Therefore, once, and yet again,
Strew them o'er her bed of pain;
From her chamber take the gloom
With a light and flush of bloom:
So should one depart, who goes
Where no death can touch the rose !

HYMN.

["Thou makest the out-goings of the morning and the evening to rejoice."-Psalm lxv. 8.]

The morning's out-goings, its beauty and splendour, To thy creatures, O God! should thy witnesses be; And the stillness of evening, more soothingly tender, Should gather our spirits to centre in Thee.

But the aid of Thy Spirit must livingly teach us,

With power and with unction deriv'd from above;
Ere the voice which they speak can availingly reach us,
Or we can interpret their language of love.

If the glories of nature alone, could have guided
The pilgrims of earth to their mansions on high;
The light of the Gospel thou hadst not provided,
Nor a Saviour descended for sinners to die.

LINES ON A BABY.

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Then pour out Thy Spirit on sons and on daughters;
Open eyes to thy beauty, and ears to thy voice;
Till praise to Thy name, like the sound of vast waters,
May bid them with morning and evening rejoice.

B. BARTON.

LINES ON A BABY.

In stature perfect, and with every gift

Which God could on his favourite work bestow;

Did our great Parent his pure form uplift
From earth, accomplished Lord of all below.

But Adam fell before a child was born,

And want and weakness with his fall began ;
So his first offspring was a thing forlorn,
A human shape without the power of man.

So Heaven decrees that all of Adam's race
Naked and helpless shall the world begin;
E'en at their birth confess their need of grace,
And shew by tears a penitence for sin.

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THE POLISH CHILDREN.

Yet sure the Babe is in its cradle blest,
Since God himself a baby deigned to be;
And slept upon a mortal mother's breast,
And dimmed with infant tears his Deity.

Then sleep my child, since all on earth must sleep, And wake like thee, if we shall wake in Him, Who watches still His own from harm to keep, And o'er them spreads the wings of Cherubim.

THE POLISH CHILDREN.

H. C.

["The last diabolical stroke of Russian policy has been to intoxicate the children of the condemned Poles, in order that they may sing while on their way to the mines."-Extract from a letter.]

Forth went they from their father-land,

A fall'n and fettered race;

To find upon a distant strand
Their dark abiding place.

Forth went they-not as freemen go,

With firm and fearless eye;

But with the bowed-down mien of woe,
As men go forth to die.

THE POLISH CHILDREN.

The aged in their silver hair,—

The young in manhood's might ;-
The mother with her infant care,

The child in wild affright.
Forth went they all-a pallid band,
With many an anguished start;
The chain lay heavy on their hand—
But heavier on their heart!

No sounds disturbed the desert air,
But those of bitter woe;

Save when at times re-echoed there
The curses of the foe ;-

When, hark! another cry pealed out,

A cry of idiot glee;

Answered and heightened by the shout

Of the fierce soldiery.

T'was childhood's voice-but ah! how wild,
How demon like its swell-

The mother shrieked to hear her child
Give forth that soul-less yell!

And fathers wrung their fettered hands,
Beneath this maddening woe;

While shouted out those infant bands

The chorus of the foe!

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And curses deep and low were said,

Whose murmur reached to heaven;

And sighs were heaved, and tears were shed,
And woman's heart was riven ;

While all forgetful of their woes
The children onward trod,
And sang—and their young
A vengeance cry to God!

voices rose

PARDOE.

EARLY DAYS.

Oh! give me back my early days,
The fresh springs and the bright,
That made the course of childhood's ways
A journey of delight.

Oh! give me back the violet blue,

The woodbine and the rose,

That o'er my early wanderings threw

The fragrance of repose.

And give me back the glittering stream,

The fountain and the dew,

That neither day nor nightly dream

Can ever more renew.