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So when some erring brother mourns,
His recreant course, with grief severe,
Haste, and with tender accent breathe
The "Go, tell Peter," in his ear,
For angels soothe the pangs of woe

That swell when contrite tears are shed,
And pure as light, the pearl may glow
That darkest slept in ocean's bed.

Mr3 Sigourney.



"Jesus saith unto her; Mary.""- John xx. 16.

WEEPER! to thee how bright a morn was given After thy long, long vigil of despair,

When that high voice which burial rocks had


Thrill'd with immortal tones the silent air! Never did clarion's royal blast declare Such tale of victory to a breathless crowd,

As the deep sweetness of one word could bear Into thy heart of hearts, O woman! bow'd By strong affection's anguish !-one low wordMary!". and all the triumph wrung from



Was thus reveal'd! and thou that so hadst err'd, So wept, and been forgiven, in trembling faith

Didst cast thee down before th' all conquering


Awed by the mighty gift thy tears and love had


Mrs Hemans.



"Abide with us; for it is towards evening, and the day is far spent."- Luke xxiv. 29.

'T is gone, that bright and orbed blaze,
Fast fading from our wistful gaze;
Yon mantling cloud has hid from sight
The last faint pulse of quivering light.

In darkness and in weariness
The traveller on his way must press,
No gleam to watch on tree or tower,
Whiling away the lonesome hour.

Sun of my soul! Thou Saviour dear,
It is not night if Thou be near:
Oh may no earth-born clouds arise
To hide thee from thy servant's eyes.

Abide with me from morn till eve,
For without Thee I cannot live:
Abide with me when night is nigh,
For without thee I dare not die.


"Did not our heart burn within us while he talked with us by the way ?"-Luke xxiv. 32.


IT happen'd on a solemn eventide,
Soon after He that was our surety died,
Two bosom friends, each pensively inclin❜d,
The scene of all those sorrows left behind,
Sought their own village, busied as they went
In musings worthy of the great event:
They spake of him they lov'd, of him whose life,
Though blameless, had incurr'd perpetual strife,
Whose deeds had left, in spite of hostile arts,
A deep memorial graven on their hearts.
The recollection, like a vein of ore,
The farther trac'd, enrich'd them still the more ;
They thought him, and they justly thought him,


Sent to do more than he appear'd t'have done;
T'exalt a people, and to place them high
Above all else, and wonder'd he should die.

Ere yet they brought their journey to an end,
A stranger join'd them, courteous as a friend,
And ask'd them with a kind engaging air
What their affliction was, and begg'd a share.
Inform'd, he gather'd up the broken thread,
And, truth and wisdom gracing all he said,
Explain'd, illustrated, and search'd so well
The tender theme, on which they chose to dwell,
That reaching home, the night, they said, is near,
We must not now be parted, sojourn here
The new acquaintance soon became a guest,
And, made so welcome at their simple feast,
He bless'd the bread, but vanish'd at the word,
And left them both exclaiming, 'Twas the Lord!
Did not our hearts feel all he deign'd to say,
Did they not burn within us by the way?




HATH not thy heart within thee burn'd
At evening's calm and holy hour,
As if its inmost depths discerned
The presence of a loftier power?

Hast thou not heard, 'mid forest glades, While ancient rivers murmured by,

A voice from forth the eternal shades,
That spake a present Deity?

And as, upon the sacred page,
Thine eye in rapt attention turn’d
O'er records of a holier age,
Hath not thy heart within thee burned?

It was the voice of God, that spake
In silence to thy silent heart;
And bade each worthier thought awake,
And every dream of earth depart.

Voice of our God, oh yet be near!
In low, sweet accents whisper peace:
Direct us on our pathway here,
Then bid in heaven our wanderings cease.

S. G. Bulfinch.


"The Lord is risen indeed."—Luke xxiv. 34.

'THE Lord is risen indeed :'
And are the tidings true?

Yes, we beheld the Saviour bleed,
And saw him living too.

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