Till the soft light of heaven seemed shed o'er his face,

And he crept up to die in her loving embrace! 'O clasp me, dear mother! close, close to your breast;

On that gentle pillow again let me rest!

Let me once more gaze up to that dear, loving eye,
And then, O methinks, I can willingly die!
Now kiss me, dear mother! O quickly! for see,
The bright blessed angels are waiting for me!

I see you not, mother! for darkness and night
Are hiding your dear, loving face from my sight,-
But I hear your low sobbings,-dear mother, good
bye!

The angels are ready to bear me on high!

I will wait for you there, but, O tarry not long, Lest grief at your absence should sadden my song! He ceased, and his hands meekly clasped on his

breast,

While his sweet face sank down on its pillow of

rest;

Then, closing his eyes, now all rayless and dim, Went up with the angels that waited for him.

MISS GOULD.

SEASONS OF PRAYER.

To PRAYER! to prayer!-for the morning breaks, And earth in her Maker's smile awakes;

His light is on all below and above,

The light of gladness, and life, and love;
O then, on the breath of this early air,
Send upward the incense of grateful prayer.

To prayer!—for the glorious sun is gone,
And the gathering darkness of night comes on;
Like a curtain from God's kind hand it flows,
To shade the couch where his children repose;
Then kneel, while the watching stars are bright,
And give your last thoughts to the Guardian of
night.

There are smiles and tears in the mother's eyes,
For her new-born infant beside her lies;

O hour of bliss, when the heart overflows
With rapture a mother only knows!
Let it gush forth in words of fervent prayer;
Let it swell up to heaven for her precious care.

There are smiles and tears in that gathering band, Where the heart is pledged with the trembling

hand;

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 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 upward 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.

HENRY WARE, JR.

THE SILENT EXPRESSION OF NATURE.

WHEN, thoughtful, to the vault of heaven I lift my wondering eyes,

And see the clear and quiet even

To night resign the skies,—
The moon in silence rear her crest,
The stars in silence shine,-

A secret rapture fills my breast,
That speaks its birth divine.

Unheard, the dews around me fall,
And heavenly influence shed;
And, silent, on this earthly ball,
Celestial footsteps tread;
Aerial music wakes the spheres,
Touched by harmonious powers;

With sounds, unheard by mortal ears,
They charm the lingering hours.

Night reigns, in silence, o'er the pole,
And spreads her gems unheard;
Her lessons penetrate the soul,
Yet borrow not a word.

Noiseless the sun emits his fire,
And pours his golden streams;
And silently the shades retire
Before his rising beams.

The hand that moves, and regulates,
And guides the vast machine,
That governs wills, and times, and fates,
Retires and works unseen.

Angelic visitants forsake

Their amaranthine bowers;

On silent wing their stations take,
And watch the allotted hours.

Sick of the vanity of man,

His noise, and pomp, and show,
I'll move upon great Nature's plan,
And, silent, work below.

With inward harmony of soul
I'll wait the upper sphere;

Shining, I'll mount above the pole,
And break my silence there.

ANONYMOUS.