teacher, who had not only taught them how to live for Christ, but who was willing for their sakes and for Christ's, to seal his teachings with his blood. Let the place where his bones repose be honored for ever; "for the righteous shall be held in everlasting remembrance."

Often, among the ancient Christians, on the anniversary of the death of some eminent saints, a congregation was formed around their graves, exhortations to faithfulness were heard, and the Lord's supper was celebrated, in the consciousness of an inseparable mystical union in Christ, with those who had died as his faithful witnesses. Whether this is all to be defended and practised when times and modes have changed, we need not now determine. That it deserves our admiration more than that cold neglect of the bodies of the dead which we sometimes witness in our time, must be plain to all. It serves to show the strong conviction which reigned in their bosoms, that the bodies of the dead ought to be laid aside decently, and cared for piously, as peculiar treasures to be called for again in due time. The question is not whether we manifest the same spirit in the same way, but whether that spirit is yet among us at all, and whether it is not highly proper that it should be

COMMUNION SABBATH.

BY THE EDITOR.

TO-DAY the holy communion is to be administered. What an interesting day what a solemn, yet joyful occasion! What a penitential sadness steals over my spirit. My heart remembers my sins before the cross. The view of my dying Lord causes my spirit to tremble, and a strange sadness, for a moment, fills my soul. But how soon it is again sweetly driven away; and every dark fear that comes to rest upon my heart, flies before the tender melting look of the sufferer, like as shadows are chased before the advancing sunlight upon the landscape in Autumn. Faith has carried me back over many centuries. Faith has set aside time and space. Faith brings me into the presence of that awfully glorious scene, where the sinless one bore my sins in His own body upon the tree. Faith makes it all real to me-it hears the groans, sees the agony that works upon his sacred brow, and the purple drops that fall from his hands, his feet, his side.

For me these pangs his soul assail,

For me this death is borne;
My sins gave sharpness to the nail,
And pointed every thorn.

Love draws me to the cross. Love longs after communion with the unseen, fairest among ten thousand. Love finds rest and peace in joyful communion with Him who makes us one with Himself, and the Father, in one spirit. Love hears Him say: He that eateth my flesh, and drinketh my blood, dwelleth in me, and I in him. Love constrains me this day.

O for such love let rocks and hills,

Their lasting silence break;

And all harmonious human tongues

The Saviour's praises speak.

Hope points upward, and promises to me the full fruition of what is here begun. Hope waits, praying and praising, till I drink anew of the fruit of the vine with Him in his father's kingdom. Hope cheers every fainting and feeble energy, and gently reproves every dull delay. Hope anchors the soul in the eternal haven of peace.

A hope so much divine

May trials well endure:

And cleanse the heart from flesh and sin,
As Christ the Lord is pure.

I am to remember the sufferer always, but especially on this day. The bread is to show me His broken body-the wine is to set before mine eyes his shed blood. In my heart the whole scene of his sufferings is to be reproduced; and I am to feel all the tenderness, and sympathy, and sacred love which was felt by John and the Mary who stood near Himand gazed upon the cross. But of myself I cannot do it. Grace must do it the same love which died for me must touch my heart and make it live. He has touched me with his power of love. To him be grati

tude and praise forever.

Why was I made to hear thy voice

And enter while there's room;

While thousands make a wretched choice

And rather starve than come.

O the cross-what a melting power there is in the cross. That which was the symbol of shame, has become the symbol of glory. God forbid that I should glory save in the cross, by which the world is crucified unto me, and I am crucified unto the world. As when the sufferer hung upon it so still, let all the world veil itself in darkness before the cross-and when all is dark, let that alone be bright in the midst. This is the star of hope to guide weary wanderers home.

Sweet the moments, rich in blessing,
Which before the cross I spend ;
Life and health, and peace possessing
From the sinner's dying friend.

Here I'll sit, for ever viewing

Mercy's streams, in streams of blood;

Previous drops my soul bedewing,

Plead and claim my peace with God.

Here it is I find my heaven,

While upon the Lamb I gaze;

Here I see my sins forgiven,

Lost in wonder, love and praise.

May I still enjoy this feeling,

In all need to Jesus go;

Prove his blood each day more healing,
And himself more deeply know.

I LIKE that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls
The burial ground God's Acre ! it is just;
It consecrates each grave within its walls,
And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust.

WILLIAM FALCONER.

WILLIAM FALCONER, one of the most truthful "poets of the sea,” was the son of a poor Edinburgh barber. He was born in 1730. Two other children, who with himself made up the family of his father, were deaf and dumb. His education, as he himself said, was confined to reading, writing, and a little arithmetic; but he eagerly grasped after whatever knowledge lay in his way. He was, however, early shut out from even his small opportunities for learning, by being sent to sea on board a Leith merchant ship. To this, he is supposed to refer in a passage in one of his poems.

"On him fair Science dawn'd in happier hour,
Awakening into bloom young Faney's flower;
But soon adversity, with freezing blast,

The blossom wither'd, and the dawn o'ercast,
Forlorn of heart, and by severe decree,

Condemn'd reluctant to the faithless sea."

Before he was eighteen years of age, he had risen to the rank of second mate in the Britannia, a vessel engaged in the Levant trade. In one of his voyages in this vessel, he was shipwrecked off Cape Colonna, in Greece; and it is here that he lays the scene of "The Shipwreck," the poem by which he will long be remembered. In 1757, he was promoted to the Ramilies man-of-war; and as an opportunity was here afforded of improving his literary taste, he is said to have studied with great assiduity. Certain it is that he gained a very good knowledge of the French, Spanish, and Italian languages, and learned something of the German. In the Ramilies, he was subjected to a disaster of more magnitude even than his former shipwreck. While making for Plymouth, the ship struck upon the shore; and of a crew of 734 men, only 26 escaped with their lives; among these was the poet. He had already given some evidence of poetic talent, and, two years after this, in 1762, he published the Shipwreck, which he dedicated to the Duke of York. It was subsequently greatly enlarged and improved, and has taken rank among the classical poems of England. Few poets have had such opportunities for observation of nautical life as Falconer enjoyed, and fewer still have had the experience which would enable them to commemorate so fearful a disaster.

The poem seems to be a picture of real life. The sights and sounds of the sea the gentle calm at sunset, when the ocean

"Glows in the west, a sea of living gold!"—

the still evening-the silent, sombre midnight-the stories and songs of the sailors-the call of the boatswain-the sudden rise of the tempest, the groaning, heaving, straining, of the storm-driven ship, and its final destruction upon the romantic promontory of old Sunium-these are but a few of the points to which the genius of the poet directs the mind of the reader. The scene of the poem is not among the least happy circumstances of the work. It is laid in one of the most charming portions of the shore of a country whose bare name is suggestive of almost all that is beautiful or profound in ancient literature and art, and of

:

much that is exciting in the history of modern freedom. "In all Attica," says Byron, "if we except Athens itself and Marathon, there is no scene more interesting than Cape Colonna. To the antiquary and artist, sixteen columns [the remains of an ancient temple] are an inexhaustible source of observation and design to the philosopher, the supposed scene of some of Plato's conversations will not be unwelcome; and the traveler will be struck with the beauty of the prospect over 'isles that crown the Ægean deep;' but for an Englishman, Colonna has yet an additional interest, as the actual spot of Falconer's Shipwreck. Pallas and Plato are forgotten in the recollection of Falconer and Campbell'Here in the dead of night, by Lonna's steep,

The seaman's cry was heard along the deep.'

A peculiarity of this poem is, that, while its poetic merits are great, it is a safe guide to practical seamen. It shows a thorough acquaintance with the art of navigation, and is replete with directions which have been approved by naval officers of distinguished character. Falconer was himself a thorough seaman. The "Shipwreck," in the words of one of his biographers, "is of inestimable value to this country, since it contains within itself the rudiments of navigation; if not sufficient to form a complete seaman, it may certainly be considered as the grammar of his professional science. I have heard many experienced officers declare, that the rules and maxims delivered in this poem, for the conduct of a ship in the most perilous emergency, form the best, indeed the only opinions which a skilful mariner should adopt." This very characteristic, which adds much to the reality of the scene described, has been thought to detract a little from the interest with which a landsman would read the poem. To his ears, "bow-lines" and "clue-lines," "cluegarnets," sound technical and barbarous, while to the sailor they afford so many proofs of the capacity of the poet, and the truth of his story. We shall give a few quotations to show the character of the poem. He thus introduces the doomed vessel to the reader :

"A ship from Egypt, o'er the deep impell'd
By guiding winds, her course for Venice held;
Of famed Britanna were the gallant crew,
And from that isle her name the vessel drew.
* * * * * * *

Thrice had the sun, to rule the varying year,
Across the equator roll'd his flaming sphere,
Since last the vessel spread her ample sail
From Albion's coast, obsequious to the gale.
She o'er the spacious flood, from shore to shore,
Unwearying, wafted her commercial store.
The richest ports of Afric she had view'd,
Thence to fair Italy her course pursued ;
Had left behind Trinacria's burning isle,
And visited the margin of the Nile.

And now that winter deepens round the pole,
The circling voyage hastens to its goal.
They, blind to Fate's inevitable law,
No dark event to blast their hopes, foresaw;
But from gay Venice soon expect to steer
For Britain's coast, and dread no perils near."

The ship arrives at Candia, evening come on, and midnight :—

Deeep midnight now involves the livid skies,
While infant breezes from the shore arise;

Now Morn, her lamp pale glimmering on the sight,

Scatter'd before her van reluctant Night.

She comes not in refulgent pomp arrayed,
But sternly frowning, wrapt in sullen shade.
Above incumbent vapors, Ida's height-
Tremendous rock! emerges on the sight.
North-east the guardian isle of Standia lies,
And westward Freschin's woody capes arise.
With winning postures, now the wanton sails
Spread all their snares to charm th' inconstant gales;
The swelling stud-sails now their wings extend,
Then stay-sails sidelong to the breeze ascend.
While all to court the wandering breeze are placed;
With yards now thwarting, now obliquely braced."

The ship at last leaves the harbor, and sails away.

"The native, while the ship departs the land,
Ashore with admiration gazing stand.

Majestically slow, before the breeze,

In silent pomp she marches on the seas;

Her milk-white bottom casts a softer gleam,

While trembling through the green translucent stream.

The wales, that close above in contrast shone,

Clasp the long fabric with a jetty zone.

Britannia, riding awful on the prow,

Gazed o'er the vassal wave that roll'd below;
Where'er she moved, the vassal waves were seen

To yield obsequious, and confess their queen.

High o'er the poop, the fluttering wings unfurl'd
Th' imperial flag that rules the watery world.
Deep blushing armours all the tops invest,

And warlike trophies either quarter drest:

Then tower'd the masts: the canvass swell'd on high;

And waving streamers floated in the sky.

Thus the rich vessel moves in trim array,

Like some fair virgin on her bridal day.

Thus, like a swan she cleaves the watery plain :
The pride and wonder of the Egean main."

Their hopes of a prosperous voyage were soon shaken.

The breeze

freshens into a gale; the clouds become blacker and blacker; the mainsail splits; the crew are all upon deck, and all anxious.

"His race perform'd, the sacred lamp of day
Now dipt in western clouds his parting ray;
His sick ning fires, half-lost in ambient haze,
Refract along the dusk a crimson blaze;
Till deep immerged the languid orb declines,
And now to cheerless night the sky resigns!
Sad evening's hour, how different from the past!

No flaming pomp, no blushing glories cast;

No ray of friendly light is seen around;

The moon and stars in hopeless shade are drown'd."

To relieve the laboring vessel, the guns are thrown overboard; but the relief is but temporary. She springs a leak, all hands man the pumps, but the leak gaius upon them. The mizen-mast is cut away. Still the storm swept them along, by "Falconera's rocky height," and towards the main land of Greece itself.