SONNET.

M. J. CHAPMAN.

Ir is a glorious thing to feel secure!
In solitude or 'mid the world's rude din,
Against all fears to be sustain'd within;
To make sweet music of thoughts just and pure,
While we regard those ills we must endure
As roots from which immortal joys begin,
Recover'd from the soil of mortal sin

By Him whose banner is our coverture:
Glorious to see things as they are! and stand
On truth's serenest hill-top, far above
The mists of error, where o'er shifting sand
The uneasy travellers in mazes move;
While from our Pisgah we behold the land

Of promise, bright with God's eternal love.

AFRAID TO DIE!

MRS SIGOURNEY.

"And deliver them who, from fear of death, were all their lifetime subject to bondage."-Hebrews ii. 15.

AFRAID to die!—afraid to sleep

In earth, our mother's tranquil breast,
Where snares and troubles vex no more,
And all the weary are at rest?

Afraid to die!-afraid to take

His hand who trod the shadowy vale,
And leads us on to pastures green,
And living streams that never fail?

Afraid to die !-afraid to trust

His promise who shall burst the tomb,
And raise the renovated dust

More glorious from its transient gloom?

Afraid to die!-afraid to meet

The guardian bands who watchful wait,
And spread their radiant pinions wide

To bear us through salvation's gate?

Afraid to die!-prefer to be

A stranger in these courts below? A pilgrim, when the lights of home

Bright through our Father's windows glow.

Afraid to die!—oh, grant us grace,

Thou who did'st dare the spoiler's strife, Calmly to meet his cold embrace,

And soar to everlasting life!

HYMN AT SUNSET AMONG THE ALPS.

O THOU who hast thine altar made
On every mountain's brow;
Whose temple is the forest's shade,
Its arch the forest bough—
Thou hast ever listen'd when we pray'd,
And Thou wilt hear us now!

Full kingly is Thy royal grace,

On the wide world pour'd forth :
From the sunny south, "in pride of place,"
To the ice-girded north,

The glorious beauty of thy face

Doth shine upon the earth.

To each to all-thy bounty flows,
Full, boundless, deep, and free:

Thou hast flowers for earth, and stars for heaven,
And gems for the blue sea;

And for us our everlasting hills,
And hearts which dauntless be.

More hast thou given, O God! yet more,
Than our spirits true and bold;
And our mighty mountain sentinels,
Those watchers, stern and cold-
The shadow of a glorious past
Our memory doth enfold.

That little band of shepherd men
Who left their flocks with Thee,
And, strong in heart, went boldly forth
To make our mountains free:

Thy hand was with their steadfast worth,
And they won the victory.

And they, the saints of later time,
Who dwelt in places lone,

And wandering exiles for their faith,
Through toil and famine, fight and death,
Their martyr crowns have won :
"Twas thou received their parting breath,

And they sit beneath Thy throne.

Forsake us not! but as of old,

So let our spirits be;

And give us still the courage bold
To keep our mountains free;
And our ancestral faith to hold,
Wherewith we worship Thee.

The cattle on a thousand hills,
The feeble and the small-

We leave throughout the silent night,
Nor fear lest harm befall;