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THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY.

MATTHEW PRIOR.

S through the artist's intervening glass
Our eyes observe the distant planets pass;

A little we discover, but allow

That more remains unseen than art can show:

So whilst our mind its knowledge would improve
(Its feeble eye intent on things above),
High as we may lift our reason up,
By faith directed, and confirmed by hope:
Yet we are able only to survey

Dawnings of beams, and promises of day.

Heaven's fuller effluence mocks our dazzled sight:
Too great its swiftness, and too strong its light:
But soon the 'mediate clouds shall be dispelled;
The sun shall then be face to face beheld,
In all his robes, with all his glory on,
Seated sublime on his meridian throne.

RECOGNITION IN HEAVEN.

ANONYMOUS.

HEN we hear the music ringing

WHEN
In the bright celestial dome-

When sweet angels' voices singing,
Gladly bid us welcome home

To the land of ancient story,

Where the spirit knows no care In that land of life and glory

Shall we know each other there?

When the holy angels meet us,
As we go to join their band,

Shall we know the friends that greet us
In that glorious spirit land?
Shall we see the same eyes shining

On us, as in days of yore?

Shall we feel the dear arms twining
Fondly round us, as before?

Yes, my earth-worn soul rejoices,
And my weary heart grows light,
For the thrilling angels' voices,
And the angel faces bright,
That shall welcome us in heaven,
Are the loved ones long ago;

And to them 'tis kindly given

Thus their mortal friends to know.

O ye weary, sad and tossed ones,

Droop not, faint not by the way;
Ye shall join the loved and just ones
In that land of perfect day.
Harp-strings touched by angel fingers;
Murmured in my rapturous ear;
Evermore their sweet song lingers:
"We shall know each other there."

REMINDERS OF HEANEN.

WHE

ANONYMOUS.

HEN I gaze on the light of yon beautiful sky, And the curtains of azure unfolded on high; Their glory and splendor recall to my thought The blissful inheritance Jesus hath bought: I fancy the portals of heaven appear,

And I feel at the moment-My home is not here.

When I see all around me the flowers so bright,
Which God has implanted to ravish my sight;
I hail them as pledges of heavenly love,
And think of the brighter ones blooming above:
Their fragrance reminds me of hopes that are dear,
And I love to remember-My home is not here.

When I hear the glad song of the lark as she flies,
Still warbling her notes as she mounts to the skies;
I think of the time when my heavenward flight
Will, like hers, be directed to regions of light;
I shall sing as I leave every trouble and fear-
My home is in heaven-My home is not here!
O land of enjoyment! O home of my heart,
What blesséd delight can thy image impart ;
In the midst of affliction, of sorrow, and grief,
One thought of thy glory brings instant relief,
And quickly the darkening clouds disappear,
As the feeling steals o'er me-My home is not here.

ΤΗ

REST IN HEAVEN.

WILLIAM B. TAPPAN.

HERE is an hour of peaceful rest
To mourning wanderers given;
There is a joy for souls distressed,
A balm for every wounded breast;
'Tis found above-in heaven.

There is a soft, a downy bed,
'Tis fair as breath of even;
A couch for weary mortals spread,
Where they may rest the aching head,

And find repose—in heaven.

There is a home for weary souls

By sin and sorrow driven;

When tossed on life's tempestuous shoals,
Where storms arise, and ocean rolls,
And all is drear-but heaven.

There Faith lifts up her cheerful eye,
To brighter prospects given,
And views the tempest passing by,
The evening shadows quickly fly,
And all serene-in heaven.

There fragrant flowers immortal bloom,
And joys supreme are given;
There rays divine disperse the gloom;

Beyond the confines of the tomb

Appears the dawn of heaven.

SCORNING HEAVEN.

JOHN MILTON. Speech of Belial.

WHAT place can be for us.

WH

Within heaven's bound, unless heaven's lord
supreme

We overpow'r! Suppose He should relent,
And publish grace to all, on promise made
Of new subjection; with what eyes could we
Stand in His presence humble, and receive
Strict laws impos'd, to celebrate His throne
With warbled hymns, and to His godhead sing
Forc'd hallelujahs; while he lordly sits

Our envied Sov'reign, and His altar breathes
Ambrosial odors, and ambrosial flowers,
Our servile off'rings? This must be our task
In heav'n, this our delight; how wearisome
Eternity so spent, in worship paid
To whom we hate!

MEDITATION OF HEAVEN.

MY

ISAAC WATTS.

"I will lift up Mine Eyes to the Hills."

thoughts surmount these lower skies,
And look within the veil :

There springs of endless pleasure rise;
The waters never fail.

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