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Thou committed'st me to God-
He hath ne'er thy child forsaken;
But, e’en while smarting ’neath the rod,
Tenderest care of me hath taken.
Thus, though storm or calm it be,
Onward, upward, forward ever ;
Waiting me my mother see ;
Soon we meet no more to sever.
But that night from thee to part,

Wrung my all but broken heart. It would harrow up my soul to tell about the shuffling feet, muffled and slowly smuggling in and out again the soldered coffin, with its precious load—the deep-tolling bell—the hearse and nodding plumes—the bright-eyed children and their weeping mothers, crowding to their nursery windows, to look upon our sable procession ;-to look again into that “narrow house,” and to hear again the rattling of the earth upon the coffin-lid, as “ Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," pierced my ear-my heart. But I heard, also, “I am the Resurrection and the Life !" and therefore I most gladly turn away from these earthly scenes, to contemplate my mother in her “house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.”—2 Cor. v. i.

There's light in that eternal dwelling,
There's life in that immortal clime,
Where high seraphic themes are swelling,
In rapturous strains of song sublime.

Ear hath not heard the harmonies,
Nor eye hath gazed upon the treasure,
Nor heart conceived the ecstatic joys,
There known in an exhaustless measure.

To be with Jesus !--in his smile
To rest, where sin and sorrow never
Intrude, the spirit to beguile
From Christ and holiness,--for ever!
This is the secret of the joy!
This is the bliss for ever welling!
This--this excludes the tear and sigh,
And this the theme “for ever telling !”.
Ah! who on Jordan darkly heaving,
Would waste aght, which might be given-
Not unto sorrow, deeply grieving
But to our Lord-our Home ! our Heaven!

Who in his soul, with sad repining,
Would hug the chain which binds him here,
From the unclouded lustre shining

In that eternal sunbright sphere ? And thou art there, sweet mother! safely there ; and thy “tempest-tossed” child shall shortly join thee on that blissful shore,

“Where tempests never beat, nor billows roar.” Dear reader, wilt thou not meet us there? Dost thou yet believe that “God is love ?” and love to thee? Let us contemplate the precious proposition-"God is love !"—Whatever God is, that He is infinitely. Then he is infinitely love : and he is infinitely love to thee! For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth on Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” He so loved the world as to undertake our cause; then thinkest thou that, if aught else had been sufficient in all His created universe to expiate our guilt, He would have given up for us his son ?-Ah no! All creatures were his, and less dear to him than his Son :-therefore, angels might have taken our nature, and suffered in our stead—but the sacrifice of angels would have been insufficient to expiate our guilt. “ The soul that sinneth it must die ;” and “ without shedding of blood there is no remission.” Even suppose that, in addition to the sacrifice of the angelic hosts, he

upon world of his intelligent creation, and on the top of the vast pyre had placed his sapphire throne—it had not been enough! No; it required the blood of God's own Son to expiate the mighty mass of human guilt—to be a sufficient satisfaction to Divine justice for the sin of all souls. But this was enough : ah! infinitely more than enough. Had that blood been shed for a universe of guilty and rebellious worlds it were e noughand still infinitely more than enough.

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the blood of God; the Creator of all worlds ; before whom the nations are but as the drop of a bucket.

Here is an ocean of love-shoreless—fathomless; its depths are in the infinite heart of Deity ; its extent is from an eternity past, to an eternity to come. Its showers are the tears of Jesus; its winds—His deep-drawn sighs; its purple tidesHis blood! Hark! how “ deep calleth unto deep;" and what do they call ? Hear! and your soul shall live!” “I have laid help upon one that is mighty!” “It pleased the Lord to bruise Him." And now "The Lord is well-pleased for his righteousness' sake." “ Turn ye, turn ye; for why will

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beloved Son, in whom I am well-pleased-hear Him!” Deep answereth deephearken! “Lo! I come: in the volume of the book it is written of me, to do thy will, O God.” things are delivered unto me of my Father.” « Come unto

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all that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.' 66 And this is life eternal, that ye believe in God, and in Jesus Christ whom he hath sent." Ah! listen yet again; there are deeper voices still from out the cavernous depths of this ocean of exhaustless love. I hear the first deep answering in mourning and reproachful voice, summoning an intelligent universe to listen :-"Hear, O heaven! and give ear, 0 earth! for the Lord hath spoken: I have nourished and brought up children, and they have rebelled against me.

The ox knoweth his owner,

and the ass his master's crib; but my people doth not know ; Israel doth not consider.

“What more can I do that I have not done!” How shall I give you up? How shall I deliver you?” Ah! “wilt thou not from this time cry unto me, my Father ?” The answering deep is heard: attend again! It is a voice of touching melody, com

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plaining, amid sighs and tears, “ Ye will not come unto me that ye might have life!” Ah! go! go to your weeping and beseeching Saviour, and mingle your tears with His in joyful reconciliation. Say not your sins are too great-it cannot be. Compare the mass of your guilt to a ship of immense tonnage. True, you cannot move it with all your strength, nor conceal it from view with all

But let it be launched upon this mighty ocean ;

let it reach the latitude of Gethsemane, and the longitude of Calvary, and then sink itsink ten thousand such into those unfathomed depths, and they are found no more for ever!

“There is a fountain filled with blood,

Drawn from Immanuel's veins;
And sinners plunged beneath that flood

Lose all their guilty stains." “ There is a river, the streams whereof make glad the city of our God:"-My mother drank thereof, and was made glad. Dear reader, drink you also, and thirst no more for ever!

THE FOLLOWING LINES WERE WRITTEN BY MY FATHER, IN

MEMORY OF MY BELOVED MOTHER,

There was a lovely lustre in her eye,
That spoke the genial brightness of the mind;
There was a heavenly sweet serenity;
In every act munificently kind.
All envy, anger, rage in others seen,
She could subdue so tenderly, and mild;
So winning her suavity of mien,

She'd sorrow with the mourners till they smiled;
If feuds with friends arose, she'd look them reconciled,

These lovely traits were hers,--and yet those eyes,
So searching, saw no need of sin iorgiven,
Till He who made her lovely, made her wise,
And pointed out all loveliness in heaven.
The scroll of Gospel grace unfurled to view,-
She saw its beauty, and began to pray, --
“Save me, blest Saviour; thou canst all things do;

Forgive my wanderings, and my long delay,
And teach my erring feet to walk thy heavenly way!"

But ah! not long to walk; her work was done ;-
The prize of life was gained,—the race was o'er;
The scene of trial past, ere well begun-
The ship scarce launched, ere safe it reached the shore.
As the departing regent of the day,
When sinking through a cloudless sky from sight,
Darts forth a radiant and auspicious ray,

That his next rising o'er the gloom of night
Will be a brilliant course enthroned in splendour bright.

Ours are the gladd’ning hopes her rise shall prove
Triumphant o'er the tomb, and death, and sin;
When her pure spirit, with angelic love,
Shall the glad chorus of her God begin;
There to behold the never-dimming light;
To add her thrilling voice to the loud choir;
To see her Saviour ! -oh! th' ecstatic sight,

With sinless soul, glowing with holy fire,
There to be learning-loving more; in bliss still rising higher.

Eternal Sovereign ! are thine angels made
The earthly guardians of the heirs of heaven?
Yes-ministering spirits, thou hast said,
Are sent to guard whom mercy has forgiven.
And is thy seraph-soul from sinning free,
And all the scenes of suffering below,
From heaven's bright battlements beholding me,

And witnessing my wanderings and my woe?
Then wilt thou guide me to those streams where life's pure fountains

flow.

Art thou permitted-spirit of my love
To view my sorrows, and my tearful eye?
Thou wilt, indeed, a guardian angel prove.
Swift as the glance of piercing thought wilt fly,
To guide each doubtful step down dangers steep,
And guard me safe life's dreary desert through;
To watch unwearied when I wake or sleep,

Thy love in angel-whisperings to renew :-
And lastly, lead me to those realms where perfect love first grew.

J. UNWIN, GRESHAM STEAM PRESS, 31, BUCKLERSBURY, LONDON.

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