Tearing the tender fibres of the heart,

The heaven-born spirit struggles to be free,

And springs to life and immortality.

Who shall contend with Time-unvanquished TimeThe conqueror of conquerors, and lord

Of desolation? Lo! the shadows fly,

The hours and days, and years and centuries,

They fly, they fly, and nations rise and fall:

The young are old, the old are in their graves.
Heardest thou that shout? It rent the vaulted skies,
It was the voice of people,―mighty crowds,-
Again, 'tis hushed— Time speaks, and all is hushed;
In the vast multitude now reigns alone
Unruffled solitude. They all are still;
All-yea, the whole-the incalculable mass,
Still as the ground that clasps their cold remains.
But dost thou know the season yet shall come
When from its base thine adamantine throne
Shall tumble; when thine arm shall cease to strike,
Thy voice forget its petrifying power;

When saints shall shout, and Time shall be no more?
Yea, He doth come-the mighty Champion comes-
Whose potent spear shall give thee thy death-wound,
Shall crush the conqueror of conquerors,

And desolate stern Desolation's lord.

Lo! where He cometh! the Messiah comes
The King! the Comforter! the Christ! He comes
To burst the bonds of death, and overturn

The power of Time.-Hark! the trumpet's blast
Rings o'er the heavens! They rise, the myriads rise-
Even from their graves they spring and burst
Their chains.

He then shall summon His elected saints

To their apportioned heaven!

Hark! hark! those strains, how solemnly serene
They fall, as from the skies-at distance fall-
Again more loud-the hallelujahs swell;
The Lord's redeemed catch the joyful sound;
They glow, they burn; and now with one accord
Bursts forth sublime from every mouth the song
Of praise to God on high, and to the Lamb
For ever.

THE LITTLE SHIP.

A LITTLE ship was on the sea,
It was a pretty sight;
It sailed along so pleasantly,
And all was calm and bright.

When, lo! a storm began to rise,

The wind grew loud and strong;
It blew the clouds across the skies,
It blew the waves along.

And all, but One, were sore afraid
Of sinking in the deep;
His head was on a pillow laid,
And He was fast asleep.

Master, we perish!--Master, save!
They cried, their Master heard;
He rose, rebuked the wind and wave,
And stilled them with a word.

He to the storm says, "Peace !—be still!"

The raging billows cease;

The mighty winds obey His will,

And all are hushed to peace.

Oh! well we know it was the Lord,
Our Saviour and our Friend;

Whose care of those who trust His word
Will never, never end.

A SONNET ON EARLY SPRING.

WINTER is past; the little bee resumes
Her share of sun and shade, and o'er the lea
Hums her first hymnings to the flower's perfumes,
And wakes a sense of gratefulness in me:
The little daisy keeps its wonted pace,
Ere March by April gets disarmed of snow;
A look of joy opes on its smiling face,
Turned to that Power that suffers it to blow.
Ah! pleasant time, as pleasing as you be,
One still more pleasing Hope reserves for me;
Where suns, unsetting, one long summer shine,
Flowers endless bloom, where winter ne'er destroys:
Oh! may the Christian's joyful end be mine,
That I may witness these unfading joys.

CLARE.

HABAKKUK, III. 17, 18.

WHAT though no flowers the fig-tree clothe, Though vines their fruit deny,

The labour of the olive fail,

And fields no meat supply?

Though from the fold, with sad surprise,
My flock cut off I see;

Though famine pine in empty stalls,

Where herds were wont to be?

Yet in the Lord will I be glad,
And glory in His love;

In Him I'll joy, who does the God
Of my salvation prove.

He to my tardy feet shall lend

The swiftness of the roe;
Till, raised on high, I safely dwell
Beyond the reach of woe.

God is the treasure of my soul,
The source of lasting joy ;

A joy which want shall not impair,

Nor death itself destroy.

LOGAN.

THE NAME JESUS.

Он! what a new and wondrous song
That name affords the Christian's tongue!
Of joy it prompts the sweetest strain,
It wings the heavy hours of pain.

When life draws near its dread eclipse,
'Tis the last sound upon his lips;
When heaven unfolds, 'twill be the first
That from his raptured heart shall burst.

BEAUTY.

THERE is beauty in the flower,
Though it fades within the hour:
There is beauty in the sky,
Though the cloud is passing by ;-

Beauty in the distant hill,

Beauty in the gurgling rill,

Beauty in the rising sun,

Beauty when his course is done:

But the beauty which I prize,
Beams from forth my Saviour's eyes,
All the charms of beauty rare
Centre in the smile that's there.

J. D. CAUSTON.

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