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And so the mighty waters bare them up,
And o'er the bosom of the deep they sail'd
For many days.

Then I look'd

Upon the child, to see if her young thought
Wearied with following mine. But her blue eye
Was a glad listener,—and the eager breath
Of pleased attention curl'd her parted lips-
And so I told her how the waters dried,-
And the green branches waved, and the sweet buds
Came up in loveliness,-and that meek Dove
Went forth to build her nest, while thousand birds
Awoke their songs of praise, and the tired Ark
Upon the breezy breast of Ararat
Reposed, and Noah with glad spirit rear'd
An altar to his God.

Since, many a time-
When to her rest, ere evening's earliest star,
That little one is laid,-with earnest tone,
And pure cheek prest to mine, she fondly asks
"The Ark and Dove."

Mothers can tell how oft,
In the heart's eloquence, the prayer goes up
From a seal'd lip :—and tenderly hath blent
With the warm teaching of the sacred tale
A voiceless wish,—that when that timid soul,
Now in the rosy mesh of infancy

Fast bound, shall dare the billows of the world,
Like that exploring Dove, and find no rest,
-A pierced, a pitying, a redeeming Hand
May gently guide it to the Ark of Peace.

WORSHIP OF IDOLS.

THEY tell me that beyond the seas,
In very distant lands,
The people worship idols still,
The work of human hands.

The children there were never told
About the mighty God,

Who made mankind, and all the earth,
And spread the skies abroad.

They never heard of Jesus Christ,
And all his dying love;
They fear not hell below, nor care
For joys of heaven above.

Oh, what a wretched state is theirs!
How sad no tongue can say!
But am I wiser, let me ask,
Or better off than they?

If I delight in earthly things,
Instead of God alone,

I worship idols just as they
Who bow to wood and stone.

What is the use of all I know
Of God's most holy word,
Unless my heart is chang'd and brought
To know and love the Lord?

THE INFANT PRINCE.

A PRINCE has been born to fill a high station,
The news of his birth gave joy to our nation;
But what are his honours, his titles, and birth,
When compar'd with the " Prince of the kings of

the earth?"

This "Infant of days" "in the fulness of time,"
Appear'd in this world, a Saviour divine;
The wonderful work which he undertook,
Is clearly reveal'd in God's holy book;
The news of salvation when it first reach'd this earth,
Was usher'd by angels who sung at his birth;
This act of God's love shall fresh wonders unfold,
Till unnumber'd millions his glory behold;
The Indian tribes and nations afar,

Shall look from their dwellings to see this Bright Star.
W. C.

Eye.

TO MR. AND MRS. G

Who lost four children in five days, from 3 to 13 years of age.
THOUGH full of mystery the cloud appear

Which overspreads your sky,-yet, beauteous there
The Rainbow of the Covenant is seen,

Plac'd by the hand of Him whose love's supreme.
"All things shall work together for your good."
One Sabbath found your babes as pilgrims here;
The next, by faith, we see them lodged there,
Where comes no night of pain, but endless day
Succeeds their earthly transitory stay:

And should they see your tears, methinks they'll say,
"Dear parents, weep not so, your grief allay;
For we are where afflictions never cone,-
With Jesus, and his angels, here at home!"
Then "sorrow not as those without a hope,"
But take submissively the bitter cup,
And ultimately you, where rest the weary,
Shall meet your Joseph, Rhoda, John, and Mary.
Nailsea.

J. D. M.

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ABOUT THE SOUL.

ONE evening, Mrs. Stanhope took her seat by the table, and told Eliza to come and sit by her. Eliza seemed glad to talk with her mother, and Mrs. Stanhope was also happy to talk with her, for she was quiet and attentive to what her mother said.

Mother.

Eliza, can you tell me what matter

is ?

Eliza. Matter is anything which I can see, hear, taste, smell, or touch. M. What is spirit?

E. That something within me which thinks, and feels, and knows what is right and what is wrong. It has not form, colour, sound, taste,

smell, hardness, or softness. You told me, mother, that it is the same as my soul.

M. You remember, Eliza, we were talking, some days ago, about Jane Baker. E. I remember it, mother.

M. You know they put her body into a coffin, and carried it to the burying-ground; and there they lowered it down into the grave, and covered it over with earth.

E. Yes, mother; and I went, the other day, to see little Jane's grave. I love to go there and think about her, only it makes me cry sometimes. The grass has now grown all over her grave, and there is a white stone at one endof it, with her name on it, and it tells how old she was when she died.

M. When Jane Baker died, her body was put into the grave, but her soul was not. Your body, Eliza, will be put into the grave when you die, but your soul will not.

E. Will my soul live, mother, after my body is dead?

M. Eliza, your soul will never die. Your body will die, and be laid in the grave, and turn to dust. But your soul will never die. It will live always.

E. I do not understand you, mother.

M. Look here, Eliza; I will make as many marks on this slate as there are days in one year. There, I have made the marks. Now, do you count them.

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