In the midst of life' | we are in | death

:

Of whom may we seek for succour, but of thee, O Lord,
Who for our sins art | justly dis-pleased?

Yet, O Lord God most | holy:

O | Lord.

-. most mighty;

O holy and most | merci-ful | Saviour:

Deliver us not' into the bitter | pains of e | ternal | death.

Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our | hearts:

Shut not thy merciful | ears to our | prayer.

But spare us, Lord most holy, O God most | mighty :
O holy and merciful Saviour, thou most | worthy | Judge e | ternal;
Suffer us not, at | our last | hour :

For any pains of | death to | fall from | thee.

I heard a voice from heaven :

Say-ing un-to | mê, I write,

From hence forth:

Blessed are the dead which | die in the Lord.

Even so, saith the | Spirit:

For they rest from their | labours.

THE PARISH AND FAMILY BEREFT OF THEIR GUIDE.

IN the beautiful county of Devon dwelt a family who had long lived secluded from the world. They knew enough of the world to perceive its pomps and vanity, and had drunk deep of the cup of domestic affliction. They were unusually beloved; for their piety and benevolence were too evident to all to allow of gainsaying. Certain it is however that there were some found who would slander them; some who would wish to make their neighbours believe that their religion was cant and hypocrisy; for where will not such people be found. Christ himself was by some called an impostor. But this happy family knew that they must expect all this as Our blessed Redeemer had expected it. They also knew that Christ had said, "Woe unto you when all men shall speak well of you." Their Christian spirit did not allow them to neglect any poor sinner when ill or dying, because while in health he had made them the object of his hate. Many an one was led from his evil ways, (through the blessing of God) by their instrumentality. The father was the rector of the small parish to which he belonged; he had refused many advantageous offers of a better living; “for,” said he, "the souls of my own flock are dearer to God than countless wealth; why therefore should I leave this place? I have enough and to spare." Among his parishioners he had many bad characters, who scoffed at and derided all this good man said, whether in church or among parishioners' One of these he had at length occasion to visit,—a poor wretch, who had all his life been a professed infidel.

After conversing with him for some time, he asked him whether he ever prayed? "Prayer," exclaimed the dying man, "what is prayer?" The clergyman took out his Bible, and read to him several passages concerning prayer; explaining at the same time how he might expect to understand what real prayer was. "I know of no more beautiful explanation," said he, except as taught us in the book I have in my hand, than those lines of Montgomery's, which I will repeat to you :

Prayer is the soul's sincere desire,
Uttered or unexpress'd;

The motion of a hidden fire
'That trembles in the breast.

Prayer is the burden of a sigh,
The falling of a tear;
The upward glancing of an eye,
When none but God is near.

Prayer is the simplest form of speech
That infant lips can try;

Prayer, the sublimest strains that reach
The Majesty on high.

Prayer is the Christian's vital breath,
The Christian's native air;

The watchword at the gates of death-
He enters Heaven with prayer.

Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice,
Returning from his ways;

While angels in their songs rejoice,
And
say" "Behold he prays."

The saints in prayer appear as one
In word, in deed, in mind,
When with the Father and the Son
Their fellowship they find.

Nor prayer is made on earth alone :

The Holy Spirit pleads;

And Jesus on the eternal throne

For sinners intercedes.

O! thou, by whom we come to God,
The life, the truth, the way;

The path of prayer Thyself hast trod,-
Lord, teach us how to pray.

The dying man seemed much affected; and upon the clergyman rising to depart, requested this messenger of peace to call the next day. He accordingly called, and saw the sick man now extended before him as helpless and humble as a babe. What! said he, can any man look on this poor

K

wretch and deny that there is a God. Although the devil and his angels may do many things so as to deceive "the very elect," can one go away without acknowledging," this is the finger of God?" He approached the dying man's bed, who appeared glad to see him. "I have long wanted to send for you," said he, "but never had the courage to do so till yesterday. I I have long felt doubts arise in my mind as to whether you or I were right. I have argued with myself for hours together, and have concluded by thinking there is not a God. But yet how extraordinary is it that I should not feel at ease, that I should not have that serenity of countenance, or peace

of mind, which I am sure you possess. "My friend," said the clergyman, I fear you have been in error all your life. Do you ever read your Bible?" 66 No, I never have read it. 66 Do you not know that the Bible is a book which was written by inspired men, and which all throughout points out to us the majesty, dignity, and omnipotence of God? In the very first verse, and first chapter, we read, "In the beginning, God created the Heavens and the Earth." It says so, I dare say, replied the infidel, but why are we to believe it because it says so? "We ought to believe it, my friend, said the minister," because it is the inspired word of God. But if you wish to argue this point, consider what we see every day of our lives. Look at the rocks, the mountains, hills, and vallies, and all the various stupendous works of God. Do not all these bespeak a divine agent? do you suppose they made themselves?" No, said the man, I do not suppose that, but I know that natural causes will produce natural effects; this, sir, is generally allowed. There are natural causes for all these things. "I grant you this," my friend, "but who do you suppose regulates these causes? You plough your land, and plant your corn, and see it come up; but it would not have done so without your agency. Here is a natural cause producing a natural effect. But there is an agent, you ploughed and planted the land." Oh Sir, I see what you mean; but still I do not believe in a God; I think that some person whom we cannot see repletes nature, and produces these effects. "Who then can that person be," said the minister, "but God ?" Ah Sir, I now begin to think that you are right. But, Sir, although I begin to think that there is a God, I cannot believe that the person you told me of yesterday was the Son of God. I think that all that is written concerning his miracles is untrue. I will never believe that he performed miracles, I would rather say that all the apostles and disciples were liars. "My good man," said the clergyman, "you err not knowing the Scriptures. Do you believe that Mount Vesuvius is subject to eruptions? Do you not see various things around you which seem wonderful and unaccountable, things which appear directly in opposition to nature?" I own I do, Sir. "Well then why should you not believe a miracle? the eruption of Vesuvius is a miracle to us. Various things in astronomy are miracles to us. a miracle is any sensible deviation, or seeming contradiction to the laws of nature, and these things which I have mentioned are so likewise. Therefore, we have no right to question Christ's power in performing miracles, and, if so, we must own him to be God, for who but God can alter the course of nature?" 'I am wrong," said the dying man, "I feel that I am wrong." Pray, call to-morrow, Sir.

66

For

The clergyman left him a bible, which the man read with great attention, and he was much pleased when the clergyman called the next day. "I am a great sinner," said the dying man. this book told me to flee to Christ for refuge. I have been praying earnestly all night, and I thought much upon

the words, 'Though your sins be as scarlet they shall be white as snow.'" This ambassador of Christ paid him several visits after this, and found him steadily advancing in grace and knowledge. "I am going, Sir," said he, one evening, when the clergyman was sitting near him, "I am going, I feel that I shall not have many hours to live, but I shall die happy, for I feel a lively hope of forgiveness and acceptance, although, after your first visit, I despaired of forgiveness. What a gracious God must he be, who can pardon a wretch like me, and renew me by his Holy Spirit! How can I ever be grateful enough to you for your goodness and instruction! God grant that we shall meet again to part no more, in that heavenly world where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest." hausted, and the next morning was no more.

He fell back ex

His pious family rejoiced in the infidel's conversion; they thanked their heavenly Father for His manifold goodness in plucking this brand from the burning. Thankfulness to God was the constant tenor of their thoughts when they had been instrumental in performing any good. But alas! the village was soon to sustain a heavy trial in the loss of its beloved minister. His health had been gradually declining, and Mr. Delaney was recommended by his physician to travel. He and his beloved wife had already experienced much affliction in the loss of two children, who had been taken from them in the prime of life by scarlet fever. One only was left to them, but she was one who could make any one happy. Her name was Elinor, a fair girl of seventeen, almost entirely removed from society; accustomed to none of its vanities, and quite unconscious of her own loveliness. But though she herself knew not that she was beautiful, her black flowing hair, dark blue eyes, smiling lips, and arched eyebrows, all conspired with her finely rounded figure to render her an object of admiration. But she had other value besides her personal appearance; she possessed an amiable temper, kind disposition, and Christian feeling towards all. Mrs. Delaney was beloved by all who knew her. Of Mr. Delaney we have already said enough.

A melancholy day was that which saw them leave a house endeared to them by every thing good and happy. They knew not whether they should ever return to it. What chiefly distressed them was the sight of several of their parishioners weeping as the carriage left the dwelling. Many an old friend did Elinor discern as she stepped into the carriage. The aged, middle-aged, and young, were all congregated there. To see the poor old creatures, some on crutches, some bent down with age, lowering their heads to them as they seated themselves in the carriage, while the wind blew about their hoary locks; and the little children whom they had educated at the Sunday-school, and who appeared quite inconsolable at their loss, was a sight too much for them. They were going to drive off, when Mr. Delaney told the post-boy to wait, and he essayed to address them. "My beloved friends," said he, "the scene which now presents itself almost unnerves me. I am, I fear, going to take a final farewell of you all. My heart is full, I cannot say more. God bless and keep you. Adieu, remember your old minister." The carriage drove on, and Elinor could hear the sighs and wailings of her father's parishioners as they left the house. "Did he," said she to herself, "did he say 'I shall see you no more?' Oh no, he could not have said so; yet methinks I hear those words trembling in my ears. Oh! that it may not come to pass! Grant, O gracious God, restoration my beloved father's health. Yet not my will, but Thine be done."

to

Mr. Delaney spoke not for some miles, his heart was too full. As he passed through the village he saw many cottages where he had been a constant visitor; in every one of them had he preached the glad tidings of salvation, though sometimes unsuccessfully. Here was presented to his view the house where the converted infidel died; in another place was the house in which he had visited for years, and where a believer had died only a few weeks back. Presently he passed the cottage which he used to designate the happy cottage. These things overpowed him; he wept in silence, and made his complaint known unto God. They continued to travel all that day and part of the next, till they arrived in London, from which place Mr. Delaney's health would not allow him to proceed for some days. When at length he did proceed, he became more reconciled to the change. Hismind began to grow less oppressed, and he conversed more freely with Mrs. Delaney and Elinor on various topics. That evening they arrived at Dover, and viewed with delight the scenery around; the blue dashing waves, and the tremendous cliffs. They proceeded from Dover to Calais. It was not their intention to stay in France, but to go on into Italy—they accordingly crossed the Alps for that purpose. How enchanted was Elinor with all the scenery-those lofty mountains raising themselves to heaven, and mocking, as it were, the helplessness of man, who is lost in wonder at the scene. The light Italian skies stretching over boundless expanse, the lovely weather-all seemed made to render them happy. What a heaven might be made of this earth, thought Mr. Delaney, if all were peaceful and contented; if all served and loved God, as they should do. Elinor frequently alighted from the carriage with her father and mother, and wandered alone enjoying the scenery. She possessed a sensitive mind-always alive to the beauties of nature. And who does not admire this wonderful work of God? Who does not view with delight the lovely scenes of nature, and feel his whole soul glorify God? Often did Elinor and her parents seat themselves down under some knoll of trees, viewing the boundless expanse before them, and wondering at the inscrutable wisdom of the Almighty. Oh! how refreshing, how enlivening, to one's mind is it to think on these great works of God. What human hand, thought they, could have formed those mighty Alps we have just crossed, or made that lovely country Italy?

But Elinor had to be yet more interested. They merely staid in Venice for a day or two, and went on to Rome, intending, however, to return to Venice. They were delighted with the wonders of Rome; and after having surveyed all that was to be seen there, they went back to Venice. Venice, lovely Venice! rendered almost enchanting by that beautiful gulf. Elinor expressed a hope that her father intended to stay there. "I do, my child," returned Mr. Delaney, "and I hope after a few months to return to England, and recover both in mind and in body." Ah, vain, flattering hope! what wilt thou not at times make us believe! Deceitful, yet pleasing hope, pervades the whole of mankind. Does not the debtor rotting in his prison breathe out that gentle word hope? Does not the exile from his country hope that time will restore him to his beloved land? Yes, and sometimes they are right in hoping, in expecting help? Above all, does not the sinner even in his last moments dare to hope, to hope firmly in his Redeemer? Yes, and help arrives for him. He is pardoned, his name is blotted out from the book of death, and registered in the book of life.