THE DAY OF TRIAL.

WHEN adverse winds and waves arise,
And in my heart despondence sighs;
When life her throng of cares reveals,
And weakness o'er my spirit steals,
Grateful I hear the kind decree
That as my day my strength shall be.

When with sad footstep memory roves,
Mid smitten joys and buried loves;
When sleep my tearful pillow flies,
And dewy morning drinks my sighs,
Still to the promise will I flee
That as my day my strength shall be.

One trial more must yet be past,
One pang-the keenest and the last;
And when with brow convulsed and pale,
My feeble quivering heartstrings fail,
Oh! may my soul, adoring, see
That as her day her strength shall be!
MRS. SIGOURNEY.

THE RESURRECTION OF CHRIST.

O WHAT a night was that which wrapt
The heathen world in gloom!

O what a Sun which broke this day
Triumphant from the tomb!

The powers of darkness leagued in vain To bind our Lord in death;

He shook their kingdom when he fell, By his expiring breath.

And now his conquering chariot-wheels
Ascend the lofty skies :
Broken beneath his powerful cross,
Death's iron sceptre lies.

This day be grateful homage paid,
And loud hosannas sung;
Let gladness dwell in every heart,
And praise on every tongue.

Ten thousand various lips shall join
To hail this happy morn;

Which scatters blessings from its wings
On nations yet unborn.

THE MOLE-HILL IN A CHURCH-YARD.

TELL me, thou dust beneath my feet,
Thou dust that once hadst breath;
Tell me how many mortals meet
In this small hill of death?

Where'er the mole turns up the ground,
My kindred earth I see;
Once every atom of the mound

Lived, breathed, and felt like me.

Through all this hillock's crumbling mould
Once the warm life-blood ran;
Here thine original behold,

And here thy ruins, man!

But see on death's o'erpowering wave

The rainbow Hope arise;

An arch of glory o'er the grave,

That bends beyond the skies.

J. MONTGOMERY.

PLEASURE.

THE branch is stooping to thy hand,
And pleasant to behold;

Yet gather not, although its fruit
Be streaked with lines of gold.

The wings of pleasure fan the bowl,
And bid it overflow,

Yet drugged with poison are its lees,
And death is found below.

SMEDLEY.

HEAVENLY ARITHMETIC.

"So teach us to number our days that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom."-Psalm xc. 12.

THE early dawning ray

Unseals my slumbering eyes;
I watch it brightening into day,
Then from my couch arise;

And muse what coming hours shall be,
And what their flight may bring to me.

But even while I muse,

Those hours are fleeting fast;
There is no pause for future views,
All, all is hurrying past:
Unceasing as a torrent's flow,

The days, and hours, and minutes go.

E'en thus the morning light

Of childhood speeds away;

And youth with all its colours bright
Rolls on to manhood's day;

And manhood's sun must set beneath
The darkness of decay and death.

And then the night shall come,
The night so still and deep;
When all within the silent tomb
Must lay them down to sleep;
And each dull heavy eye shall close,
Forgetting earth, and earthly woes.

Oh! would we sweetly rest,

When each day's toil is done-
And would we with untroubled breast,
Repose at set of sun-

Then let the swiftly rolling days
Be spent in God's appointed ways!

And would we part in peace

When life's last hour is nighBid all our doubts and terrors cease, And calmly, gently die

Then let us cling to Jesus' love,

And seek the things which are above!

Yea, let the hours be given

To Him from whom they flow; And let us raise our hearts to heaven While working here below;

So every passing day shall be
A step still nearer, Lord, to thee!