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corresponding bad practices, was employed in his trade upon a house nearly opposite to mine. From his elevated position, he saw over my blind into my study, and he observed me at my work. The next morning, at an early hour, he saw the same. This attracted his attention; and the third morning he came still earlier, but I was before him. He ascertained who I was, and he kept watching me over the blind every morning while the job opposite to me lasted. In the mean time, as I learned afterwards, he began to reason with himself, saying, 'This gentleman must be in earnest, however, right or wrong;' and he said, moreover, The result of all this reading and writing, so early, morning after morning, must, I think, be worth hearing, I will go and hear what he has to say.' Accordingly, he came to my church. He heard me describe the aching anxieties of the human soul not satisfied with any created thing, but aching still, and longing for repose, until it found it in the bosom of the living God. He heard me describe the way in which a God of holiness can admit a sinner to such repose, the way in which a sinner may enjoy that holy communication. His heart was touched; the secret cause of his infidelity was detected: it was not a want of evidence in the revelation of God, but a want of willingness in man to be conformed to the character of God. Before a rising willingness to be holy, all the scepticism of his intellect disappeared; and, instead of a sullen infidel, he is, I have a reason to hope, a happy, cheerful Christian.”

HEB. xii. 6.

"Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth."

Whom the Lord loves, he chastens still.
Then meekly bow beneath his will,
Who bids thine earthly joys depart,

That thou may'st give Him all thine heart.

And grieve not, though the stream be dry,
There is a living fountain nigh,

Whose waters, healing as they flow,

Give life in death, and joy in woe.

Oh! grieve not, though life's cherished flower
Hath faded in one sad, short hour;
Sharon's sweet rose shall ever bloom,
And o'er thy path shed rich perfume.

Oh! grieve not, though the star hath set
In which thine earthly hopes all met;
The Sun of Righteousness shines on,
To guide and bless the stricken one.

Oh! grieve not, if His child thou art,
Who seeks an undivided heart;

Kiss thou thy Father's chastening rod,
And seek thy happiness in God.

M. J. D.

LINES ADDRESSED TO AN ABSENT FRIEND.

How warm from my heart flow these lines as I write them,
For I speak to the friend of my youth's happy day;
And sweet recollections will help to indite them,
Though "the fashion of this world is passing away.”

Those seasons are gone, when we journey'd together!
Yet the past cheers the hearts on our long rugged way;
Like the sun beams and showers, they picture life's weather,
And proclaim "that this world is fast passing away."

Those spots which we loved, and those friends who endear'd them,
Still light up my mind like the sun's parting ray;

Those friends they are gone, but that hope which once cheer'd them
Lends wings to our faith, though this world pass away.

Our hearts' warm affections too often deceive us!
Till the chilling blast sweeps, and our blossoms decay;
Then the Spirit who gave them, demands them for Jesus,
And reminds us, that this world is passing away!

The sun from its rising, hastes on to departing-
The rivers keep flowing, nor will the tides stay;
And the wind from each quarter, continually starting,
Howls over our world as it passes away!

But though all around us seems rapidly ending,
Yet let not this truth our tried spirits dismay;
A "City abiding," to which we're ascending,
Shall burst on our sight, though this world pass away.

A "City abiding!"-there no sin can enter,

No sorrow-no sickness, in that happy day

Dear friend of my youth! then with Christ as our centre,
May we shine in His glory, though earth pass away.

No absence, no distance, our friendship can sever,
When placed in that City for ever to stay;
Ah! hasten that hour, where with Jesus for ever,
Our bliss shall be perfect, though earth's pass'd away.

A. N.

A. FOSTER, PRINTER, KIRKBY LONSDALE.

FRIENDLY VISITOR.

No. 310.

JULY, 1844.

A MOTHER'S GRAVE.

VOL. 26.

Called a few weeks since to follow a beloved mother to the grave, I was led to reflect on the Divine procedure with her family, and to mark the several lessons which had been taught us in the school of affliction. And with a view to excite others to "go and do likewise," I have submitted my thoughts to the reader's notice.

The scene of my reflections is laid in a little corner of a grave-yard, where, side by side, "rest in hope" the remains of a score of saints. That corner has been filled up in a few short years, from one circle of relationship, and by those who died in the Lord. Were I to go from grave to grave, and indulge my pen, I might tell many a sad tale of grief and disappointment; of youth, and loveliness, and promise, early and suddenly blighted; of relations sundered, and families broken up. But I will narrow down the circle to four graves, and sit down by the last and fresh-made one-it is my mother's grave. She sleeps not alone. Three of her children, in the morning of life, had gone in quick succession before her. J. went first. She was the fourth in a family of eleven children. The circle was large, and long unbroken. A merciful God preserved and blessed us. And the reward of industry and virtue was enjoyed. How fresh in my mind are those bright and quiet days, when we all lived under the same roof, and ate at the same table, content with our portion, and happy in the discharge of love and duty. But the longest day has an end, and clouds and darkness often overspread the fairest sky and crowd upon the brightest morning.

Death invaded that circle, and broke the chain, and one was not." A child, a sister, took us each by the hand, and said, "Farewell! the Saviour comes, and I

H

must go." Twenty-three summers had smiled on her, and all was hope and promise. But as the leaf fadeth when touched by the frost, so she went. The hectic flush, and brilliant eye, and wasted frame, warned her that she must lie down in an early grave. She was willing. Her work was already done on earth; to die was gain. In early life, she gave her heart to the "meek and lowly" One, In days of youth and health, she thought of death; and in the faith and obedience of the Gospel, prepared to meet it. She was first in the family circle to own the Redeemer-the first to enter the world of glory. Never shall I forget the day, when she stood up alone before her parents, and sisters, and brothers, and youthful friends, and at the time of great spiritual declension in her native place, and professed her faith in Christ. Little did I then know what God had in store for her and for us all. How soon she was to leave us! And what changes these two events in her history were destined, in the wise counsels of heaven, to work in that family. Her end was "peace." Few have borne a brighter testimony in a dying hour. The impressions received in that chamber will never wear away. They come fresh to my mind as I stand by her grave. again hear her voice eloquent in death, and see her hands lifted up in prayer, and remember her dying injunction to me, as oft as I stand up to speak for God"Be faithful." She lived to see her parents and all the adult members of the family, and a large circle of her young friends, join themselves to the Lord in "a perpetual covenant." Few were the tears we shed, while we laid her in the grave, Death wore a new aspect. That grave-yard had a new charm-heaven a new and near attraction and we had around and beneath us an emblem of the resurrection. Nature was putting on new life. A voice said to us, "Weep not; thy child, thy sister, shall live again." "For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land."

Ι

Death came again. The eldest sister was now taken.

Few and full of evil were her days. Oft had she sorrowed, and sorrowed as a wife and a mother only can sorrow. The husband of her youth and the child of her love "were not.' But the rod was sanctified; and she said, by her meek submission, her confidence in God, her holy living, her sweet and chastened spirit, her humble and elevated piety, "It is good for me that I have been afflicted." Death, in her case, was the conquered. She held on to Christ by faith, and he gave her the victory. She was the first to follow her sister's example on earth-the first to join her in glory. And here their ashes mingle together.

God spoke to us again in judgment. We yet loved the world too much, Prosperity was filling our paths with dangers. And the end of his former chastisements might, in a measure, be thereby defeated. He put forth his hand in mercy and faithfulness, and took away the desire of our eyes, with a stroke. The fruit of thirty years' industry and toil-a worldly competence-was swept away under circumstances of peculiar aggravation. A trial it was, especially to the parents, now advanced in life. It cast a deep shadow over that circle for awhile. But grace triumphed. And they said with true submission, while the world looked on, and blamed, and pitied, "It is the Lord; let him do what seemeth to him good." Cheerfulness and happiness returned. What they had lost of the world was made up in God, in themselves. They had a "reserve" left, sufficient to enrich them infinitely and forever. God was varying his plan to accomplish his merciful designs. Again, the same year, was the rod applied. Death flung his arrow in among us, and it quivered in the heart of smiling youth. C. had seen twenty summers. The rose bloomed on her cheeks, and the full tide of health bore her on, She thought to live, and enriched her mind, not in fashion. or gaiety, but in useful reading; and in the cheerful obedience of her heart and hand, in the relation of a child and a sister, she sought and found enjoyment. A comfort she was, for she filled a large place from which others had been taken. Early and sudden the summons