They floated on, they floated on, that bright and shadowy train,

Their skirts of fleecy fplendour swept the blue ethereal plain,

And now and then a band advanced from fome far

region bleft,

Around whom breathed soft airs of peace, an atmosphere of rest.

Methought as meffengers they came, to guide with wings of love,

These younger fifters from the earth to their bleft home above;

Holy and pure as Angels are, were their resplendent

eyes,

And full of Heaven's own light they smiled a welcome to the skies.

I faw them meet, I faw them kneel, wrapt in a long embrace,

And as they knelt a glory fell on each uplifted face; Awhile in pure excefs of joy they paufed with folded wings,

The silence of their rapture told unutterable things.

And onward, onward still they moved towards the glorious fun,

They drank his rays until they grew like light to look upon;

And methought that could I follow them with pure unfhrinking eye,

I foon should see Heaven's golden gates receive them all on high.

But when in vain I fought to pierce thofe dazzling depths of light,

A dimness and a darknefs came across my aching fight,

And all those bright and beauteous things paffed from me like a dream,

I was again on earth, and oh! how dark this earth did feem!

MRS. H. V. ELLIOT.

LXIV.

THE SEA OF GALILEE.

OW pleasant to me thy deep blue wave,
O Sea of Galilee !

H

For the glorious One who came to fave
Hath often stood by thee.

Fair are the lakes in the land I love,

Where the pine and heather grow;
But thou haft loveliness far above
What nature can bestow.

It is not that the wild gazelle

Comes down to drink thy tide;

But He that was pierced to fave from hell
Oft wandered by thy fide.

It is not that the fig-tree grows,

And palms, in thy foft air;

But that Sharon's fair and bleeding Rofe
Once spread her fragrance there.

Graceful around the mountains meet,
Thou calm repofing fea;

But ah! far more! the beautiful feet
Of Jefus walked o'er thee.

Those days are paft!-Bethfaida, where?
Chorazin, where art thou?
His tent the wild Arab pitches there,
The wild reeds fhade thy brow.

Tell me, ye mouldering fragments, tell,
Was the Saviour's city here?
Lifted to heaven, has it sunk to hell,
With none to shed a tear?

Ah! would my flock from thee might learn How days of grace will flee;

How all an offered Christ who spurn

Shall mourn at last like thee.

And was it befide this very fea

The new-rifen Saviour faid Three times to Simon, "Loveft thou me ? My lambs and fheep then feed?"

O Saviour! gone to God's right hand,

Yet the fame Saviour still,

Graved on thy heart is this lovely strand, And every fragrant hill.

Oh! give me, Lord, by this facred wave,
Threefold Thy love divine;

That I may feed, till I find my grave,

Thy flock, both Thine and mine.

MCCHEYNE.*

LXV.

ST. JOHN.

E hath gone to the place of his rest,
He is fafe in the home of his God;
And we who have loved him, forfaken,
oppreffed,

Submiffive would bow to the rod.
Though his accents can cheer us no more,
His love yet may fpeak from the grave;
And thus on the broad wing of Faith may we foar
To One who is mighty to fave.

Our friend and our father we heard,

On earth, paint the glories of Heaven ;But now the lone Church, like a wandering bird, To the home of the defert is driven.

Entranced, on his vifions we hung;

Our hearts and our hopes were above; For the words of Perfuafion fell foft from his tongue, And the foul of his teaching was Love.

*Written by the Sea of Galilee, July 16th, 1839.

In vain the ftern Tyrant affailed.

With threats of the dungeon or grave;—

He spoke but the word, and the timid ne'er quailed
In pangs that had mastered the brave.
The babe hath endured, while its frame
With the scourge and the torture was torn
The maiden, the mother, in chariots of flame,
To glory triumphant were borne.

For what were thy terrors, O Death?

And where was thy triumph, O Grave? When the veft of pure white, and the conquering wreath,

Were the prize of the scorned and the slave? Oh! then to our Father was given,

To read the bright visions on high;

He gave to our view the full glories of Heaven;— We heard and we haftened to die.

Some died—they are with thee above;

Some live-they lament for thee now;

But who would recall thee, bleft Saint, from the love

That circles with glory thy brow? Long, long didft thou linger below,

But the term of thine exile is o'er ;

And praises shall mix with the tears that must flow From the eyes that behold thee no more.

Praife-praife-that thy trials are past!
Joy-joy-that thy triumph is won!

The thrones are completed-for thine is the laft
Of the twelve that encircle the Son!