More blest than man can e'er conceive,
Than trembling faith can dare believe,
Till the enraptured soul receive

Her great reward.

Unmeet is such a harp as mine

For themes so glorious, so divine,

But oh, what hopes, what joys are thine,

Dear Christian friend!

How peaceful should thy mind become,
Fixed on thy bright celestial home:
Banished be all distress and gloom,

From souls like thine!

Oh, let it to the world appear

How blest are Christians, even here;
For them, there can be nought to fear

In life or death.

Their griefs are blest, their sins forgiven, And in each present joy is given

A foretaste of those joys in heaven

Which cannot fade.

Then faint not, fear not, happy friend,
Be strong, be steadfast to the end,
He whom thou trustest will defend

The soul He loves.

To a Ponng Friend on her Favourite Text.

He will complete the work begun,
Will be thy Guide, thy Shield, thy Sun,
Till the immortal prize is won,

The conqueror's crown.

Then may we dwell apart no more,
But with one voice, one heart, adore
That spotless Saviour, whom before
Unseen we loved.

To a Young Friend on her Favourite Text.

"GOD IS LOVE."

WHEN flowery Spring pours forth her treasures,
Beneath-around-above-

Sweet Mary, let these vernal pleasures
Remind thee "God is love!"

And as the changing seasons vary,

Where'er thy footsteps rove,

Let each successive charm, my Mary,
Repeat that "God is love!"

To a Young Friend on her Favourite Text.

Whether thine heart beat high with gladness, And blest thy moments prove,

Or when it droops through pain and sadness
Still, Mary, "God is love!"

If any anxious thought distress thee,
Will He that thought reprove?

Will He refuse to guide and bless thee?
No, Mary, "God is love!"

When at His footstool lowly bending,
Thy prayers ascend above,

Is there no gracious ear attending?
Yes, Mary, "God is love!"

What did her peaceful deathbed teach thee,
Who triumphs now above?
Mary! did no soft accent reach thee,
That whispered, "God is love!"

Now with her harp she stands before Him
Circling His throne above,

And with the myriads who adore Him,
Proclaims that "God is love!"

Here, we but faintly can discern it,
There, will the veil remove;
There, all shall fully, sweetly learn it,
And sing that "God is love!"

1 Mrs. Cunningham, who died a short time before.

And when thy guardian angels carry
Thee to that world above,

Thou, at thy Saviour's feet, my Mary,
Wilt know that "God is love!"

Thoughts of Heaven.

OH, thou glorious world unseen,
Bathed in purest light serene,
Where no mist obscures the ray,
Where no night cuts short the day,
Could I not in this dark vale
From afar thy confines hail,

All too sad this earth would be

Life too desolate for me.

World of beauty! where each sight
Wakens ever new delight:

World of peace! where every sound
Breathes a holy influence round;

World of purity! wherein

Ne'er has entered taint of sin,

Wearily drag on the hours

Till I reach thy blissful bowers.

World of love! where every eye
Beams with purest sympathy!
Where no harsh unhallowed word,
Slander, discord can be heard;
None be wounded, none alone,
Love to each by all is shown,
And, as one blest family,
All in sweet accord agree.

World of health! where pale decay Wastes no youthful bloom away

Where no tear was ever shed

O'er a loved one's dying bed;

Where infirmity and age

Cause the heart no sad presage,

And the thought of death's dark goal

Casts no shadow o'er the soul.

World of perfect endless joy!
Of unwearied high employ !
All the loved and lost restored,
Ceaseless songs melodious poured:
Every earthly grief and care

Banished from remembrance there;
And fresh knowledge hourly given
From the boundless shores of heaven.