Oh, then we feel how empty and how vain,
Is human pleasure in its gayest dress;
We feel our sky but smiles to frown again,
And earth is not the home of happiness!
And then a sweet, pure light creeps trembling in,
Unlike romantic Fancy's frolic ray;

Which seems unnoticed on the mind to win,
With the bright promise of a better day.
It is not Hope-at least, not that which says
That the loved past shall in the future live,
Which like the meteor's wild illusion plays,
And points to joys it never means to give;
It is not love-for absence, time, or art,

Its soft impressions may too soon efface,
Or death's cold touch may chill the faithful heart,
Where we had fondly built our dwelling-place;
No! 'tis from worlds more bright than this below,

That trembling sunbeam draws its sacred birth, And bids the breast its own sweet comfort know, Too pure for sense! too beautiful for earth! 'Tis from those realms where we may shortly prove How bright, how pure, affection's lamp may burn; Where we may gaze upon the face we love,

Nor dread the anguish of a cold return; Where, waking memory to a second birth,

We may, untroubled, trace the path we trod, And having vainly sought for rest on earth, May find it in the bosom of our God.

(Original.)

SONNET TO THE MOON.

REV. JOHN A. LATROBE.

O THOU mild emblem of thy Maker's might, .
Weaving o'er things terrene thy silvery net,
Thou know'st thine hour to rise, and shine, and set,
Decreed comptroller of the realms of night!
Thou shin'st, as when, all clad in robe of light,

Thy full-orbed eye beheld the earth as yet
Unstained with sin, with tears of woe unwet-
Thou art, as thou wert then, as fair, as bright!
Prompt in obedience, as in glory deck'd,

Thou steppest forth, when strikes the given hour, And still with swerveless foot ascend'st the skyWhile man, fall'n man, created to reflect

Jehovah's glory as Jehovah's power,

Shines not or like an earthborn gleam, flits by.

JERUSALEM.

BISHOP HEBER.

JERUSALEM! JERUSALEM! enthroned once on high,
Thou favoured home of God on earth, thou heaven below

the sky!

Now brought to bondage with thy sons, a curse and grief

to see;

Jerusalem! Jerusalem! our tears shall flow for thee!

Oh! hadst thou known thy day of grace, and flock'd beneath the wing

Of Him who call'd thee lovingly, thine own anointed King, Then had the tribes of all the earth gone up thy pomp to

see,

And glory dwelt within thy gates, and all thy sons been free!

And who art thou that mournest me? replied the ruin

grey,

And fear'st not rather that thyself may prove a castaway? I am a dried and abject branch; my place is given to thee, But woe to every barren graft of thy wild olive-tree!

Our day of grace is sunk in night, our time of mercy spent, For heavy was my children's crime, and strange their

punishment;

Yet gaze not idly on our fall, but, sinner, warned be

Who spared not His chosen seed may send His wrath on thee!

Our day of grace is sunk in night, thy noon is in its prime,
O turn and seek thy Saviour's face in this accepted time;
So, Gentile, may Jerusalem a lesson prove to thee,
And in the New Jerusalem thy home for ever be!

(Original.)

OUR FATHER'S HOUSE.

A. R. C.

OUR Father's House! oh, blessed sound!
Then Christians have a home!

Though strangers on this earthly ground,
There is a rest to come.

Our Father's House!

Then we shall meet

Beyond this scene of strife,

And rest our worn and weary feet

Beside the stream of life.

Our Father's House! The thought is blest,

No griefs the blessed share;

There cannot be a lonely breast,

A wounded spirit there!

Our Father's House! Ah! who may tell

What glory lies in store,

How high the tides of rapture swell

On that celestial shore!