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FRIENDS IN HEAVEN.

SEALED is the voice that used to speak
So gladly of our loved and lost;
And at their names pale is the cheek,

Even of the friends that loved them most.

A solemn silence shrines the dead-
A sacred hush-a faltering tone;
And trembling footsteps slowly tread
Upon the spot so late their own.

Not thus I feel their hourly loss

I think of them in light and love; Emblem of life, I view the cross,

And faith's fond gaze I turn above.

I miss them-ah! in every place;

I sometimes feel the unbidden tear; I cherish every fading trace,

But never, never wish them here.

Their tears are past, their crown is won,
Th' immortal wreath is all their own;

I seem to hear the chant begun,

Of joy around th' eternal throne.

"Yes, thoughts of peace and holiness
Surround their images; to me,
'Tis not a feeling of distress

To muse on their loved memory.

'Tis hope, 't is triumph, and 't is praise; O God! to thee be glory given,

Who, in the darkest of our days,
Hast linked us to the bliss of heaven.

I will not yield this pure delight
To vain regrets or faithless sighs;
Memory to me shall shine, a light
To blend our severed destinies.

HOPE.

O NEVER, never close thy heart

To human hope—her rapturous power Shall chase the tear-drops as they start, And light with smiles the future hour.

Hope on-hope on-it may not be―
Yet let thy heart-dreams still be bright;

Still picture that sweet destiny

In which thy spirit may delight.

Thy friend is at thy side-ah no!
That friend must find an early tomb,
and death's dark veil conceal below
That eye of love, that cheek of bloom.

But dearer hopes shall still be thine;
That tender gaze, that angel face
Shall all thy soul's fond hopes enshrine,
And every lighter grief efface.

Alas! that gaze shall coldly change,
That angel glance be thine no more;
And coming years that love estrange,
Which was to bless till life was o'er.

Yet still hope on-though friendship weep,
Thy friend awaits thee 'mongst the blest;
Thy hope, thy faith, thy fondness keep,
Go-seek her in the realms of rest!

Live as she lived-on others pour

The stream of kindness and of peace; And with deep trust behold the hour When earth's bereaved tears shall cease.

And for thy lost and broken love,
O! whisper to thy aching heart,

That He that anguish can remove,

Whose will supreme first bade you part.

Yes! thou shalt meet that angel gaze,
Again thine own, in realms of bliss,
Where love shall wear immortal rays,
And, unreproved, thy heart be his.

Hope on-hope on- -for joy is here,

Even in this dark and chequered scene; Go! chase thy every doubt and fear, Thy life a Father's care hath been.

THANKSGIVING IN AFFLICTION.

In times of trouble prayer to God is as natural as it is right; but who can sing the songs of praise under the clouds of sorrow, and amidst the waters of affliction? What connection is there between thanksgiving and distress?

We may observe, in general, that afflictions are not evils. Let me not be mistaken; I mean not to deny that nature shrinks from them; I mean not to insinuate, that we can by any means render ourselves insensible to pain and sorrow. I speak not of the present pressure of affliction, but with respect to the future consequences of present suffering; with respect to the moral influences of adversity; with respect to the fair and the abundant fruits of holiness and happiness,

which, by faith and patience and diligence, it may be made to yield. I speak with regard to the whole, both of our condition and our existence; and when it is asserted that afflictions are not evils, it is meant, that without them we should have less comfort in this present scene of things, or fewer advantages in our power with respect to that eternal state which is soon to succeed it. They do, or at least, if it is not our own fault, they may advance our interests upon the whole, and therefore are not upon the whole evils.

No evil being has any thing to do in the government of the world; it is ruled by the God of love. Our sharpest pains, our severest anguish, are not the cruelties of a malignant principle, they are not the barbarous sport of an insensible and wanton mind; they are not blown to us by the wind of chance, nor borne down upon us by the torrent of an unintelligent and irresistible destiny. They are the gracious visitations of our heavenly Father, without whom not a sparrow falleth to the

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