Hastening, still hastening on,
None may deem how;

But when 'tis fled and gone—
Then seems Time slow?

Time, while we chide thy pace, Reckless and proud,

Oft doth thy shadowy face

Laugh from our shroud!

HAGAR IN THE DESERT.

MRS TIGHE.

INJURED, hopeless, faint, and weary, Sad, indignant, and forlorn, Through the desert wild and dreary, Hagar leads the child of scorn.

Who can speak a mother's anguish,
Painted in that tearless eye,
Which beholds her darling languish-
Languish unrelieved, and die?

Lo! the empty pitcher fails her,
Perishing with thirst he lies;
Death with deep despair assails her,
Piteous as for aid he cries.

From the dreadful image flying,
Wild she rushes from the sight;

In the agonies of dying

Can she see her soul's delight?

Now bereft of every hope,

Cast upon the burning ground, Poor, abandon'd soul! look up!— Mercy have thy sorrows found.

Lo! the angel of the Lord

Comes thy great distress to cheer;

Listen to the gracious word,

See! Divine relief is near.

"Care of heaven! though man forsake thee,
Wherefore vainly dost thou mourn ?
From thy dream of wo awake thee,
To thy rescued child return.

"Lift thine eyes, behold yon fountain
Sparkling 'mid those fruitful trees;
Lo! beneath yon sheltering mountain,
Smile for thee green bowers of ease.

"In the hour of sore affliction,

God hath seen and pitied thee: Cheer thee in the sweet conviction, Thou henceforth His care shalt be.

"Be no more by doubts distress'd, Mother of a mighty race!

By contempt no more oppress'd,

Thou hast found a resting-place."

Thus from peace and comfort driven,
Thou, poor soul, all desolate,
Hopeless lay, till pitying Heaven

Found thee in thy abject state.

O'er thy empty pitcher mourning,
'Mid the desert of the world;
Thus with shame and anguish burning,
From thy cherish'd pleasures hurl❜d.

See thy great Deliverer nigh,

Calls thee from thy sorrow vain— Bids thee on His love rely:

Bless the salutary pain!

From thine eyes the mists dispelling,

Lo! the well of life He shows

In His presence ever dwelling,
Bids thee find thy true repose.

Future prospects rich in blessing,
Open to thy hopes secure;
Sure of endless joys possessing,

Of an heavenly kingdom sure!

"A LITTLE WHILE."

ROBERT KAYE GREVILLE.

"A LITTLE while," and every

fear

That o'er the perfect day
Flings shadows dark and drear,
Shall pass like mist away:
The secret tear-the anxious sigh,

Shall pass into a smile;

Time changes to eternity

We only wait"a little while."

"A little while," and every charmi

That steals away the heart,

And earthly joys that warm,

And lure us from our part,

Shall cease our heavenly view to dim;
The world shall not beguile
Our ever faithful thoughts from Him

Who bade us wait" a little while."