We have gone far, and farther still may lie
Our pathway through this world of misery,
But never can another meet our view,
So loved, so fondly dear to memory too.
England! enough, since all that earth can boast
Of beauty, intellect, religion, most

Are gathered there, there shines a fairer ray
Than ever fell from the bright orb of day.
While warmer sunshine Italy doth bless
See ours, the glorious Sun of Righteousness,
Ascending, rising on his healing wings
To England's sons his own salvation brings,
And bids them be his heralds unto those
On whom the gospel-glory never rose !
Yes, from afar, from many a heathen clime,
How many shall be born in course of time
To know the land to whom they owe their rest,
Rise, look to English shores, and own them blest!
Even from the East, behold the sons restored
To their own land-the people of our Lord;
While to their God accepted Israel raise
The happy privileged voice of joyful praise;
While unto him they turn with hearts renewed,
Brought near and saved by his atoning blood.
Will not one blessing be our Albion's claim,
As instrument in God's own hand she came
To bring the knowledge of a Saviour's name?
Yes, she was blest! to her assigned the place
Of manifesting her Redeemer's grace!

I may not longer dwell on this loved theme,
Oh, seems it not a sad unwelcome dream;
To feel that we are exiles from her shore,
To know, it may be, that we meet no more!
Yet shall the voice of Spring no cheering tone

THE RETURN OF SPRING IN A FOREIGN LAND.

THE thoughts of other days come with the breeze of spring,

Our first, our earliest hours, ere wandering

Far from our home, we felt the joys that came

With each fresh season-oh, that time doth claim

More of fond recollection than my words could paint:

Days of sweet communing without restraint

With nature's varied beauties; on the hill

We loved the best,—and memory loves it still—
How oft we sat, and watched the setting Sun
As down it sunk, its daily visit done.
Oh, not one sight of beauty e'er hath met
Mine eyes since then, but that before me yet;
Our mountain home returns, or forest glade,
Where nature first her best impression made:
Yet while in Italy's sweet clime we learned
To love her beauties, not there we discerned
Our home, one spot alone could claim
Full right unto that sweet endearing name!
At length the day dawned when we took our way
To our own land, and t'was a joyful day!
Though darkened by the long and sad farewell
To the dear native land we loved so well!

"T'were long to tell," but sure, not " sad to trace"

All that befel in that sweet Isle of grace,

We have gone far, and farther still may lie
Our pathway through this world of misery,
But never can another meet our view,
So loved, so fondly dear to memory too.
England! enough, since all that earth can boast
Of beauty, intellect, religion, most

Are gathered there, there shines a fairer ray
Than ever fell from the bright orb of day.
While warmer sunshine Italy doth bless
See ours, the glorious Sun of Righteousness,
Ascending, rising on his healing wings
To England's sons his own salvation brings,
And bids them be his heralds unto those
On whom the gospel-glory never rose !
Yes, from afar, from many a heathen clime,
How many shall be born in course of time
To know the land to whom they owe their rest,
Rise, look to English shores, and own them blest!
Even from the East, behold the sons restored
To their own land-the people of our Lord;
While to their God accepted Israel raise
The happy privileged voice of joyful praise;
While unto him they turn with hearts renewed,
Brought near and saved by his atoning blood.
Will not one blessing be our Albion's claim,
As instrument in God's own hand she came
To bring the knowledge of a Saviour's name?
Yes, she was blest! to her assigned the place
Of manifesting her Redeemer's grace!

I may not longer dwell on this loved theme,
Oh, seems it not a sad unwelcome dream;
To feel that we are exiles from her shore,
To know, it may be, that we meet no more!
Yet shall the voice of Spring no cheering tone

Whisper unto our hearts :—“ all is not gone?”
No, sweeter, brighter thoughts than e'en the past
May cheer our absence, should it even last;
Long as we dwell on earth, a fairer city lies
Beyond this world, beyond those dazzling skies.
There shall the assembled church, through God's own

grace,

See her Redeemer, know him face to face;

Long though our winter months be, sad and drear,
Be this our hope, the Second Advent near;
And till it dawn, let each returning spring,

Sweet thoughts of peace, and rest, and glory bring.

United States, April, 1842.

R.

WHO can traverse this beautiful Island, and see millions after millions of available acres lying wholly idle; while on that which is said to be cultivated, you may frequently pass over miles without coming to a single cottage ;-and, remember that nearly every plot of five acres is equal to the maintenance of a peasant, with his wife and children; without feeling his wrath burn within him at the profane and wicked usurpation of the men, who while they themselves wallow in luxury, talk to us of the "evil of a surplus population!"-Life and Writings of M. T. Sadler, Esq.

THE assertion, that happiness and misery are more equally distributed in the present life than outward circumstances at first sight appear to warrant; finds a ready echo every where. The unhappy solace themselves with it, conscious that their lot has some secret alleviations, to which they can cling for hope and comfort and the happy (so called) reiterate it, when they would fain make excuse to their own hearts, or to others, for the secret uneasiness they suffer, or the avowed dissatisfaction they feel. Meanwhile, it is matter of fact, notorious to the most careless observer, that man, considered merely with regard to his corporeal and intellectual state, occupies here, conditions so diversified by shades of suffering or satisfaction; by privation of mental light, or capability of intellectual culture, that from the highest grade of animal and rational enjoyment, to the lowest depth of corporeal and mental degradation; there is a space almost as vast as that, which separate man himself from the lower orders of animate beings. Shall it be said that there is no difference between the elastic vigour, the extatic glow of health, and the langour and weariness, the anguish and