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POETRY.

A GUARDIAN ANGEL'S SONG.
THERE's a region beyond the bright beautiful sky,
Where spirits most happy in purity dwell,
Where sorrow's sad tear never veileth the eye,
And the joy and the bliss are unspeakable,
For ever, for ever,

The blessed rejoice by love's heavenly river!
That land of pure light is my glorious home,
From its pleasures I fly on my radiant wings,
I leave them unsighed for, as gladly I come,
To enliven poor man in his sorrowings;
I ne'er grieve, I ne'er grieve,

When my Sovereign commands me those mansions to leave.

I

pour forth to your bosom the soothing balm,
The dearly-prized healing sweet peace bestows,
The passion's wild fury and storm it can calm,
As when oil on the turbulent water flows;
To the breast, to the breast,

Worn with sorrow and care I bring comfort and rest.

When borne down by the pressure of strong disease,
And your once joyous spirits with health have fled,

The pangs of your anguish I fly to ease,

And I cheer from its drooping the aching head;
And I woo, and I woo,

The return of the blessings of health to you.

And over the face of affection I throw,

When all brightly it beams with the love of the heart,

A beauty seraphic-a radiant glow,

Oh, it never was caught by the pencil of art;
I rejoice, I rejoice,

To hear the blest sound of sincerity's voice!

If false friends disperse at the blast of the storm,

When ruin triumphantly drives you from home,
And your hearth should be dark with a stranger's form,
I'm your solace, I'm with you wherever you roam;
You cannot, you shall not,

In pain or misfortune by me be forgot.

When the still evening of life is declining,

And Death stealeth towards you in the shadows of night, Then I am with you the darkness still cheering,

I point to the gospel's eternal light,
From the tomb, from the tomb,

Its glory dispelleth doubt's terrible gloom.

And though I am happy beyond what you know,
And perfect the bliss that I ever enjɔy,

I feel when I cannot diminish your wo,
'Tis a moment of grief without sin's alloy;
For I see, for I see,

'Twill work for your good when in heav'n you shall be.

I'll ne'er forsake you-no, never-no, never,

Shall on earth be dissolv'd our unseen communion,
Though death seems a moment the tie to sever,
It does but ensure a still closer union;

And above, and above,

No changes shall mar our bright season of love!

T. M. B.

FLOWERY PREACHERS.

CALM was the eve-the bright autumnal sun
His warm diurnal course had almost run,
And driving gently down the slope of day,
He touch'd with gold each object in his way-
The garden's fragrant tenants just had given
Their wonted tribute of perfume to heaven;
And Nature's evening hymn (which peaceful, blest,
She always offers e'er she sinks to rest)
Was joined by airy zephyr's softest sigh,
And feather'd songsters' sweetest minstrelsy.

And could, in such a peaceful, holy hour,
One soul be found unconscious of its pow'r?
A bosom bleeding, fainting, and forlorn,
By grief and care's rude grasp alternate torn?
O yes, indeed! I saw a widow there-
Before marched Care, behind her lurk'd Despair—
She saw no bounteous Sun, heard no sweet hymn,
Her ears were clos'd, and her sad eyes were dim!

Long did she pace the garden's flowery mound,
But neither peace nor consolation found,
When straight beside the path she made her way,
A bed of beauteous china-astars lay;

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She gave a downcast look,-the conscious flowers,
For so they seemed, assumed uncommon powers;
And peeping up their shining deep-fring'd eyes,
The widow thought they look'd towards the skies;
In words like these did they their silence break—
The widow thought at least she heard them speak :
Dejected mourner! cease thy faithless cares,
"Or at the footstool leave them with thy pray'rs;
"Behold our varied vestures, how they shine
"With thousand shades, in-wrought by skill divine!
"What but a power, and wisdom all-complete,
"A love and condescension quite as great,
"Could form, and give the glorious tints you see,
"And decorate such worthless things as we!
"Had you our sightless, shapeless roots survey'd,
"Ere in the genial earth's embraces laid,

Dared you have hoped such mighty art and care "Should have combin'd to make us what we are? "Much less would you have ventured to have said "Which should prove strongest, fairest of the bed— "These are more strong and bright, those weak and small, "But what of that? Love careth for us all

"Doth God take care for flowers? O, what are we,

"The tallest, fairest, when compared with thee?

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O, were thine eyes but opened! could'st thou look "Into one page of his mysterious book, "Thou'dst see the well-drawn plan, the firm decree "That fixed thy bounds, and what thy cares should be, "For God works not at random-wise design,

"Marks out the lot of flow'rs, and marks out thine!

"Go, and no more be faithless-but believe,

“All that is really good, thou shalt receive.”

The widow heard, and lifted up her eyes,
Shining through tears with pleasure and surprize;
Instructed, comforted, she homeward sped,
And her foreboding, and despair had fled.

B. B. B.

THE EPHEMERON FLY.

SEE yon light aerial thing

Sporting with small transparent wing—
See it glide o'er the water's face,
And shape the swift and mazy race-
With legs and wings it speeds its way;
Now it is here and now away.

Put forth your hand, with all your might!
Strain your best nerve to catch the sprite !
See here it is-see there 'tis now:
'Tis under the willow's weeping bough!-
Ah! give it up-in vain you try;
'Tis vain to chace the ephemeron fly.

Short is the time this insect lives;
And not one setting sun survives.
Then see it droop those wings so bright;
And born since morning, fall ere night.
With its last and tiny breath,
When ling'ring on the verge of death-
O mingle your condoling sigh,
And shed the tear of sympathy-
Grieve that an object late so gay

Escaped from death but one short day.

Ye happy inmates of the sky,
Bless'd dwellers in eternity;

Who mark'd our system first unfold-
Worlds on their rapid axes roll'd:

Who witness'd time first spread his wings,
To take his rule o'er earthly things-
Say how mortals seem to you;

How in your angelic view

Our strength and boasted might appears,
Our length of days, our ages, years—

Do we appear in better light

Than men esteem this water sprite?
Say, happy inmates of the sky,
Ye dwellers in eternity,

When mortals press the bed of death
And lab'ring draw their latest breath;
Can ye a pitying sigh bestow?
Can ye be touch'd by human woe?

X.

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