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Weep not for the ransomed. Ah! why should we weep?
In the arms of the Saviour they have fallen asleep;
They are resting with Him, far away from all strife,
They shall feed evermore in the pastures of life.
Here the wolf is abroad, and storms are around,
But there a safe hiding and shelter are found.
Yes, yes, ye may weep. Ah! who can refrain!
Yet not for the ransomed -for the scattered and slain!

ANON.

THE SAINT'S ETERNITY.

"There shall be no night there."—Revelation, xxi. 25.

TEN thousand thousand years are gone,
And still 't is high, eternal noon;
No clouds nor darkness e'er arise,
To veil the brightness of the skies.

No sun is here to rule the day,
Nor stars nor moon with paler ray;

For light ineffable, divine,

From God the Son and Father shine.

No pain nor sorrow e'er alloy

The raptures of celestial joy;
And guilt and sin for ever flee
The gates of immortality.

Oh, bliss supreme! oh, bright abode !
Here all are kings and priests to God!
Oh, wondrous love! amazing grace!
Which gave my soul in Heaven a place.

And is this state for ever sure?
Shall bliss from age to age endure?
Shall ever bright'ning glories shine?
Yes: God's eternal day is thine.

Shout! shout His praise, ye ransomed throng;
And Heaven's high arch the theme prolong!
Strike! strike aloud your harps of gold!
Redeeming love can ne'er be told.

R. M. H.

ANTICIPATION OF THE FUTURE STATE.

Он, the hour when this material
Shall have vanished like a cloud!
When amid the wide ethereal,

All the invisible shall crowd:
And the naked soul, surrounded
With realities unknown,
Triumph in the view unbounded,
Feel herself with God alone.

In that sudden, strange transition,
By what new and finer sense
Shall she grasp the mighty vision,
And receive its influence?
Angels! guard the new immortal

Through the wonder-teeming space,
To the everlasting portal,

To the spirit's resting-place.

Will she there no fond emotion,
Nought of earthly love retain?
Or, absorbed in pure devotion,

Will no mortal trace remain ?
Can the grave those ties dissever
With the very heart-strings twined?
Must she part, and part for ever,

With the friends she leaves behind?

No! the past she still remembers:
Faith and hope surviving, too,
Ever watch those sleeping embers,
Which must rise and live anew :
For the widowed, lonely spirit
(Incomplete till clothed afresh),
Longs perfection to inherit,
Longs to triumphs in the flesh.

Angels, let the ransomed stranger
In your tender care be blessed;
Hoping, trusting, free from danger,
Till the trumpet end her rest:
Till the trump which shakes creation,
Through the circling heavens shall roll;
Till the day of consummation,

Till the bridal of the soul.

Can I trust a fellow-being,
Can I trust an angel's care?
Oh, thou merciful All-seeing!
Shine around my spirit there.

Jesus, blessed Mediator,

Thou the airy path hast trod, Thou, the Judge, the Consummator, Shepherd of the fold of God!

Blessed fold! no foe can enter,

And no friend departeth thence;
Jesus is their Sun, their Centre,
And their Shield, Omnipotence!
Blessed! for the Lamb shall feed them;
All their tears shall wipe away;
To the living fountains lead them,
Till fruition's perfect day.

Lo, it comes! that day of wonder!
Louder chorals shake the skies :
Lo! the gates are burst asunder;
See the new-clothed myriads rise!
Thought, repress thy weak endeavour;
Here must Reason prostrate fall;
Oh! the ineffable For-ever,

And the eternal All in all!

CONDER.

HEAVEN AND EARTH. Ask the bird that soars on high Midway between earth and sky, What he sees, when he is there, Of the world's receding sphere.

He could teach, if he might say,
Heavenward as he bends his way,
How the wide world lessens fast,
In the growing distance lost.

Lesser objects lost to view,
Great ones are but little now;

All that once were bright and fair
Lose their tints and disappear.

Doubt you, then, why they who rise
Near and nearer to the skies,
See on earth's diminished sphere,
Little that is worth their care!

They whose bosoms once could joy
In the vain world's vainest toy;
They whose hearts could sometime feel
E'en the slightest touch of ill ;-

From the world by sorrow riven,
Gone already half to Heaven;
Look with calmness on a scene,
Scarcely now within their ken.

Deem not that the heart is chilled,

Which, though once with anguish filled,

Such emotions all forgot,

Smiles and says,

"It matters not!"

ANON.

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