Where is he? Hark! the friend replies:
"I watch'd beside his dying bed,
And heard the low and struggling sighs
That gave the living to the dead;
I saw his weary eyelids close,

And then the ruin coldly cast,
Where all the loving and beloved,
Though sadly parted, meet at last."

Where is he? Hark! the marble says,
That "here the mourners laid his head;
And here sometimes, in after-days,

They came, and sorrow'd for the dead;
But one by one they pass'd away,

And soon they left me here alone,
To sink in unobserved decay—

A nameless and neglected stone."

Where is he? Hark! 'tis Heaven replies:
"The star-beam of the purple sky,

That looks beneath the evening's brow,
Mild as some beaming angel's eye,
As calm and clear it gazes down,
Is shining from the place of rest,
The pearl of his immortal crown,
The heavenly radiance of the blest!"

-American.

WILLIAM O. PEABODY, 1799-1847.

CONTENT. A SONNET.

SWEET are the thoughts that savour of content:
The quiet mind is richer than a crown:

Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent:
The poor estate scorns Fortune's angry frown.
Such sweet content, such mind, such sleep, such bliss,
Beggars enjoy when princes oft do miss.

The homely house that harbours quiet rest,
The cottage that affords no pride nor care,
The mean that 'grees with country music best,
The sweet consort of mirth's and music's fare,—
Obscured life sets down a type of bliss ;
A mind content both crown and kingdom is.

ROBERT GREENE, 1560-1634.

HYMN OF THE REAPERS.

OUR Father! to fields that are white,

Rejoicing, the sickle we bear,

In praises our voices unite

To Thee, who hast made them thy care.

The seed that was dropp'd in the soil,
We left, with a holy belief

In One, who, beholding the toil,
Would crown it at length with the sheaf.

And ever our faith shall be firm

In Thee, who hast nourish'd the root; Whose finger has led up the germ, And finish'd the blade and the fruit.

The heads that are heavy with grain
Are bowing and asking to fall;
Thy hand is on mountain and plain,
Thou maker and giver of all!

Thy blessings shine bright from the hills,
The valleys Thy goodness repeat;

And, Lord, 'tis Thy bounty that fills
The arms of the reaper with wheat!

Oh! when, with the sickle in hand,
The angel Thy mandate receives,
To come to the field with his band

To bind up and bear off Thy sheaves !

May we be as free from the blight,

As ripe to be taken away,
As full in the ear, to Thy sight,

As that which we gather to-day!

Our Father! the heart and the voice
Flow out from fresh off'rings to yield;
The Reapers! the Reapers rejoice,
And send up their song from the field!

HANNAH F. GOULD, 1812

-American.

LIVE!

MAKE haste, O man, to live,
For thou so soon must die;

Time hurries past thee like the breeze;
How swift its moments fly!

Make haste, O man, to live!

To breathe, and wake, and sleep,
To smile, to sigh, to grieve;
To move in idleness through earth,—
This, this is not to live!

Make haste, O man, to live!

Thou hast no time to lose in sloth,

Thy day will soon be gone.

Make haste, O man, to live!

Up, then, with speed, and work;
Fling ease and self away;

This is no time for thee to sleep—
Up, watch, and work, and pray!

Make haste, O man, to live!

The useful, not the great,

The thing that never dies;
The silent toil that is not lost-
Set these before thine eyes,

Make haste, O man, to live!

The seed, whose leaf and flower,
Though poor in human sight,
Bring forth at last the eternal fruit,
Sow thou by day and night.

Make haste, O man, to live!

Make haste, O man, to live!
Thy time is almost o'er;
O sleep not, dream not, but arise,
The Judge is at the door.

Make haste, O man, to live!
HORATIUS BONAR, D.D.

-Hymns of Faith and Hope.