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"SEEK AND YE SHALL FIND."

REV JOHN LATROBE.

WOULD

you find the Saviour?

Seek Him, while 'tis day;
Would you have His favour?

Take it, while you may.
Seek Him in the manger,
Lowly, meek, and mild:

What should make a stranger

Of a simple child?

Seek Him in lone places,

In the crowded press;

Seek Him in all traces

Of His sore distress.
In each dark temptation
When the storms abound,

Him, and His salvation

Seek, and He is found.

Seek, where seraph legions Loud thanksgivings roll ; Seek Him in fall'n regions, Throned in the soul;

In air, earth, and ocean,

In each sight and sound, In earth's last commotion, Seek, and He is found.

THE WATER-LILY.

66 MORAL OF FLOWERS."

"The white water-lily expands its blossoms in the sunshine, and the middle of the day only, closing towards evening, when they recline on the surface of the water, or sink beneath it."

Yes! thou art day's own flower! For when he's fled,
Sorrowing thou droop'st beneath the wave thy head,
And watching, weeping through the livelong night,
Look'st forth impatient for the dawning light;
And as it brightens into perfect day,
Dost, from the inmost fold, thy breast display.

Oh! would that I, from earth's defilements free,
Could bare my bosom to the light like thee!
But, ah! I feel within a blighting power,
Marring each grace, like hidden worm the flower;
And trembling, shrinking, gladly would I fly
That "light of light," Jehovah's piercing eye.

Yet whither can I go? Oh, there's a wave,
Where he who weeps for sin his soul may lave!
There would I plunge, and sad, not hopeless, lie
Waiting the first fair day-spring from on high;
Then, glad emerging from the healing stream,
Welcome, like thee, sweet flower! the dawning beam.

EVENING.

F. D.

I GAZED upon the heavens: the evening star
Appear'd an emblem of eternity,

As beam'd her gentle radiance from afar-
Beneath, more glorious image still, the sea
Waked the same thought with more solemnity.
Yet these are not eternal-but we are!
Living in death, yet deathless we shall be,
Though yon bright azure perish as a scroll,
And ocean's mighty billows cease to roll.

Oh! that unfathomably deep abyss
To which we are all speeding! Is it dread
To stand upon its brink-to deem that this
Is but a shadowy life, whose breath is fled
In a swift moment? doth the swimming head
Grow dizzy with the prospect? or may bliss
Be ours while thinking of the silent dead?
Despair perchance to some, 'tis joy to those
Who on their Saviour's word in hope repose.

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