What trying thoughts in her bosom swell,

As the bride bids parents and home farewell!
Kneel down by the side of the tearful fair,
And strengthen the perilous hour with prayer.

Kneel down by the dying sinner's side,
And pray for his soul through Him who died.
Large drops of anguish are thick on his brow-
O! what is earth and its pleasures now!
And what shall assuage his dark despair,
But the penitent cry of humble prayer?

Kneel down at the couch of departing faith,
And hear the last words the believer saith.
He has bidden adieu to his earthly friends;
There is peace in his eye that upwards bends;
There is peace in his calm, confiding air;
For his last thoughts are God's, his last words prayer.

The voice of prayer at the sable bier!

A voice to sustain, to soothe, and to cheer.

It commends the spirit to God who gave;

It lifts the thoughts from the cold, dark grave;
It points to the glory where He shall reign,
Who whispered, "Thy brother shall rise again.”

The voice of prayer in the world of bliss!
But gladder, purer, than rose from this.
The ransomed shout to their glorious King,
Where no sorrow shades the soul as they sing;
But a sinless and joyous song they raise;
And their voice of prayer is eternal praise.

Awake, awake, and gird up thy strength
To join that holy band at length.

To Him who unceasing love displays,
Whom the powers of nature unceasingly praise,
To Him thy heart and thy hours be given;
For a life of prayer is the life of heaven.

TRIAL OF GRACE.

ANONYMOUS.

"He shall sit as a refiner and purifier of silver."—MALACHI iii. 3.

He that from dross would win the precious ore,
Bends o'er the crucible an earnest eye,
The subtle, searching process to explore,
Lest the one brilliant moment should pass by,
When in the molten silvery virgin mass
He meets his pictured face, as in a glass.

Thus in God's furnace are his people tried;
Thrice happy they who to the end endure;
But who the fiery trial may abide?

Who from the crucible come forth so pure,
That He whose eyes of flame look through the whole,
May see His image perfect in the soul?

Nor with an evanescent glimpse alone,

As in that mirror the refiner's face;

But stamped with Heaven's broad signet there be shown Immanuel's features full of truth and grace;

And round that seal of love this motto be, "Not for a moment, but-Eternity!"

BROKEN TIES.

MONTGOMERY.

THE broken ties of happier days,
How often do they seem
To come before our mental gaze,
Like a remembered dream!
Around us each dissevered chain
In sparkling ruin lies;

And earthly hand can ne'er again
Unite those broken ties.

The parent of our youthful home,
The kindred that we loved,

Far from our arms perchance may roam,
To desert seas removed.

Or we have watched their parting breath,
And closed their weary eyes;

And sighed to think how sadly death
Can sever human ties.

The friends, the loved ones of our youth, They too are gone or changed;

Or worse than all, their love and truth, Is darkened or estranged.

They meet us in the glittering throng,

With cold averted eyes,

And wonder that we weep their wrong, And mourn our broken ties.

O! who in such a world as this
Could bear their lot of pain;

Did not one radiant hope of bliss
Unclouded yet remain ?

That hope the sovereign Lord has given
Who reigns above the skies;
Hope that unites our souls to Heaven,
By faith's enduring ties.

Each care, each ill of mortal birth,
Is sent in pitying love,

To lift the lingering heart from earth,
And speed its flight above.

And every pang that wrings the breast,
And every joy that dies,

Tells us to seek a purer rest,
And trust to holier ties.

WHERE ARE THEY NOW?

ANONYMOUS.

Where are they now, who used at morn to gambol,
Like bounding roebucks in our sunny path?
Where are they now, who shared our evening ramble,
And made the green wood vocal with their laugh?
Where are they now, from earth's glad pathway riven?
We trust, in heaven.

Where are they now? The early birds are singing
Their joyful melodies to earth and air,

While all around the song of hope is ringing;
Why come they not with us the scene to share?

No; higher joys than ours to them are given,

We trust, in heaven.

Where are they now? The spring's young charms are

breaking,

To deck fair nature with their budding bloom;

All things from winter's cold embrace are waking

All, save the tenants of the dreary tomb;

Their spring shall dawn and death's dark bonds be riven, We trust, in heaven.

I WOULD NOT LIVE ALWAY.

JOB Vii. 16.

MUHLENBERG.

I WOULD not live alway-live alway below!

O no, I'll not linger, when bidden to go.

The days of our pilgrimage granted us here,

Are enough for life's woes, full enough for its cheer.

Would I shrink from the path which the prophets of God,

Apostles and martyrs, so joyfully trod?

While brethren and friends are all hastening home,
Like a spirit unblest o'er the earth would I roam?

I would not live alway-I ask not to stay,
Where storm after storm rises dark o'er the way;
Where seeking for peace, we but hover around,
Like the patriarch's bird, and no resting is found:
Where hope, when she paints her gay bow in the air,
Leaves its brilliance to fade in the night of despair,
And joy's fleeting angel ne'er sheds a glad ray,
Save the gleam of the plumage that bears him away.

I would not live alway-thus fettered by sin;
Temptation without, and corruption within: