TRUST AMIDST TRIAL.

FATHER! I thank thee; may no thought E'er deem thy chastisements severe; But may this heart, by sorrow taught, Calm each wild wish, each idle fear.

Thy mercy bids all nature bloom:

The sun shines bright, and man is gay • Thine equal mercy spreads the gloom, That darkens o'er his little day.

Full many a throb of grief and pain

Thy frail and erring child must know But not one prayer is breathed in vain, Nor does one tear unheeded flow.

Thy various messengers employ;
Thy purposes of love fulfil;
And 'mid the wreck of human joy
May kneeling faith adore thy will.

LIFE AND DEATH.

Oн fear not thou to die!

But rather fear to live; for Life
Has thousand snares thy feet to try

By peril, pain, and strife.

Brief is the work of Death;

But Life! the spirit shrinks to see

How full, ere Heaven recalls the breath,
The cup of woe may be.

Oh fear not thou to die!

No more to suffer or to sin

No snares without thy faith to try,

No traiter heart within ;

But fear, oh! rather fear

The gay, the light, the changeful scene, The flattering smiles that greet thee here, From Heaven thy heart that wean.

Fear lest in evil hour,

Thy pure and holy hope o'ercome
By clouds that in the horizon lower,
Thy spirit feel that gloom,

Which over earth and heaven
The covering throws of fell despair,
And deem itself the unforgiven,
Predestined child of care.

Oh fear not thou to die!
To die, and be that blessed one,
Who, in the bright and beauteous sky,
May feel his conflict done;

Who feels that never more

The tear of grief or shame shall come,
For thousand wanderings from that Power,
Who loved, and called him home.

THE VOICES OF THE DEAD.

THE world is filled with the voices of the dead. They speak not from the public records of the great world only, but from the private history of our own experience. They speak to us in a thousand remembrances, in a thousand incidents, events, associations. They speak to us, not only from their silent graves, but from the throng of life. Though they are invisible, yet life is filled with their presence. They are with us by the silent fireside and in the secluded chamber; they are with us in the paths of society, and in the crowded assembly of men. They speak to us from the lonely way-side; and they speak to us from the venerable walls that echo to the steps of a multitude, and to the voice of prayer. Go where we will,

We live, we con

the dead are with us. verse, with those who once lived and conversed with us. Their well remembered tone mingles with the whispering breezes, with the sound of the falling leaf, with the jubilee shout of the spring-time. The earth is filled with their shadowy train. Let us look upon ourselves in this relation, and see what we owe to the dead.

What memories, then, have the dead left among us, to stimulate us to virtue, to win us to goodness.

The approach to death often prepares the way for this impression. The effect of a last sickness to develop and perfect the virtues of our friends, is often so striking and beautiful, as to seem more than a compensation for all the sufferings of disease. It is the practice of the Catholic church to bestow upon its eminent saints a title to the perpetual homage of the faithful, in the act of canonization. But what is a formal decree, compared with the effect of a last sickness, to canonize the virtue that we love, for eternal

remembrance and admiration? How often does that touching decay, that gradual unclothing of the mortal body, seem to be a putting on of the garments of immortal beauty and life! That pale cheek, that placid brow, that sweet serenity spread over the whole countenance, that spiritual, almost supernatural brightness of the eye, as if light from another world already shone through it, that noble and touching disinterestedness of the parting spirit, which utters no complaint, which breathes' no sigh, which speaks no word of fear nor apprehension to wound its friend-which is calm, and cheerful, and natural, and self-sustained, amidst daily declining strength and the sure approach to deathand then, at length, when concealment is no longer possible, that last firm, triumphant, consoling discourse, and that last look of all mortal tenderness and immortal trust; what hallowed memories are these to soothe, to purify, to enrapture surviving love!

Death, too, sets a seal upon the excel