THE FUNERAL.

AGAINST the wall a lovely picture hung,
So true to life, it wanted but a tongue;

'Twas a young girl's the face, though passing fair, Spoke more of goodness than of beauty there.

Years, years

had vanished since the limner's power, Stealing the sweetness of a passing hour,

Had stamped it there, a little circle's gaze,
The fond memorial of departed days.

Years, years had vanished · where was she whose face
Still from that canvass smiled in girlhood's grace?

A coffin stood beside - I raised the lid

Alas! another picture there was hid;

What hard, stern hand those pallid features drew?

That cheek, that brow

"Twas she- the same

so false, and yet so true?

there in her maiden bloom,

Here cold in death, and waiting for the tomb.

A gray-haired man leaned o'er her where she slept,
Then to the living likeness turned- and wept;
Children, fond, grieving children, looked within,
As if their love one answering look might win;

Vain hope! the eye was dark, and dull the ear That never, till that hour, refused to hear; Hushed, even to them, forever hushed the tongue, On whose sweet lessons they so long had hung.

Turn, mourners, from that face; it tells of gloom;
Around it draw the curtain of the tomb;
Look on this breathing picture of her youth,
See where it smiles, in beauty and in truth;
Like this she lives in her eternal home,

That bright abode where sorrow ne'er can come;
There, in the likeness that her Maker drew,
Ye weeping ones, she waits to welcome you.

DEDICATION HYMN.

GOD of wisdom, God of might,
Father! dearest name of all,
Bow thy throne and bless our rite;
'Tis thy children on Thee call.
Glorious ONE! look down from heaven,

Warm each heart and wake each vow;

Unto Thee this House is given;

With thy presence fill it now.

Fill it now! on every soul

Shed the incense of thy grace, While our anthem-echoes roll

Round the consecrated place;

While thy holy page we read,

While the prayers Thou lov'st ascend, While thy cause thy servants plead,

Fill this House, our God, our Friend.

Fill it now-O, fill it long!

So when death shall call us home, Still to Thee, in many a throng,

May our children's children come.

Bless them, Father, long and late, Blot their sins, their sorrows dry; Make this place to them the gate,

Leading to thy courts on high.

There, when time shall be no more, When the feuds of earth are past,

May the tribes of every shore Congregate in peace at last! Then to Thee, thou ONE all-wise, Shall the gathered millions sing,

Till the arches of the skies

With their hallelujahs ring.

8

FIFTY YEARS AGO.

For the Fourth of July, 1826.

FIFTY years have rolled away,
Since that high, heroic day,

When our Fathers, in the fray,

Struck the conquering blow!

Praise to them-the Bold who spoke ;-
Praise to them-the Brave who broke
Stern Oppression's galling yoke,

Hearts and hands shall guard those rights,

Bought on Freedom's battle heights,

Where he fixed his signal lights,

FIFTY YEARS AGO!

Swear it! by the Mighty Dead,Those who counselled, those who led ;

By the blood your Fathers shed,

By your Mothers' woe ;