HIS THRONE AND TEMPLE. W. A. MUнlenberg. INCE o'er thy footstool here below So brilliant here those drops of light— If night's blue curtain of the sky, With royal diamonds fraught, The dazzling sun, at noontide hour, Forth from his flaming vase Till vale and mountain blaze, But shows, O Lord, one beam of Thine, Oh, how shall these dim eyes endure That noon of living rays; Or how my spirit, so impure, Anoint, O Lord, anoint my sight, And robe me for that world of light! HEAVEN IN SONG. TO BE THERE! ELIZABETH MILLS E speak of the realms of the blest, WE Of that country so bright and so fair And oft are its glories confessed, But what must it be to be There! We speak of its pathways of gold, We speak of its freedom from sin, But what must it be to be There! We speak of its service of love, Of the robes which the glorified wear, Of the Church of the First-born aboveBut what must it be to be There! Do Thou, Lord, midst sorrow and woe And shortly we also shall know, And feel what it is to be There! THE OTHER WORLD. Mrs. H. B. STOWE. T lies around us like a cloud, IT A world we do not see; Yet the sweet closing of an eye Its gentle breezes fan our cheek; And mingle with our prayers. Sweet hearts around us throb and beat, Sweet helping hands are stirred, And palpitates the veil between With breathings almost heard ; The silence-awful, sweet, and calm- So thin, so soft, so sweet they glide, And in the hush of rest they bring, How lovely and how sweet a pass To close the eye, and close the ear, Scarce knowing if we wake or sleep, Scarce asking where we are,— To feel all evil sink away, All sorrow and all care. Sweet souls around us! watch us still, Press nearer to our side, Into our thoughts-into our prayers With gentle helpings glide. Let Death between us be as naught― A dried and vanished stream; Our joy, be the reality— Our suffering-life, the dream. NATURE OF HEAVEN. HEAVEN NEAR. Mrs. MARY J. ROBINSON. OH, Heaven is nearer than mortals think, When they look with a trembling dread At the misty future, that stretches on 'Tis no lone isle in a boundless main, No brilliant, but distant shore, Where the lovely ones who are called away No, Heaven is near us ;-the mighty veil That we see not always the angel bands Yet oft, in the hours of holy thought, That power to pierce through the mist of sense, To the beauteous scenes of Heaven. Then very near seem its pearly gates, Till the soul is restless to soar away, |