same time how we may best prepare for that which awaits us hereafter. The sun is descending, but descending, after a course of beneficence and utility, in dignity and glory, whilst all around him, as he sinks, breathes one diffusive air of blessedness and repose. It is a scene which marshals us the way we ought to go. It tells us that, after having passed the fervour and vigour of our existence, the morning. and noon of our appointed pilgrimage, thus should the evening of our days set in; mild, yet generous in their close, with every earthly ardour softened and subdued, and with the loveliest hues of heaven just mingling in the farewell light. It is a scene, moreover, which almost instinctively reminds us of another world; the one we are yet inhabiting is gradually receding from our view,—the shades of night are beginning to gather round our heads,-we feel forsaken and alone, whilst the blessed luminary now parting from us, and yet burning with such ineffable majesty and beauty, seems about to travel into regions of interminable happiness and splendour. We follow him with a pensive and wistful eye, and in the vales of glory, which appear to open round his setting beams, we behold mansions of everlasting peace, seats of ever-during delight. It is then that - scenes our thoughts are carried forward to a Being infinitely good and great, the God and Father of us all, who, distant though He seem to be, and immeasurably beyond the power of our faculties to comprehend, we yet know is about our path, and about our bed, and careth for us all; who has prepared for those who love Him, scenes of unutterable joy, to which, while rejoicing in the brightness of His presence, the effulgence we have faintly attempted to describe shall be but as the glimmering of a distant star. If associations such as these be often the result of our meditation, as the evening of day comes on, with how much more weight and solemnity must they be felt as pressing on our hearts, when to the influence of this silent hour shall be added the further consciousness that it is also the evening of the year. Drake. GRATTAN said of Dean Kirwan, that in lighting the flame of charity he had exhausted the lamp of life. THE DYING BOY. It must be sweet, in childhood to give back Has grown familiar with the paths of sin, And sown to garner up its bitter fruits. I knew a boy, whose infant feet had trod Upon the blossoms of some seven Springs, And when the eighth came round and call'd him out To gambol in the sun, he turn'd away, And sought his chamber, to lie down and die! 'Twas night he summon'd his accustom'd friends, And in this wise bestow'd his last bequest "Mother! I'm dying now There is deep suffocation in my breast, As if some heavy hand my bosom press'd; And on my brow I feel the cold sweat stand, My lips grow dry and tremulous, and my breath "Here, lay it on my wrist, And place the other soft beneath my head, And say, sweet mother! -- - say, when I am dead Shall I be miss'd ? Never beside your knee Shall I kneel down at night to pray, Nor with the morning wake, and sing the lay You taught me! "Oh! at the time of prayer, When you look round and see a vacant seat, You will not wait then for my coming feet You'll miss me there!" "Father, I'm going home To the good home you spoke of, that blest land Storms do not come. "I must be happy then: From pain and death you say I shall be free— Shall meet again!" "Brother! the little spot I used to call my garden, where long hours We've stay'd to watch the budding things and flowers, Forget it not. "Plant there some box or pine Something that lives in winter, and will be And call it mine!" "Sister! my young rose tree, That all the Spring has been my pleasant care, "And when its roses bloom, I shall be gone away - my short life done! Upon my tomb?" "Now, mother, sing the tune Who was it call'd my name? Nay, do not weep, "You'll all come soon!" Morning spread o'er earth her rosy wings, But marrèd not his slumbers! - He was dead! Anonymous. |