"Yes, Edward, yes,” replied the maid, "I see the bird on yonder tree;" The poor boy sighed and gently said, "Sister, I wish that I could see. "The flowers you say are very fair, And bright green leaves upon the trees, And pretty birds are singing thereHow beautiful for one to see!
"Yet, I the fragrant flowers can smell, And I can feel the green leaf's shade, And I can hear the notes that swell
From those dear birds that God has made.
"So, sister, God to me is kind,
Though sight to me he has not given;
But tell me, are there any blind
Among the children up in heaven?"
Ere long, disease its hand had laid
On that dear boy, so meek and mild ;
His widow'd mother wept, and prayed
That God would spare her sightless child.
He felt her warm tears on his face,
And said · Oh, never weep for me;
I'm going to a bright, bright place,
Where God, my Saviour, I shall see.
"And you'll be there, kind Mary, too;
But, mother, when you get up there,
Tell me, dear mother, that 'tis you;
You know I never saw you here."
He spoke no more, but sweetly smiled,
Until the final blow was given,
When God took up that poor blind child,
And opened first his eyes in heaven.
DEATH OF A SCHOLAR.-C. M.
Death has been here and borne away
A scholar from our side;
Just in the morning of her day,
As young as we-she died.
Perhaps our time may be as short;
Our days may fly as fast:
O Lord, impress the solemn thought.
That this may be our last.
We cannot tell who next may fall
Beneath Thy chastening rod;
One must be first, but let us all
Prepare to meet our God.
All needful strength is Thine to give ;
To Thee, our souls apply
For grace to teach us how to live,
And make us fit to die.
"MY TIMES ARE IN THY HAND."
Father, I know that all my life
Is portioned out for me,
And the changes that are sure to come
I do not fear to see;
But I ask Thee for a present mind
Intent on pleasing Thee.
I ask Thee for a thoughtful love
Through constant watching wise,
To meet the glad with joyful siniles,
And to wipe the weeping eyes;
And a heart at leisure from itself
To soothe and sympathize.
I would not have the restless will
That hurries to and fro,
Seeking for some great thing to do,
Or secret thing to know;
I would be treated as a child,
And guided where I go.
Wherever in the world I am,
In whatsoe'er estate,
I have a fellowship with hearts,
To keep and cultivate;
And a work of lowly love to do
For the Lord on whom I wait.
So I ask Thee for the daily strength,
To none that ask denied,
And a mind to blend with outward life,
While keeping at Thy side;
Content to fill a little space
If Thou be glorified,
And if some things I do not ask,
In my cup of blessing be,
I would have my spirit filled the more
With grateful love to Thee-
More careful-not to serve Thee much,
But to please Thee perfectly.
There are briars besetting every path,
Which call for patient care;
There is a cross in every lot,
And an earnest need for prayer; But a lowly heart that leans on Thee, Is happy anywhere.
In a service which Thy will appoints
There are no bonds for me;
For my secret heart is taught the truth
That makes Thy children free;
And a life of self-renouncing love
Is a life of liberty!
NEARER HOME.
For ever with the Lord;
Amen! so let it be,
Life from the dead is in that word,
'Tis immortality,
Here in the body pent,
Absent from Thee I roam,
Yet nightly pitch my moving tent
A day's march nearer home,
Nearer home, nearer home,
A day's march nearer home.
My Father's house on high,-
Home of my soul, how near
At times to faith's far seeing eye
Thy golden gates appear.
Here, &c. &c.
And now my spirit faints
To view the land I love,
The bright inheritance of saints,
Jerusalem above.
For ever with the Lord,
Father, if 'tis Thy will,
The promise of Thy faithful word
E'en now in me fulfil.
Here, &c. &c.
FRIENDS PARTED BY DEATH.-P. M.
Friend after friend departs!
Who hath not lost a friend?
There is no union here of hearts,
That finds not here an end!
Were this frail world our final rest
Living or dying none were blest.
Beyond the flight of time,
Beyond the reign of death,-
There surely is some blessed clime
Where life is not a breath;
Nor life's affections transient fire
Whose sparks fly upwards and expire,
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