MISCELLANEOUS.

A GOLDEN STRING.

W. BLAKE.

I

GIVE you the end of a golden string,
Only wind it into a ball

It will lead you in at Heaven's gate
Built in Jerusalem's wall.

HOW LONG, O LORD?

HELEN L. PARMLEE.

FOR

OR us, the conflict and the toil,
The sickness and the pain;

For them the wiping of the tears.
Which shall not flow again.

For us, the path o'ergrown with thorns

And darkness round our way;

For them the golden streets of heaven And God's eternal day!

IN SOME HOUR OF SOLEMN JUBILEE.

S. T. COLERidge.

N some hour of solemn jubilee

The massy gates of Paradise are thrown
Wide open, and forth come, in fragments wild,
Sweet echoes of unearthly melodies-
And odors snatched from beds of amaranth,
And dews that from the crystal river of Life
Spring up on freshened wing, ambrosial gales!
The favored good man in his lonely walk
Perceives them, and his silent spirit drinks
Strange bliss, which he shall recognize in Heaven.

JESUS MY HOPE OF HEAVEN.

AH! I shall soon be dying

Time swiftly glides away;

Bnt, on my Lord relying,
I hail the happy day.

The day when I must enter
Upon a world unknown;
My helpless soul I venture
On Jesus Christ alone.

!

He once, a spotless victim, Upon Mount Calvary bled; Jehovah did afflict Him,

And bruise Him in my stead.

Hence all my hope arises,
Unworthy as I am;

My soul most surely prizes
The sin-atoning Lamb.

To Him by grace united,
I joy in Him alone;

And now, by faith, delighted,
Behold Him on His throne.

There He is interceding

For all who on Him rest; The grace from Him proceeding Shall waft me to His breast.

There with the saints in glory
The grateful song I'll raise,
And chant my blissful story
In high, seraphic lays.

DAYBREAK.

R. H. DANA.

"The Pilgrim they laid in a large upper chamber, whose window opened towards the sun rising: the name of the chamber was Peace; where he slept till break of day, and then he awoke and sang."-The Pilgrim's Progress.

OW, brighter than the host that all night long,
In fiery armor up the heavens high

Stood watch, thou comest to wait the morning's song,
Thou comest to tell me day again is nigh.
Star of the dawning, cheerful is thine eye;
And yet in the broad day it must grow dim.
Thou seem'st to look on me, as asking why
My mourning eyes with silent tears do swim ;

Thou bid'st me turn to God, and seek my rest in Him.

"Canst thou grow sad," thou say'st. "as earth grows bright,

And sigh, when little birds begin discourse

In quick, low voices, ere the streaming light
Pours on their nests, as spring from day's fresh source?
With creatures innocent thou must perforce

A sharer be, if that thine heart be pure.
And holy hour like this, save sharp remorse,
Of ills and pains of life must be the cure,

And breathe in kindred calm, and teach thee to endure."