Did Jesus die for me?
And am I one of His?

Did He for me hang on the tree?
What wondrous love is this!

Did Jesus bleed and die

To save a wretch like me?

That with Him I might reign on high,
And ever happy be?

-then I must and will call upon "my soul, and all that is within me" to bless and praise His holy name.

Let us recall a few of those mercies which loudly call upon us as children of God to bless Jehovah. All our iniquities are forgiven. Mark, ARE forgiven, not shall be, but ARE at the present moment. Salvation is of the Lord, and is a FINISHED work for all on whose behalf it was accomplished. All our diseases are healed by Jesus the Physician. We are now the redeemed of the Lord free from condemnation. We are now constantly crowned with loving-kindness and tender mercies. We are now satisfied with the precious things of the everlasting hills, and with the good things of the unchanging covenant. We have now an abiding renewal of our youth in an everlasting Jesus. At the present moment, notwithstanding the subtlety of our foes. and the falsely fair speeches of our pretended friends, it is a heart-sustaining fact, that "The Lord executeth righteousness and judgment for all that are oppressed." His ways and His acts are still made known unto his spiritual Israel. Jesus is full of mercy, bounteous in grace, plenteous in love, slow to anger, gentle in His chidings, tender in His rebukes, and compassionate in His corrections. Then again we say to our souls, and to all our new-born powers, "BLESS THE LORD."

"O thou, my soul, bless God the Lord!

And all that in me is

Be stirred up, His holy name

To magnify and bless.

"Bless, Ŏ my soul, the Lord thy God,

And not forgetful be

Of all His gracious benefits

HE HAS BESTOWED ON THEE."

PRAYING CHILDREN.

A SHORT ACCOUNT OF THE DEATH OF A LITTLE GIRL, NAMED ROSINA TOOK, WHO DIED AT PULHAM ST. MARY, AGED 10 YEARS.

SHORT time since I called to see one of my members;

A while there, the mother of the family gave me a short

narrative of the death of her little girl. I took down notes in my pocket-book of what she related, requesting her to give me an exact statement of things just as they were. The little girl, the subject of this brief memoir, was in the habit of attending our place of worship. Her peculiar manner very often engaged my attention, especially when I was descending from the pulpit; she would narrowly watch me down, and continue to smile till I took notice of her, when she would be greatly delighted. Although she gave evident signs of intellectual deficiency, yet I could always see something in her which would attract the attention of any God-fearing person. Though she evinced no ability to speak about temporal things, yet she often astonished those about her with expressions and sayings of a spiritual character. After hearing a sermon, she would often quote the text, and some part of the subject, and appear to be in deep thought while speaking of these things. The text "Where is He?" was once taken; this she repeated several times. Being asked who was meant by the question, she immediately replied, "Why, the Lord Jesus Christ who is in heaven, in earth, and in the heart of every believer.' About eight weeks before this little girl died, she gave evident signs of being born of God; and though not more than ten years of age, she could converse with the Saviour. While on her bed, during the silent watches of the night, she was often heard to be engaged in prayer and praise, and to talk about spiritual things. One day she was heard to say, "Mother, I pray!" "Do you, my dear?" "Yes, mother, would you like to hear me?" 'I should like to hear you, my dear." She then fell on her knees before her mother, clasped her little hands, and very solemnly offered up the following prayer: "O Lord save little Rosa; little Rosa would like to go to heaven; there is no sorrow nor crying in heaven. You died for your people. Pardon my sins, and

take me to heaven, and save my father and mother.” A day or two before she died, she said to her sister Elizabeth, "You said I should never be good for anything; and that if I grew up I should never be married; but I am married, and to the Lord Jesus Christ." She then said, "Sing, and sing that I'm a little girl going to heaven." About three hours before she died, she said, Good bye, mother." "Where are you going, my dear?" "To heaven." Her father coming into the room, she said, “Father, I wanted to see you." "Did you, my dear?" "Yes, I am going to heaven-good bye, father." These were her last words.

In concluding this narrative, let me ask you, my young friend, have you such a prospect of going to heaven when you die? Have you little Rosa's knowledge of the Saviour? Do you pray to Him and converse with Him as she did? The other day, while talking to my little boy Herbert about his brothers who are in heaven, I asked him whether he had ever prayed as one of them did? He told me he did not know how to pray, but he hoped he should when he got older. I told him no child was too young to pray the publican's prayer, if they did but feel as he did. Both in the young and aged, nature declares her insufficiency to work the works of God; but where saving grace is implanted, the wonders of redeeming love are made manifest. May you, my young friend, see and feel the necessity of vital prayer; and while you think on the death of little Rosa Took, call to mind the sweet words of John, "Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth; yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labours; nd their works do follow them."

W

BY THE REV. WILLIAM FRITH, BOROUGH GREEN, KENT.

THAT is more affecting than to look upon the face of a motherless boy!

On a cold, chilly day in December I walked into a little cottage in the western part of the county of Kent. Soon after

I had taken my seat and made the usual observations to the humble inmates, seeing a little stranger boy there, I enquired who he might be, and was informed that he was a motherless boy. I immediately began to enquire a little into his circumstances and prospects; and while the humble cottager was telling me a little about his condition, the little fellow's eye gradually began to be moistened with tears, which faithful memory and filial affection had called forth from his young heart. It was evident he felt the loss he had sustained. The mother now gone for ever! and mouldering in the silent tomb for two years pastwas called up before his little mind, with all her motherly affection and accustomed fondness. That mother, while living, had been tenderly watchful of the best interests of her only boy. She had lived in him. Her pleasure and her joy was to mould the character of her youthful son, and, if possible, to implant the elements of genuine virtue in his childish heart, and "train him up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord." She had prayed with and for her child, with earnest beseechings at the throne of mercy. The early morning and the dewy eve had witnessed her bended knee. The burden of her matin song and vesper hymn was the welfare, the eternal welfare of her son. With Hannah's love, and firmness, and resolution, she had "given him to the Lord;" and with Hannah's success she had the happy privilege of seeing the answer to her prayers. But that mother is now no more! The house is lonely. The mother's voice, sweeter to that little son than the melodious notes of the nightingale in the dusky summer's eventide, was heard no more. The whistling wind howled in the tree tops, squeaked in the loosened casement, and roared in the chimney top, while the fire burnt still sprightly on the hearth, and the dull candle-light cast its glimmering rays upon a lonely father and his lonely boy. There was quietude and peace-but joy was absent. A praying, pious, mother was gone!

(To be continued.)

"GOING HOME!"

NO. II.

SOON shall the Lord himself descend,
The clouds before him riv'n:

A sudden shout! the earth shall rend,
And shake the powers of heaven.
Myriads of angels bright shall wait
His orders to obey;

And ransom'd saints triumphant meet,
As bright and blest as they.
Save us, O Jesus, by Thy death,
And cleanse us in Thy blood;
Give us to live and die in faith,
And wait the trump of God.

TURN whichever

TURN wie going home.
I will, of late, I hear or see something
Old and young, rich and poor, pre-

pared and unprepared, ALL-ALL ARE GOING Somewhere-some to the region of the dead, and some to everlasting bliss.

Our old hearth-stone woman looked dreadfully sad to-day, for she had lost her husband. He dined merrily with his son on Christmas-day, but a head-ache seized him, and he was compelled to go to bed: it was his death-bed! They sent for the clergyman, and the clergyman came, and read the prayers for the sick, then "gave" the dying man "the sacrament." "But," said the poor old woman, "he died dreadfully hard!" Ah! death to a man who knows not Jesus Christ for himself; death to a man who has no light in the valley, nor life divine in his soul, is a deep and dangerous foe indeed; and for a clergyman to give a dying man the elements of the Redeemer's sufferings for sin, a man who has neither faith in the Saviour, nor fellowship with God-is mockery, delusion, and something worse than that.

Poor old soul," said the aged widow, "although the clergyman gave him the sacrament, yet he died so hard."

What did that mean? Afraid of God, frightened at death, dreading to pass the awful boundary, he struggled hard to resist death's tremendous grasp. But death is a strong and mighty foe-before whose dread touch millions sink in sorrow and amazing grief.