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and sink into nothingness. Else why is it, that the high and glorious aspirations, which leap like angels from the temple of our hearts, are for ever wandering about unsatisfied ? Why is it that the rainbow and the cloud come over us with a beauty that is not of earth, and then pass off and leave us to muse upon their faded loveliness? Why is it that the stars which “hold their festival around the midnight throne,” are set above the grasp of our limited faculties; for ever mocking us with their unapproachable glory? And finally, why is it that bright forms of human beauty are presented to our view and then taken from us; leaving the thousand streams of our affections to flow back in an Alpine torrent upon our hearts? We are born for a higher destiny than that of earth. There is a realm where the rainbow never fades—where the stars will spread out before us like the islands that slumber on the ocean, and where the beautiful beings which here pass before us like shadows, will stay in our presence for ever.

THE ROSE-BY MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY.

I saw the rose, perfect in beauty; it rested gracefully upon its stalk, and its perfume filled the air. Many stopped to gaze upon it, many bowed to taste its fragrance, and its owner hung over it with delight. I passed again, and behold it was gone—its stem was leafless; its roots had withered, and the enclosure which surrounded it was broken. The spoiler had been there; he saw that many admired it; he knew it was dear to him who planted it, and beside it he had no other plant to love. Yet he snatchéd it secretly from the hand that cherished it; he wore it on his bosom till it hung its head and faded, and, when he saw that its glory was departed, he fiung it rudely away. But it left a thorn in his bosom, and vainly did he seek to extract it; for now it pierced the spoiler in his hour of mirth. And when I saw that no man who had loved the beauty of the rose, gathered the leaves, or bound up the stalk which the hand of violence had broken, I looked earnestly at the spot where it grew, and my soul re

ceived instruction. And I said; Let her who is full of beauty, and admiration, sitting like the queen of filowers in majesty among the daughters of women, let her watch lest vanity enter her heart, beguiling her to rest proudly upon her own strength; let her remember that she standeth upon slippery places, "and be not high minded, but fear."

EVILS.

Evils take their rank more from the temper of the mind that suffers them, than from their abstract nature. Upon a man of a hard and insensible disposition, the shafts of misfortune often fall pointless and impotent. There are persons by no meanis hard and insensible, who, from an elastic and sanguine turn of mind, are continually prompted to look on the fair side of things, and having suffered one fall, immediately rise again to pursue their course, with the same eagerness, the same gayety as before. On the other hand, we not unfrequently meet with persons, endowed with the most exquisite and delicious sensibility, whose minds seem almost of too fine a texture to encounter the vicissitudes of human affairs, to whom pleasure is transport, and disappointment is agony indescribable.-Godwin.

ABBE GUILLON. During the massacres which took place in Paris, in the French revolution, there were two Abbé Guillons confined in the prison of the Abbaye. One of them was called into the court yard, while the ruffians were busy in assassinating their victims, and a note, containing an order of the municipality, tantamount to a reprieve, was put into his hand. After examining it minutely, he paused for a few moments, ani' knowing from circumstances that it was not intended for himseli, he turned round to the messenger, and observing that there was another Abbé of the saine name in prison, returned with a firm step and an unaltered countenanco to die.

POETRY

Written for the Monthly Repository, and Library of Entertaining Knowledge,

BY MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY,

With us,

"I HEARD A VOICE FROM HEAVEN, SAYING COME UP HITHER.''

Ye have a land of mist and shade,

Where spectres roam at will,
Dense clouds your mountain cliffs pervade,

And damps your valleys chill;
But ne'er has midnight's wing of wo

Eclips'd our changeless ray,
« Come hitherif ye seek to know

The bliss of perfect day.
Doubt, like the Bohun-Upas spreads

A blight where'er ye tread,
And Hope, a wailing mourner sheds
The tear o'er harvests dead;

no traitorous foe assails
When Love her home would make
In Heaven, the welcome never fails,

Comeand that warmth partake.
Time revels 'mid your boasted joys,

Death dims your brightest rose,
And sin your bower of peace destroys,

Where will ye find repose ?
Ye're wearied in your pilgrim-race,

Sharp thorns your path infest,
" Come hither,”-rise to our embrace,

And Christ shall give you rest.
"T'was thus, methought, at twilight's hour

The angel's lay came down,
Like dews upon the drooping flower

When droughts of summer frown,
How richly o'er the ambient air

Swell'd out the music free,
Oh! when the pangs of Death I bear,

Sing ye that song to me.

Writton for the Monthly Repository and Library of Entertaining Knowledge,

BY REV. JOSEPH RUSLING.

REMEMBER ME WHEN THOU COMEST INTO THY KINGDOM.

Jesus permit a feeble worm

The visions of thy face to see;
And while in life's conflicting storm,

Remember me.

Let me thy gracious image bear,

Purge me from all corruptions free;
With those who most thy favors share

Remember me.
Whate'er will form a holy mind,

Goodness, and love, and purity,
With all thou cans't bestow most kind,

Remember me.
Sequestered, when I aim to bow

In audience with the Deity,
How sweet the moments pass, if thou

Remember me.
When in thy beauteous courts I tread

To praise, or bend the suppliant knee,
How glorious, if the Church's Head

Remember me!
When prest with languishing disease,

O! may I lean my soul on thee,
Most happy, if my Lord will please

Remember me.
Or if recumbent o'er the tomb,

From nature struggling to be free,
" When in thy kingdom thou shalt come

Remember me."
And far beyond, midst scenes sublime,

Which millions crowned enraptured see,
In that eternal glorious clime

Remember me.

THEY HEARD HIS WORDS WITH SCORN.

BY ALONZO LEWIS.

They heard his words with scorn, and cried, “Is this not Joseph's

son? And whence hath he the wondrous power to be some mighty one? Are not his brethren here with us, and who hath ever seen The day a noble deed was done by servile Nazarene?" The humble sufferer bowed his head, and passing through the

crowd, With patience saw their scornful smiles, and heard their tauntings

loud ; He saw the ox returning to his owner's nightly shed, But found no friendly dwelling there to rest his weary

head. He passed along where Cedron's brook divides the humble vale, And heard their sounds of revelry come down the evening gale: He entered then a garden lone, whose gate invited there, And kneeling spent the tedious night in solitude and prayer.

Hark! heard ye not the dreadful cry that rent the yielding air ?
And saw ye not the gathering gloom on faces of despair?
And mark ye not the astonished dead, slow-bursting from their

graves, Beneath whose feet the kindling earth heaves high like rolling

waves! And who is he on yon white horse, whose eyes are eyes of flame? And on his head are many crowns, and on his thigh a name; And he is clad in vesture red, dipped in his own best bloodHe was—the trembling nations cry—he is the Son of God!

CHANGES.

The billows run along in gold

Over the yielding main,
And when upon the shore unrolled,

They gather up again,
They get themselves a different form,

These children of the wind,
And, or in sunlight, or in storm,

Leave the green land behind.
Life's billows on life's changing sea,

Come always to Death's shore,
Some with a calm content, and free.

Some with a hollow roar;
They break and are no longer seen,

Yet still defying time,
Divided, and of different mien,

They roll from clime to clime.
All water courses find the main;

The main sinks back to earth
Life settles in the grave-again,

The grave hath life and birth;
Flowers bloom about the sleeping dust,

Grass grows from scattered clay;
And thus from death the spirit must

To life find back its way.
Lise hath its range eternally,

Like water, changing forms;
The mists go upward from the sea,

And gather into storms;
The dew and rain came down again,

To'fresh the drooping land;
So doth this life exalt and wane,

And, alter, and expand.

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