Where am I?-life's current, faintly flowing,

Brings the welcome warning of release; Struck with death, ah! whither am I going? All is well-my spirit parts in peace.

THE GRAVE.

He believeth not that he shall return out of darkness.- Job 15: 22.

THERE is a calm for those who weep;

A rest for weary pilgrims found:
They softly lie, and sweetly sleep,
Low in the ground.

The storm that wrecks the wintry sky,
No more disturbs their deep repose,
Than summer evening's latest sigh,

That shuts the rose.

I long to lay this painful head,

And aching heart, beneath the soil;
To slumber in that dreamless bed

From all my toil.

The grave that never spoke before,

Hath found at length a tongue to chide;

O, listen! I will speak no more!

Be silent, pride!

Art thou a mourner? hast thou known
The joy of innocent delights,
Endearing days forever flown,

And tranquil nights?

O, live! and deeply cherish still
The sweet remembrance of the past;
Rely on Heaven's unchanging will
For peace at last.

Though long of winds and waves the sport,
Condemned in wretchedness to roam;
Live! thou shalt reach a sheltering port,
A quiet home!

Seek the true treasure, seldom found,
Of power the fiercest griefs to calm,
And soothe the bosom's deepest wound
With heavenly balm.

Whate'er thy lot—where'er thou be -
Confess thy folly-kiss the rod;
And in thy chastening sorrows see
The hand of God.

A bruised reed he will not break,
Afflictions all his children feel;

He wounds them for his mercy's sake,
He wounds to heal!

Humbled beneath his mighty hand,
Prostrate his providence adore:
'Tis done! arise! he bids thee stand,
To fall no more.

Now traveller in the vale of tears!
To realms of everlasting light,
Through time's dark wilderness of years,
Pursue thy flight.

There is a calm for those who weep,
A rest for weary pilgrims found;
And while the mouldering ashes sleep
Low in the ground-

The soul, of origin divine,

God's glorious image freed from clay, In heaven's eternal sphere shall shine A star of day!

The sun is but a spark of fire,
A transient meteor in the sky;
The soul, immortal as its sire,

SHALL NEVER DIE!

'A BETTER COUNTRY.'

Hebrews 11: 16.

THERE is a land of pure delight,
Where saints immortal reign;
Infinite day excludes the night,
And pleasures banish pain.

Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood,
Stand dressed in living green;

So to the Jews fair Canaan stood,
While Jordan rolled between.

There everlasting spring abides,
And never fading flowers;
Death, like a narrow sea, divides
This heavenly land from ours.

But timorous mortals start, and shrink
To cross this narrow sea,
And linger shivering on the brink,
And fear to launch away.

O, could we make our doubts remove,
Those gloomy doubts that rise,
And see the Canaan that we love,
With unbeclouded eyes;

Could we but climb where Moses stood,

And view the landscape o'er,

Not Jordan's stream, nor death's cold flood,
Could fright us from the shore!

SAINTS IN HEAVEN.

What are these which are arrayed in white robes? and whence came they?-Rev. 7: 13.

WHAT are these in bright array?
This innumerable throng,
Round the altar, night and day,

Tuning their triumphant song?

'Worthy is the Lamb once slain,
Blessing, honor, glory, power,
Wisdom, riches, to obtain,
'New dominion every hour!'

These through fiery trials trod;

These from great affliction came;
Now before the throne of God,
Sealed with his eternal name,
Clad in raiment pure and white,
Victor palms in every hand,
Through their great Redeemer's might,

More than conquerors they stand.