Friends! Friends! oh, shall we meet,
Where the spoiler finds no prey,
Where lovely things and sweet
Pass not away?

Oh, if this may be So,

Speed, speed their closing day!
How blest from earth's vain show

To pass away.

MRS. HEMANS.

THE LITTLE SHROUD.

SHE put him on a snow-white shroud,
A chaplet on his head;
And gathered early primroses

To scatter o'er the dead.

She laid him in his little grave-
"Twas hard to lay him there,

When spring was putting forth its flowers,
And every thing was fair.

She had lost many children-now

The last of them was gone;

And day and night she sat and wept
Beside the funeral stone.

Thou canst not light or wavering deem
The bosom all thine own;

Thou know'st in Joy's enlivening beam,
Or Fortune's adverse frown;

My pride, my bliss had been to share
Thy hopes; to sooth thine hours of care;
With thee the Martyr's cross to bear,
Or win the Martyr's crown.

'Tis o'er; but never from my heart
Shall Time thine image blot;
The dreams of other days depart ;—
Thou shalt not be forgot;

And never in the suppliant sigh

Pour'd forth to Him who sways the sky,

Shall mine own name be breathed on high,
And thine remember'd not.

Farewell! and O! may He whose love
Endures though Man rebel,

In Mercy yet thy guilt reprove;

Thy dark'ning clouds dispel:

Where'er thy wandering steps incline,
My fondest prayers-nor only mine ;-
The aid of Israel's God be thine;

And in His name-Farewell!

REV. THOMAS DALE.

"FORGIVE."

OH God, my sins are manifold, against my life they cry, And all my guilty deeds foregone, up to thy temple fly; Wilt thou release my trembling soul, that to despair is driven :

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Forgive "a blessed voice replied, and thou shalt be forgiven.

My foemen, Lord! are fierce and fell, they spurn me in their pride,

They render evil for my good, my patience they deride

Arise, oh King! and be the proud to righteous ruin driven;

"Forgive"-an awful answer came, as thou would'st be forgiven.

Seven times, oh Lord! I pardon'd them, seven times they sinned again,

They practise still to work me woe, they triumph in my pain.

But let them dread my vengeance now, to just resent

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ment driven;

Forgive "the voice of thunder spake, or never be

forgiven.

BISHOP HEBER.

One midnight, while her constant tears
Were falling with the dew,

She heard a voice, and lo! her child
Stood by her, weeping too!

His shroud was damp, his face was white; He said—" I cannot sleep,

Your tears have made my shroud so wet; Oh, mother, do not weep!"

Oh, love is strong!-the mother's heart
Was filled with tender fears:
Oh, love is strong!-and for her child
Her grief restrained its tears.

One eve a light shone round her bed,
And there she saw him stand-
Her infant, in his little shroud,
A taper in his hand.

"Lo! mother, see my shroud is dry,

And I can sleep once more!"

And beautiful the parting smile
The little infant wore.

And down within the silent grave

He laid his weary head; And soon the early violets

Grew o'er his grassy bed.

The mother went her household ways-
Again she knelt in prayer,

And only asked of Heaven its aid,

Her heavy lot to bear.

L. E. L.

TRUST IN GOD.

Nor seldom, clad in radiant vest,
Deceitfully goes forth the Morn;
Not seldom Evening in the west
Sinks smilingly forsworn.

The smoothest seas will sometimes prove,
To the confiding Bark, untrue;

And if she trust the stars above,

They can be treach'rous too.

The umbrageous Oak, in pomp outspread,
Full oft, when storms the welkin rend,
Draws lightning down upon the head
It promised to defend.

But Thou art true, Incarnate Lord!
Who didst vouchsafe for man to die;
Thy smile is sure, thy plighted word
No change can falsify!