Call not such hours an idle wafte of life

;

Land that lies fallow gains a quiet power;
It treasures from the brooding of God's wings
Strength to unfold the future tree and flower.

So fhall it be with thee, if restful still
Thou rightly studiest in the summer hour;
Like a deep fountain which a brook doth fill,
Thy mind in seeming rest shall gather power.

And when the summer's glorious fhow is paft,
Its miracles no longer charm thy fight,
The treasured riches of these thoughtful hours
Shall make thy wintry mufings warm and bright.
Mrs. H. B. Stowe.

OLD AGE.

ONLY WAITING.

A very aged Christian, who was so poor as to be in an almshouse, was afked what he was doing now. He replied, "ONLY WAITING."

NLY waiting till the fhadows
Are a little longer grown;

Only waiting till the glimmer
Of the day's last beam is flown;
Till the night of earth is faded

From the heart once full of day;
Till the ftars of heaven are breaking
Through the twilight soft and gray.

Only waiting till the reapers

Have the last sheaf gathered home;
For the summer-time is faded,

And the autumn winds have come.
Quickly, reapers, gather quickly

The laft ripe hours of my heart,
For the bloom of life is withered,
And I haften to depart.

Only waiting till the angels
Open wide the mystic gate,
At whose foot I long have lingered,
Weary, poor, and desolate.
Even now I hear the footsteps,
And their voices, far away;
If they call me, I am waiting,
Only waiting to obey.

Only waiting till the shadows
Are a little longer grown;
Only waiting till the glimmer

Of the day's last beam is flown:
Then from out the gathered darkness
Holy, deathless ftars fhall rise,
By whose light my soul fhall gladly
Tread its pathway to the fkies.

THE BORDER LAND.

FAT

ATHER! into Thy loving hands
My feeble spirit I commit,

While wandering in these border-lands.
Until Thy voice fhall summon it.

Father! I would not dare to choose
A longer life, an earlier death;

I know not what my soul might lose
By shortened or protracted breath.

These border lands are calm and stiĺl,
And solemn are their filent shades;
And my heart welcomes them until
The light of life's long evening fades.

I heard them spoken of with dread,
As fearful and unquiet places;
Shades where the living and the dead
Look sadly in each other's faces.

But fince Thy hand hath led me here, And I have seen the border land,— Seen the dark river flowing near,

Stood on its brink as now I ftand,

There has been nothing to alarm
My trembling soul; how could I fear
While thus encircled with Thine arm?
I never felt Thee half so near.

What should appall me in a place

That brings me hourly nearer Thee? Where I may almoft see Thy face,Surely 't is here my soul would be!

They say the waves are dark and deep,
That faith has perished in the river;

They speak of death with fear and weep;

Shall my soul perifh? never, never!

I know that Thou wilt never leave
The soul that trembles while it clings
To Thee; I know Thou wilt achieve
Its paffage on Thine outstretched wings.

I cannot see the golden gate
Unfolding yet to welcome me;

I cannot yet anticipate

The joy of heaven's jubilee.

But I will calmly watch and pray,
Until I hear my Saviour's voice
Calling my happy soul away

To see His glory, and rejoice.

THE TABERNACLE.

HOW meanly dwells the immortal mind!

How vile these bodies are!

Why was a clod of earth defigned

To enclose a heavenly star?