God's sunlight hides its kisses in their hair,

And everywhere in Heaven, a child you meet."

The woman clasped his hand-and toward the street That's "sweet with children" smiling went the pair.

Springfield, Ills. January 8th, 1872.

STARS OF GLORY, LIGHTS OF HEAVEN.

O

A Paraphrase on St. Augustine. By SOPHIA MAY ECKLEY.

H! stars of glory, lights of heaven!

Shed down on me your mystic light,

Illume the storms that round me threaten
Reveal the perils of the night,

Through which my barque of life is steering
So frail,—to pirates oft exposed:
Guard it from rocks and reefs of peril
Till in the eternal port enclosed.

The little freight is moor'd in safety
Which I have tried to garner here,
In commerce spiritual hoping
It yet may reach the haven dear.

Then stars of glory, lights of Heaven,
Shed down on me your mystic light,.
Guide me, O guide me to the haven
Where Faith is swallowed up in Sight

WHY DO WE CALL THEM LOST?

"T1

From the Church of England Magazine.

HE loved and lost!" why do we call them lost? Because we miss them from our onward road? God's unseen angel o'er our pathway crost, Looked on us all, and loving them the most, Straightway relieved them from life's weary load.

They are not lost: they are within the door
That shuts out loss, and every hurtful thing-
With angels bright, and loved ones gone before,
In their Redeemer's presence evermore,
And God himself their Lord and Judge and King.

A poor wayfarer, leading by the hand

A little child, had halted by a well

To wash from off her feet the clinging sand,

And tell the tired boy of that bright land

Where, this long journey past, they longed to dwell,

When lo! the Lord who many mansions had
Drew near and looked upon the suffering twain,
Then pitying spake, "Give me the little lad;
In strength renewed, and glorious beauty clad,
I'll bring him with me when I come again."

Did she make answer selfishly and wrong

"Nay, but the woes I feel he too must share?" Oh rather, bursting into grateful song,

She went her way rejoicing, and made strong
To struggle on, since he was freed from care.

We will do likewise: death hath made no breach
In love and sympathy, in hope and trust;
No outward sign or sound our ears can reach,
But there's an inward unspoken speech

That greets us still, though mortal tongues be dust.

It bids us do the work that they laid down

Take up the song where they broke off the strain; So journeying till we reach the heavenly town Where are laid up our treasures and our crown, And our lost loved ones will be found again.

"SUFFER THEM TO COME TO ME."

From Lyra Anglicana.

"Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not; for of such is the kingdom of heaven."

LL along the mighty ages,

All adown the solemn time,
They have taken up their homeward
March to that serener clime,

Where the watching, waiting angels
Lead them from the shadow dim,
To the brightness of His presence
Who has called them unto Him.

They are going-only going-
Out of pain and into bliss-
Out of sad and sinful weakness
Into perfect holiness.

Snowy brows-no care shall shade them;
Bright eyes-tears shall never dim;
Rosy lips-no time shall fade them;
Jesus called them unto Him.

Little hearts forever stainless-
Little hands as pure as they-
Little feet by angels guided
Never a forbidden way!
They are going, ever going!

Leaving many a lonely spot;

But 'tis Jesus who has called them"Suffer, and forbid them not."

"WHOM HAVE I IN HEAVEN BUT THEE?"

FRANCIS QUARles.

"Whom have I in heaven but Thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire beside Thee."

I

LOVE, (and have some cause to love) the earth;

She is my Maker's creature, therefore good;

She is my mother, for she gave me birth;

She is my tender nurse, she gives me food;

But what's a creature, Lord, compared with Thee?
Or what's my mother, or my nurse, to me?

I love the air; her daily sweets refresh

My drooping soul, and to new sweets invite me; Her shrill-mouthed choir sustain me with their flesh; And with their Polyphonian notes delight me: But what's the air, or all the sweets that she Can bless my soul withal, compared to Thee?

I love the sea; she is my fellow-creature,

My careful purveyor: she provides my store;
She walls me round; she makes my diet greater;
She wafts my treasure from a foreign shore:
But, Lord of oceans, when compared with Thee,
What is the ocean, or her wealth, to me?

Without Thy presence, earth gives no reflection;
Without Thy presence, sea affords no treasure;
Without Thy presence, air's a rank infection;

Without Thy presence, heaven itself's no pleasure;