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And tenderest love unworthy as I am,
His spirit bids me, “ Abba, Father," cryLet me in him, for “ Worthy is the Lamb,"
Meet the loved radiance of Jehovah's eye.
Here, O my Father, is my soul's repose;
Thine eye is ever beaming from above With pleasure, with complacency on those,
Whose hope is in thy covenanted love.
WHERE is my heart? Dear Lord, with thee,
And all the little flock who bear Thy name and likeness--where I see
That mark impressed, my heart is there; With friends on earth and friends above, With all who love the Lord I love.
In thee alone it finds repose,
Or where thy beams reflected shine; No other resting place it knows,
But thee, O Lord, or thee in thine ; Whose lips confess, whose actions prove They truly love the Lord I love.
Whate'er their country or their name,
With such, when privileged to meet,
And converse hold.--communion sweet ;
When thou shalt raise us to the skies,
Circling thine everlasting throne,
The theme, THY NAME, and thine alone:
WARNING ON THE UNCERTAINTY
(For the Assistant of Education.)
ABOUT a month since, I paid a visit to a young friend who had been one of my school-fellows, and with whom I parted last Midsummer. She was eighteen years of age--an orphan-an heiress--the representative of rank, wealth, and beauty. No one ever entered upon life with more sanguine or fairer prospects of happiness. Her many friends were affectionate and sincere, her wants were supplied as soon as named, and even forestalled, her slightest wish was gratified, pleasures suited to her age were provided for her, and she was permitted and encouraged to dispense charity with a liberal hand to all who needed it. She was not spoilt by prosperity or indulgence her active kindness, her gaiety, her winning manners, won the affection of all around her; and to promote the happiness of others was her constant aim. Ever the gayest of the gay, she was the soul of mirth and joy: no dream of sorrow ever caused her to shed a tear, no forebodings of misfortune ever checked her buoyant spirit. If she sometimes wept that she stood alone in the world without one with whom she
may claim kindred, that father, mother, brothers, all were gone, her tears were for those she had never known, and her sorrow was of that holy and chastened nature that exalts the thoughts and soothes the heart. To her this world was no passing wilderness it was a valley of delight—she gathered every flower, inhaled each breath of gladness, found sources of pleasure at every step, and when she lingered, it was not to meditate on the past or the future, but to dwell on the present as the fairest, the loveliest scene. Her's was not that palo and melancholy VOL, VII.
loveliness that seems to warn us it is only a sojourner on earth, but that luxuriant glow of health and spirit which breathes of life and joy. I saw her as playful, as gladsome as wben we parted. We talked over old times and old companions, our childish joys and childish sor
She showed me her books, her drawings, the course of reading she had drawn up, the plans she had formed for the employment of her time, for her studies, &c. And see, dear, I have done wbat we so often used to talk of doing ;" and she placed before me a large musick-book, into which she had copied all the airs to which words have been written in the Assistant. “ You must hear my piano, for it is such a beautifully toned instrument-Mr. Logave it to me on my
birthday; so I will sing and play my favourite;" and she sang “ Tell me not of friends untrue.” “ And now I will show you my green-house, but wait one minute;" and she ran to fetch me a cloak.
you not better put something on yourself, Isabel," said I, as she tied it round
“ O no: I love the wind of heaven to blow on me; you need not fear-it will not harm me; for I never take cold, or ever had I a day's illness." “ We will do as we used to do, Isabel," and encircling each other's waist with our arms, we folded the cloak round us, and walked up and down the garden as we were wont to do when at school. She told me of all she meant to do this winter, of the merry Christmas she was to spend with her guardian at her own mansion, and the happiness she hopes to diffuse among her tenantry. “Mr. L. is so very kind," said she"I never propose any thing (reasonable) which he does not accede to. Mrs. L. has written for little Mary (a poor neglected school-fellow) to spend the next holydays with us; and I hope your Mama will be able to spare you, Elizabeth--I should be so happy. I often wish ." but why repeat wisbes never gratified, intentions never fulfilled.
She, whose merry smile, whose merry glance cheered and gladdened every heart, is mouldering in the dust.
She took the typhus fever; and her hitherto perfect state of health rendering it impossible to reduce her strength with sufficient rapidity, the day week after she was taken ill, she was laid in the grave.
We hear, we read of such things-a sigh, an involuntary shudder, dismisses them from our thoughts. It happens to one of our acquaintance-of our friends, and then, alas! the impression is but transitory. Still we defer making religion our constant guide. We think we are young, and time lies before usin sickness, in sorrow, we will seek comfort from God. But deceive not yourselves—you must worship your Creator in the days of your youth, to find him a refuge in time of trouble. And remember that life is short, that man is like a shadow that passeth away, and that in the midst of life we are in death; that we cannot say with certainty we will do this, and we will do that, for we know not if to-morrow's sun will rise for us. Whilst engaged in the pursuits, or enjoying the pleasures of this life, your souls may be required of you. Remember that after death cometh judgment, and before the throne of God a sudden death will be no excuse for commandments transgressed, duties neglected, parental commands disobeyed, parental love slighted. Then worship God in the days of your youth, and find mercy early in his sight: and watch, and pray, and be stedfast in welldoing, for ye know neither the day nor the hour in which death cometh.
HINT FOR THE DISPOSAL OF CAST-OFF
One of the uses of a periodical publication is to call attention to whatever may seem worthy of it. In a small tract, written for the poor, entitled James Heselden, we
met with the following remarks; and thinking them more appropriate to the rich, who will probably not see them there, we asked leave of the author to transfer them to our pages.
“ I cannot let slip the present opportunity of dropping a hint to those in a superior station of life, if any such should condescend to cast their eyes over this little book, to those Christians especially who view the heart as the seat of every thing that is unholy, and from their knowledge of the corruption of our nature, desire carefully to guard against every thing which may be the occasion of sin, either in others or themselves. I would address myself to such persons, and ladies in particular, whether they have not observed the increasing and prevailing love of dress among the lower orders, especially among that useful and most necessary part of the community, female servants. I would gently remind them, that one great cause of this growing evil, is the practice too generally pursued by mistresses, of giving to their domesticks their own cast-off clothes. A servant having once put on a gown worn by her mistress, can no longer be satisfied with the plain apparel suited to her purse, or rather her station-for it is to be lamented, in this point of view, that Aimsy, showy dress is in reality cheaper than good and substantia) articles. Is it not natural, when a servant apes to be a lady, which, in her estimation, consists chiefly in dressing like one, sħe should despise those in her own sphere, and seek and desire the attention of her superiors ? Surely in this enlightened age, when the true principles of Christianity are every day more and more clearly understood, it becomes a necessary duty to put some check on the vanity, which the present practice of mistresses seems rather calculated to encourage. But how, some will say, can that of which you complain be avoided ? Can we differ from the usual practice? How are we to dispose of our cast-off clothes? The first question is easily set at rest : if none will dare to do right because others do wrong, then they are shackled îndeed; shackled in a manner which, in this age of free enquiry, can scarcely be believed possible; but as to what may be done with the clothes, I wish it were as easy to abolish the custom referred to, as it is to find out more advisable means for their disposal. Are there not among your acquaintance some well-educated and reduced persons pining in solitude, in need perhaps of the necessaries of life, debarred the society of their Is, for want of the means of making a respecto able appearance? To such, how acceptable would be an annual present of half-worn articles of dress! If you fear wounding the feelings of such persons, the articles may be sent anonymously; or if you are strangers to such claimants on your kindness, commit your little wardrobe to that interesting society, supported by members of the Church of England, for assisting married clergymen with small incomes. How valuable would fine half-worn materials be to those who, with the feelings and education of gentlewomen, live on a pittance far inferior to the wages of our men-servants! If I am not mis-informed, there are many instances where clergymen have only £30 a year to subsist on. I knew a lady once, who was a pattern for a manager of a family, and whose habits of regularity and economy