"Through Jesus, God's beloved Son,
Who bought us with his blood;
He washes white our guilty souls,

AND MAKES US PURE AND GOOD."

THE CHILD'S WAY TO HEAVEN.
[With earnestness and care.]

"Oh! I'm weary of earth," said a little child.
As it gazed, with tearful eye,

On the snow white dove that it held in its hand,
"For whatever I love will die."

So the child came out of its little bower,
It came and looked abroad,

And it said, "I am going this very hour—

I am going to Heaven, to God."

There was shining light where the sun had set,
And red and purple too;

And it seemed as if earth and heaven met

All round in the distant blue.

And the child looked on in the far, far west,
And it saw a golden door,

Where the evening sun had gone to its rest

But a little while before.

There was one bright streak on the cloud's dark face,

As if it had been riven;

Said the child, "I will go to that very place,

For it must be the gate of Heaven.'

So away it went to follow the sun,
But the heavens would not stay,
For always the faster it tried to run,
They seemed to go further away.
Then the evening shades fell heavily,
With night dews cold and damp,

And each twinkling star on the dark blue sky
Lit up its silvery lamp.

A light wind wafted the fleecy clouds,

And it seemed to the child that they

Were hurrying on to the west, while the stars
Were going the other way.

And the child called out when it saw them stray,
By the evening breezes driven,

"Little stars, you are wandering out of the way-
That's not the way to Heaven."

Then on it went through the rough, waste lands,
Where the tangled briars meet,

Till the prickers scratched its dimpled hands,
And wounded its little feet.

It could not see before it well,

And its limbs grew stiff and cold,

And at last it cried, for it could not tell
Its way on the open wold.

So the child knelt down on the damp, green sod,
While it said its evening prayer,

And it fell asleep as it thought of God,
Who was listening to it there.

A long, long sleep-for they found it there-
When the sun went down next day;
And it looked like an angel, pale and fair,
But its check was cold as clay.

The sunbeams glanced on the drops of dew,
That lay on its ringlets bright,
Sparkling in every brilliant hue,
Like a coronet of light.

RESIGNATION.

By H. W. LONGFELLOW.

[With earnestness and cheerfulness.]

There is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there!

There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended,

But has one vacant chair!

The air is full of farewells to the dying,
And mournings for the dead;

The heart of Rachel, for her children crying,
Will not be comforted!

Let us be patient! These severe afflictions
Not from the ground arise;

But oftentimes celestial benedictions

Assume this dark disguise.

We see but dimly through the mists and vapours, Amid these earthly damps;

What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers

MAY BE HEAVEN'S DISTANT LAMPS.

There is no Death! What seems so is transition;

This life of mortal breath

Is but a suburb of the life elysian,

Whose portal we call death.

She is not dead, -the child of our affection,
But gone unto that school

Where she no longer needs our poor protection,
And Christ himself doth rule.

In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion,
By guardian angels led,

Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution,
SHE LIVES, WHOM WE CALL DEAD.

Day after day we think what she is doing
In those bright realms of air;

Year after year, her tender steps pursuing,
Behold her grown more fair.

Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken
The bond which nature gives,

Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken
May reach her where she lives.

Not as a child shall we again behold her;
FOR, WHEN WITH RAPTURES WILD,

IN OUR EMBRACES WE AGAIN ENFOLD HER,
SHE WILL NOT BE A CHILD ;

BUT A FAIR MAIDEN, IN HER FATHER'S MANSION,
CLOTHED WITH CELESTIAL GRACE;

AND BEAUTIFUL WITH ALL THE SOUL'S EXPANSION
SHALL WE BEHOLD HER FACE.

And though at times impetuous with emotion,
And anguish long suppressed,

The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean,

That cannot be at rest,

WE WILL BE PATIENT, and assuage the feeling

We may not wholly stay;

By silence sanctifying, not concealing,

The grief that must have way.

TO MY SISTER IN HEAVEN.

[Earnest and cheerful.]

Angel sister, thou has left us,
Left a world of pain and care,
GONE TO HEAVEN TO BE AN ANGEL,
AND A CROWN OF GLORY WEAR.

Early hast thou closed thy mission,
Early hast thou gone to rest;

Far from care, and pain, and sighing,
THOU ART NOW AMONG THE BLEST.

Darling sister, mild and gentle,
Pure and lovely as the flowers,
Thou from earth hast early faded,
But to bloom in Eden's bowers.
Oh! how sadly now we miss thee,
When at morn and eve we bow,
And at the alter, where so often
Thou, with us, hast paid thy vow.
Now our home seems dark and lonely,
And our hearts are rent with pain;
Now we mourn, but will not murmur,
Since our loss is but thy gain.

THOU HAST REACHED THE REALMS OF GLORY,
THOU HAST JOINED TH' ANGELIC THRONG ;

SAFELY O'ER THE SWELLING RIVER,

THOU HAST RAISED THE VICTOR'S SONG.

Soon again we hope to meet thee,

In the mansions of the blest,

"Where the wicked cease from troubling, And the weary are at rest.'

"WE ARE SEVEN.

Br W. WORDSWORTH.

[Cheerful and with care in the dialogue.]

A simple child, dear brother Jem,
That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What can it know of death?

I met a little cottage girl,

Of eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl,
That clustered round her head:

She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad ;

Her eyes were blue, and she was fair :
Her beauty made me glad :

"Sisters and brothers, little maid,
How many may you be?"

"How many? seven in all," she said,
And wondering look'd at me.
"And where are they? I pray you tell.'
She answered, "Seven are we :
Two of us at Conway dwell,

And two are gone to sea ;
Two of us in the churchyard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And in the churchyard cottage I
Dwell near them with my mother."
"You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea;
Yet you are seven, I pray you, tell,
Sweet maid, how this can be."
Then did the little maid reply,
"Seven boys and girls are we
Two of us in the churchyard lie,
Beneath the churchyard tree.'
"You run about, my little maid,
All sprightly and alive;

If two are in the churchyard laid,
Then ye are only five."

"Their graves are green, they may be

The little maid replied;

scen,"

"Twelve steps or more, from mother's door,

There they lie side by side;

My stockings there I often knit,

My 'kerchief there I hem,

And there upon the ground I sit-
I sit, and sing to them.

I often after sunset, sir,
When it is light and fair-
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.

The first that died was little Jane,
In bed she moaning lay,

Till God released her from her pain

And then she went away: