EVA'S PARTING.

I must leave you now, dear father—
I seek a fairer shore;

O, might we go together,

Then we should part no more;
Nay, never weep for Eva-
The blessed calls me home,
Not long shall we be severed,
For I know that you will come.

And, father, when I'm sleeping
In my quiet grave so green,
And my soul the Lord is keeping
In the world of bliss unseen;
You will give the boon of Freedom
To the old and faithful friend,
Who has borne me on his bosom
Where the white magnolias bend.

O send him to his children,
For I know he loves them well;
So far from me, dear father,
I am sure you could not dwell.
His wife for him is waiting,
And tearful is her gaze,-
Where rolls the blue Ohio,

She counts the weary days.

And now farewell, dear father,
Sweet is your love to me,
But the angels for me beckon,
I haste with them to be;
I hear the Savior calling,
His smile has made me blest,

I see the gates of glory,

Your Eva soars to rest.

MARY A. COLLIER.

TRIBUTE OF SYMPATHY TO MR. AND MRS. W.

When on earth, I said to thee,
Let the children come to me."

Sisters, robed in white, I see,
Waving palms of victory!
Now they beckon me along
In a sweet and rapturous song!

From the changing scenes of time,
To the spirits' changeless clime,
To a cherub's life of love,
Seraphs welcome me above!

Freed from sin and death and pain,
With my Savior I shall reign,
Born to glory, bliss and love
In the spirit-land above!'

This the dear departed's lay,
As she passed from earth away
To her mansion in the skies,
To her home in Paradise.

Parents—while you fondly weep,
And affection's vigils keep,
Round your children, early dead,
Sleeping in their lowly bed,—

Bow to God's mysterious will!
He is love and wisdom still!
Trust his goodness-trust and pray—
He will guide to endless day.

Human heart hath not conceived,
Nor the sinful soul believed,
Joys, the Father doth prepare
For the blest who enter there.

When life's closing hour draws nigh,
May sweet music, from the sky,

you

Summon from earth away,
To the bright, eternal day!

Then will you rejoice to be

From your earth-born sorrows free,
Parents, children,-all will meet
Round the Savior's mercy seat!

P. H. SWETSER.

MIRA FLORENCE.

Again another little bird

From the parent nest has flown, And God again has thought it best So soon to claim his own.

"So soon.

Scarce had her little feet

Began to press the sod,

E'er they were turned to tread the street Fast by the throne of God.

Just consecrated to the Lord,*
This little human flower
Was surely ready to transplant
Up to the Savior's bower.
There, folded in his sheltering arms,
No storm can cloud her way,
For her little feet are sandal'd where
They ne'er can go astray.
Safe from temptation, blighting grief,
No sin-stain on her brow-
O, blissful home! O, happy child!
Thou art an angel now.

Ye stricken friends, lift up your hearts
And sing a triumph-strain,

The child thus loved, thus deeply mourned,
You soon will meet again;

Not with death's signet darkly set

Upon her pure white brow,

Nor 'neath the shadow of the tomb,

She's with the angels now!

REBECCA B. BARTLETT.

*On the morning of this child's death, when only three weeks old, she was baptized and Christened at the Lynnfield Parsonage, in connection with the usual devotions around the Family Altar; not because the parents hold to the High Church doctrine of Baptismal Regeneration, or he Roman Catholic doctrine that baptism is essential to salvation; but because they wish to affix the seal of the Covenant to all their offspring, dedicating them thereby to the Lord forever, and considering Infant Baptism as one of the most beautiful and appropriate of all religious ceremonies.

WHITE ROBES.

"These are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb."-REV. 7: 15

White, for heaven's infant bands!

Passed they not spotless from the earth away,
Pale blossoms lying in the nerveless hands,
Pure kisses lingering on the precious clay ?
Earth's lily-bells transplanted, sweet and lowly,
White robes for them, for innocence is holy.

And for the young, pure white!

They loved the Master much, and for His sake
Life's vainer loves and laurels cast from sight;

Now, in the heavenly places they awake

Celestial music, and palm-branches bearing,
They who are worthy walk, white raiment wearing.

And they who, gathered in

From the hot ranks of mid-life's battle-field,