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“IN ALL LABOR THERE IS PROFIT."
PAUSE not to dream of the future before us;
Pause not to weep the wild cares that come o'er us:
Hark! how Creation's deep musical chorus,

Unintermitting goes up into heaven!
Never the ocean wave falters in flowing;
Never the little seed stops in its growing;
More and more richly the rose-heart keeps glowing,

Till from its nourishing stem it is riven.
“Labor is worship,” the robin is singing;
“Labor is worship,” the wild bee is ringing:
Listen! that eloquent whisper upspringing

Speaks to thy soul from out Nature's great heart;
From the dark cloud flows the life-giving shower;
From the rough sod blows the soft breathing flower;
From the small insect, the rich coral bower;

Only man, in the plan, shrinks from his part.
“Labor is life.” 'Tis the still water faileth;
Idleness ever despaireth, bewaileth;
Keep the watch wound, or the dark rust assaileth;

Flowers droop and die in the stillness of noon.
“Labor is glory”—the flying cloud lightens;
Only the waving wing changes and brightens;
Idle hearts only the dark future frightens;

Play the sweet keys wouldst thou keep them in tune.
“Labor is rest” from the sorrows that greet us;
Rest from all petty vexations that meet us;
Rest from sin-promptings that ever entreat us;

Rest from world-sirens that lure us to ill;
Work, and pure slumbers shall wait on thy pillow;
Work, thou shalt ride over Care's coming billow;
Lie not down wearied 'neath Woe's weeping willow;

Work with a stout heart, and resolute will.
“Labor is health:” Lo, the husbandman reaping!
How, through his veins, goes the life current leaping;
How his strong arm, in its stalworth pride sweeping,

True as a sunbeam, the swift sickle guides.

Labor is wealth.” In the sea the pearl groweth; Rich the queen's robe from the frail cocoon floweth; From the small acorn, the strong forest bloweth;

Temple and statue the marble block hides.
Droop not, though shame, sin, and anguish are round thee;
Bravely fling off the cold chain that hath bound thee;
Look to yon pure heaven smiling beyond thee:

Rest not content in thy darkness—a clod;
Work for some good, come it ever so slowly;
Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly:
Labor!-all labor is noble and holy;
Let thy Great Deed be thy prayer to thy God.

MRS. OSGOOD.

JOY COMETH WITH THE MORNING.

BRIGHTER scenes will come to-morrow,

Mourner, lift thy thoughts on high,
Soar above this world of sorrow,

To the realms beyond the sky !
Life is like a shifting curtain,-

Light and shade are blended here ;
But the Christian's hope is certain

Joy and gladness shall appear.
Though with earthly cares surrounded,

Treasured deep within thy breast
Dwells a hope on Jesus founded,

Ever pointing to thy rest.
Thus though fierce and wild commotion

Rock the surface of the deep,
Yet the lower depths of ocean

In their caves unruffled sleep.
Think not thou shalt ever languish

’Neath the griefs that press thee now,
Soon shall earth's tumultuous anguish

Vex no more thy weary brow.

Storms that rock the earth and ocean,

Then no more thy sleep shall breakThan the Zephyr's softest motion

That may scarce a dewdrop shake. When life's transitory story

As a dream hath passed away, Wilt thou in the realms of glory

Heed the sadness of a day?
Mourner, weep not— Jesus reigneth,

Here thy spirit finds repose,
And in yon bright world remaineth
Full deliverance from thy woes.

C. B. C.

GERMS OF GOOD.

A TRAVELLER through a dusty road

Strewed acorns on the lea,
And one took root, and sprouted up,
And
grew

into a tree.
Love sought its shade at evening time,

To breathe its early vows,
And Age was pleased, in heats of noon,

To bask beneath its boughs :
The dormouse lov'd its dangling twigs,

The birds sweet music bore,
It stood a glory in its place,

A blessing evermore!
A little spring had lost its way

Amid the grass and fern,
A passing stranger scoop'd a well,

Where weary men might turn;
He wall'd it in, and hung with care

A ladle at the brink
He thought not of the deed he did,

But judg'd that toil might drink.

He passed again—and lo! the well,

By summers never dried,
Had cooled ten thousand parching tongues,

And saved a life beside!

A dreamer dropp'd a random thought;

'Twas old, and yet was newA simple fancy of the brain,

But strong in being true; It shone upon a genial mind,

And lo! its light became
A lamp of life, a beacon ray,

A monitory flame.
The thought was small—its issue great:

A watch-fire on the hill,
It sheds its radiance far adown,

And cheers the valley still !

A nameless man, amid a crowd

That throng'd the daily mart,
Let fall a word of Hope and Love,

Unstudied, from the heart;
A whisper on the tumult thrown-

A transitory breath-
It raised a brother from the dust,

It saved a soul from death.
O germ! O fount! O word of love!

O thought at random cast !
Ye were but little at the first,
But mighty at the last !

CHARLES MACKAY.

EPITAPH ON A CHILD. No bitter tears for thee be shed,

Blossom of being! seen and gone. With flowers above we strew thy bed,

O, blest departed one! Whose all of life, a rosy ray,

Blushed into dawn and pass'd away.

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