not pass it over; as though it were a slight offence;-but take warning, and "Beware of covetousness!" Lest the things, their souls lusted after, should sink them, with the merciless glutton,- to behold the boundless riches, and unfading treasures of Heaven;-sold for very-vanity, and so, at last, -gone forever. -- MOURNERS, in towns and cities, (vast numbers) that go about the streets; have seen their households, torn asunder! Awful separations have been made! A bosom friend is gone; a lovely child, an indulgent parent, a kind brother, -and "All, is gloomy solitude!" "All, is as death!" "The full-strown, silent grave yard," says the parent, the mother, contains all, that was once dear to me, below!" " "The sun,, of my earthly joys has gone down, never to rise again!"- Mourner, "hope thou in God, and thou shall yet praise Him!" He doth not willingly afflict, nor grieve the children of men, but to make them partakers, of far superior comforts. He hath given you thus far, support; that your body is out of the grave;- and your soul is out of Hell. Be thankful, for the least of His mercies:- He still, careth for you. The loss of your friends, you deeply deplore;-but remember, if they died in Christ,- To die was gain. If you had not that evidence, of their interest in the Lord Jesus, that you desired;-you know not, what mighty change was wrought in them, at the last hour; or even, with the last expiring breath. The pains, intolerable, they then endured,-which were of short duration,- —were perhaps the last, the only suffering, they will ever know. You are left, behind, desolate to weep; but dry your tears. Be dilligent, to have your work done, below-and well done. Then in a little while,-though your kindred, return not to you, you will surely go to them:- --And in-Salem's fair, and happy land; HYMN, Written by the late Bishop of Calcutta, and sung at Whittington Church, (England) on occasion of his preaching there, for the "Church Mission-ary Society," 1820. 1. From, Greenland's Icy Mountains; 2. (What, though, the spicy breezes, In vain, with lavish kindness, 3. Shall we, whose souls are lighted, The lamp of life, deny? 4. Waft, waft, ye winds, His story, Not at Home. THE CHRISTIAN. An heir of glory, sav'd by grace, But pressing on, to God's right hand. I'm not at home amidst the toys, I'm not at home-shall I complain I'm not at home--then all I meet I'm not at home, but going hence, I'm not at home-then whither bound? I'm not at home, but passing on; I'm not at home, this fact destroys My highest hopes, my fancied joys Earth's vanities, have won my heart, I'm not at home, nor is my stay I'm not at home---O could I see THE CHRISTIAN'S SWEET HOME. While through this world of care and strife, with anxious steps we roam, Home! sweet Home! Oh, for that Heav'nly House above, our everlasting Home! There, with the family and friends of Jesus, late below, We shall surround the glorious Throne, his matchless praise to show; The burden of our song will be "He hath done all things well." How transient and unpleasant our stay below the skies! Where ev'ry day, and ev'ry hour,-fresh troubles will arise! Which makes us quite impatient, to quit this house of clay, And take our flight, with dove-like wings, to realms of cloudless-day. Home, &c. For this is not our place of rest, there's no remaining here! And longing with intense desire, our freedom to obtain, We chide the lagging wheels of Time, that we the prize may gain. Home, &e |