(Original.)

THOUGHTS ON VISITING A POOR AND
AFFLICTED CHRISTIAN.

REV. W. H. BATHURST.

Is this the palace where a princess dwells,
A favour'd daughter of the King of kings?
Within these humble and contracted cells
Do heavenly spirits wave their guardian wings?

No clustering columns here, no arches wide,
With rich magnificence the structure grace;
No towers or pinnacles in sculptured pride
Attest the grandeur of a princely race.

As you approach this dwelling, tread with care,
For narrow, dark, and filthy is the road;

Here heaps of refuse crowd the path, and there
Unseemly swine take up their foul abode.

That hollow thatch, that broken window-pane,
That aperture beneath the crazy door,

Can ill resist the wind and driving rain,

When the sky blackens, and the tempests roar.

Entering the lowly cottage, you behold

No costly and elaborate works of art;

But there's a treasure of more worth than goldA pious, humble, and contented heart.

By the fireside her constant place she keep—
That child of heaven, that princess in disguises;
Wasted with long disease, she seldom sleeps,

And ceaseless sufferings cloud her languid eyes.

And do you marvel that a gracious God
Should for his child so scantily provide?

Should visit her with so severe a rod,

With wealth unbless'd, with comforts unsupplied?

Approach and ask her whether she is left

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In hopeless want and misery to pine:

Although," she cries, "of earthly stores bereft,

A heavenly inheritance is mine.

"These light afflictions will work out for me A more exceeding weight of endless joy; A few more days or weeks-and I shall be

Where pain can never reach, nor foes annoy.

"My gracious Father still maintains my cause, Hears all my prayers, and all my wants supplies;

Only those hurtful things his love withdraws

Which would impede my progress to the skies.

"This changeful world is not my place of rest;
Soon I shall lay aside this load of clay,
And with immortal health and vigour blest,

Shall tune my harp in realms of cloudless day."

And can religion cheer the mean abode

Of want and sickness with such wondrous power? Can it so lighten nature's heaviest load,

And gild with peaceful hope a dying hour?

Oh! surely, then, the Lord hath better things
Than riches, health, or titles to bestow !
It is not from such false and shallow springs
That streams of real happiness can flow.

His foes may triumph in such gifts as these:
A richer portion to his sons is given;
For they have peace with God, a mind at ease,
And a good hope of endless joys in heaven.

Would you the path of highest honour tread?
Look up to Him who bore the painful cross-
To Him who had not where to lay his head;
And count earth's treasures, weigh'd with Him, as dross.

He is your richest treasure-He can give
Strength to the feeble, joy to the distress'd;

He saves the lost, He bids the dying live,
And guides the weary soul to perfect rest.

In vain let sin entice, or earth decoy,

Let pleasure spread its treacherous snares in vain; Make Christ your refuge, that you may enjoy In trouble, peace-in death, eternal gain!

(Original.)

"MY HOPE IS IN THEE."

MRS ABDY.

THE sunbeams have fled that my path lately gladden'd!

I own that I sorrow to see them depart;

And those who behold me thus troubled and sadden'd, Imagine that hope is extinct in my heart.

Yet no!-though the world has no secret to charm me,
Though the joys that it offers are tasteless to me,

The dark clouds of grief are unable to harm me,
Thou, Lord! art my solace-" my hope is in Thee!"

No spell can renew the loved bond of affection,
Restore the lost home, or illume the dim hearth;
And perchance I may droop in apparent dejection,
When I number the frail perish'd hopes of the earth.
Yet in meekness I bow to the Lord's dispensation,
Through faith the bright land of the future I see;
I seek not from man's feeble voice consolation-
O God of my fathers! "my hope is in Thee!"

A CHILD'S FIRST IMPRESSION OF A STAR.

N. P. WILLIS.

SHE had been told that God made all the stars
That twinkled up in heaven; and now she stood
Watching the coming of the twilight on,
As if it were a new and perfect world,
And this were its first eve. She stood alone
By the low window, with the silken lash
Of her soft eye upraised, and her sweet mouth
Half parted with the new and strange delight
Of beauty that she could not comprehend,
And had not seen before. The purple folds
Of the low sunset clouds, and the blue sky
That look'd so still and delicate above,

Fill'd her young heart with gladness; and the eve
Stole on with its deep shadows, and she still
Stood looking at the west with that half-smile,
As if a pleasant thought were at her heart.
Presently, in the edge of the last tint

Of sunset, where the blue was melted in
To the faint golden mellowness, a star
Stood suddenly. A laugh of wild delight
Burst from her lips, and putting up her hands,
Her simple thought broke forth expressively-

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Father, dear father! God has made a star!"