found

In him their keenest powers.

MACNISH.

WHO LOVES ME BEST?

WHO loves me best ?-my mother sweet,
Whose every look is with love replete,
Who held me an infant on her knee,
And hath ever been a friend to me;