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When heavy clouds obscure his sky,
And no human help is nigh,
Then I tell of rest to come,
Point him to his heavenly home.
When his days have reached their goal,
And doubts and fears distress bis soul,
Like a lustrous star appearing,
I dispel his guilty fearing,-
Lead him to the throne of light,
Where I melt in sweet delight.
R. W., aged 15.
THE MOURNING OF RACHEL.
(Read the second chapter of Matthew.)
BY THE REV. THOMAS DALE, A. M.
Oh! whither, whither shall I fly
My beautiful, my best beloved?
I hear the tread of warriors nigh,
Men of stern mood and tearless eve,
E’en by a mother's prayer unmoved.
Soon will they stand beside thee-
Where shall thy mother hide thee?
Cleave, cleave, thou solid earth! and yield
d shelter in thy central cave : Heaven! be thy red right arm revealed, Avert the tyrant's wrath, and shield
My last, my sole one from the grave-
The foe, the foe are near him,
O whither can I bear him?
A curse upon thee, ruthless king!
A mother's with a nation's prayer Mount on the tempest's rapid wing, And to the Eternal Presence bring
The frantic accents of despair! Now is the avenger nigh thee; Let not his sword pass by thee!
Again-again-my babe, again
I clasp thee to this bleeding heart:-
They come—and are thy people slain,
And dost thou still, o God! restrain
The avenger, ardent to depart?
Or have the lightnings past them,
Which thou hadst sent to blast them?
They come! they come! Hold, hold thine band
Thou canst not shed an infant's blood-
Sheathe, murderer, sheathe thy reeking brand-
Thou wilt not? - Is the Fiend's command
Fulfilled by his own demon-brood ?
O if ye will not spare him,
Strike first at her that bare bim!"
There's blood upon that mother's brow,
Blood of her child by ruffians shed-
A voice is heard in Rama now,
A voice of wailing long and low-
'Tis Rachel weeping for the dead.
The mother, broken-hearted,
Calls on her babe departed!
'Twere vain to bid her weep no more
Only the dreamless grave shall bring
The rest she cannot feel before;
But when thy reign of blood is o'er
What doom is thine, detested king?
Guards, sceptres, left behind thee,
The Mother's curse shall find thee!
DEATH OF A YOUNG MOTHER.
It was an April day ; and blithly all
The youth of nature leap'd beneath the sun,
And promised glorious manhood; and our hearts
Were glad, and round them danced the lightsome
In healthy merriment—when tidings came,
A child was born ; and tidings came again,
That she who gave it birth was sick to death,
So swift trod sorrow on the heels of joy!
- We gathered round her bed, and bent our knees
In fervent supplication to the Throne
Of Mercy; and perfumed our prayers with sighs
Sincere, and penitential tears, and looks
Of self-abasement. But we sought to stay
An angel on the earth; a spirit ripe
For heaven; and Mercy, in her love, refused;
Most merciful, as oft, when seeming least!
Most gracious when she seemed the most to frown!
The room I well remember; and the bed
On which she lay; and all the faces too,
That crowded dark and mournfully around.
Her father there, and mother, bending stood,
And down their aged cheeks fell many drops
Of bitterness; her husband, too, was there,
And brothers; and they wept—her sisters, too,
Did weep and sorrow comfortless; and I,
Too, wept, though not to weeping given : and all
Within the house was dolorous and sad.
This I remember well, but better still
The dying eye :--that eye alone was bright,
And brighter grew, as nearer death approach'd :
As I have seen the gentle little flower
Look fairest in the silver beam, which fell
Reflected from the thunder-cloud that soon
Came down, and o'er the desert scattered far
And wide its loveliness. She made a sign
To bring her babe ;-—'twas brought, and by her
She look'd upon its face that neither smiled
Nor wept, or knew who gaz'd upon't, and laid
Her hand upon its little breast, and sought
For it with look that seem'd to penetrate
The heavens-unutterable blessings-such
As God to dying parents only granted,
For infants left behind them in the world.
“ God keep my child,” we heard her say, and heard
No more: the Angel of the Covenant
Was come, and faithful to his promise stood,
Prepared to walk with her through death's dark vale;
And now her eyes grew bright and brighter still,
Too bright for our's to look upon, suffused
With many tears, and closed without a cloud.
They set as sets the morning star, which goes
Not down behind the dark ned west, nor hides
Obscured among the tempests of the sky,
But melts away into the light of heaven.
A BOY AT SEA IN A BOAT. What dangers some boys run into, either by their own fault, or the fault of their playfellows. Here is an instance, which happened a few weeks ago. When will lads be more careful ? Winter is coming, and snow, and frost, and ice, and the newspapers will have to tell us, as they always do, every winter, of boys being drowned through the ice breaking. Well: you are warned, little reader, so take care !
As the Queen of the Isles steamer was on her passage from Liverpool to Douglas, Isle of Man, when about thirty miles from her destination, Mr. MʻFee, the chief mate, who, owing to the indisposition of the captain, had the command of the vessel, discerned an object at some distance in the water; and, on approaching it more nearly, it turned out to be a small boat, about four or five miles distant. On the chief mate viewing the object with his telescope, he could see a person sitting in the stern, apparently