"At ease ye are no thorn's beneath your feet, and so ye think the rough way smooth;"

But now the tried one speaks-a fellow sufferer tells— And these my lowly flowers are culled from adversity's wayside;

No culture do they show-no beauty do they bear-no imagery of mind,

Save the tracings of God's hand in a hard and barren soil,
Where the diggings of affliction brought forth ardent prayer:
And prayer in His mercy hath yielded precious fruit-
A lively Faith and Hope, the buds of Love and Peace,
Sweet flowers that will not wither, honied fruits that cannot
cloy;

And the blessing that availeth in all lowliness is sought,
That these feeble, faint portrayings may stimulate to seek
The germinings of Paradise-the fruitery of Eden.
Then take them as they are-the simple musings of a mind
By sorrow's tear brought low-by heavenly grace upheld :
If aught there seem of good, no merit can I claim-
"T is the gift of God in Him, who died for sinners' wealth.

AN

INVALID'S PASTIME.

TO THE REV. J. ROWLEY, M. A.

"Oh Lord, in thee have I trusted, let me never be confounded."-TE DEUM LAUDAMUS.

THOUGH time has pass'd, those solemn sounds
Still linger on mine ear:
That thrilling, deep, all-speaking tone

Of fervent faith and pray'r.

As now I lonely read, they bring
A rainbow in the eye,
Reflected smile on glist'ning tear,
With echo and with sigh.

A smile-from kindness deeply felt,
A tear-in thanks sincere,

An echo-that that pray'r redound
When all is fading here.

A sigh-that voice no more is heard

In blessing on my head;

That now no more, within my room,
Thou break'st a Saviour's bread.

That Saviour-Lord, who is thy trust, Thy staff, thy hope, thy King: That Saviour, whom I heard thee teach Ere life was in its spring.

Thine, 'with one other hand, the seeds
Of heav'nly truth did plant;
And, 'neath a third, the Lord of Love
Did precious increase grant.

Thou oft hast water'd and refresh'd,
Oft stay'd the starting tear :
And, oh! may now no thorn arise
On thy short pathway here;

Serenely still, in peace and trust,
Thine evening's sun go down;
And faith's bright star, in Jordan's flood,
Reflect thy heav'nly crown.

All-glorious will thy spirit rise,
All-perfect, and all-just;

For none

"confounded" e'er shall be,

Who make the Lord their trust.

Should'st thou depart ere I be call'd,
To mourn thee will be mine-
To shed for Friend, in adverse hour,
The tear at mem'ry's shrine.

Accept, lov'd Pastor, aged saint,
The off'ring low I bring,

Nor spurn the tribute and the pray'r
From gratitude that spring.

"They that trust in the Lord shall be as mount Zion, which cannot be removed, but abideth for ever."

"DEPRESSUS EXTOLLER."

"The oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness."-Is. lxi. 3.

I CANNOT write, as many do,

Of girlhood's joyous glee :

There were no May-flow'rs in my path,
No spring of life for me.

I cannot mourn the days by-gone-
Youth's pleasures as they past;
For, in their sadly shaded course,
No sunny spots were cast.

I cannot tell of childhood's hours,
The heart all gay and free—

There was no time when thought and care
Were yet unknown to me.

But I can tell of after days,

When grief its task had done;
And, by the Spirit's gentle aid,
The work of peace begun.

Then came a soft, a radiant light,
All-gladd'ning and divine-

A faith, a trust in Jesus' love,
And happiness was mine;

Surpassing all the heart conceiv'd
Of youthful pleasures free:
Bright halo round my darken'd path-
Heav'n's Oil of Joy for me!

REGENERATION.

"The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so is every one that is born of the Spirit."-JOHN iii. 8.

SAY not that we cannot tell when we are born again, Say not that we do not know when God hath made us His.

The wind bloweth where it listeth, so is the Spirit's breath :

We know not whence nor whither-we cannot trace its source;

But there are markings by the way which tell us of its track