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And no cloud by Him is sent
That's mot fleerd with soft intent!
What though yon small house is empty,
Yonder tenement of clay!
Christ has call'd thy little Charlie,

To Himself away;
Calld him to a nobler lot
He who sairing Forbid them not!
Walling member, if their angels,
Aye behoid the Father's Face,
In Gords Heaven be sure that children,

Hai no jugless place;
And if this indeed be so,
Little Charlie's there, we know !
Little sisters, little brother,
Once again je group around !
But the DOW, 10, lay your Charlie

Is tie skrb-yard ground;
Ah, what vbs! what smother'd pain!
Taart ane a thick as rain!
Yet 01.19. get fond Rachel !
Lorik sitryand the grave!
A Trik .2 Christ is mighty

A lle lanabe to save!
Care sulla praises sings,
Error oa Seraph-wings!!

rurg-Contrated.)

FROM THE HONEYMOON.

Jor TOEIE.
bury, in 1770 He was brought

ing more attractire to bim
Pe as a profession, and wrote

" asd The Honeymoon" And hold in mother-passion,

Thy Blessed, in thy sight.
See how he went out straightway

From the dark world he knew;
No twilight in the gateway

To mediate 'twixt the two; Into the sudden glory,

Out of the dark he trod, Departing from before thee

At once to light and GOD! For the first face, beholding

The Christ's in its divine;
For the first place, the golden

And tideless hyaline;
With trees, at lasting summer,

That rock to tuneful sound,
While angels, the new comer,

Wrap a still smile around. Oh, in the blessed psalm, now,

His happy voice he tries, Spreading a thicker palm-bough,

Than others, o'er his eyes ; Yet still, in all his singing,

Thinks highly of thy song Which, in his life's first springing,

Sang to him all night long, And wishes it beside him,

With kissing lips that cool And soft did overglide him,

To make the sweetness full. Look up, O mourning mother,

Thy blind boy walks in light!
Ye wait for one another,

Before God's infinite!
But thou art now the darkest,

Thou mother left below
Thou, the sole blind-thou markest,

Content that it be so,Until ye two give meeting

Where Heaven's pearl-gate is,
And he shall lead thy feet in,

As once thou leddest his ! Wait on, thou mourning mother! (By permission of Messrs. Chapman and Hall.)

LITTLE CHARLIE.

(A CHILD'S LIFE AND DE A T 11.)

Rev. DR. GEORGE ASPINALL.

Born upon a happy day,
Youngest child of all the four!
Mother's breast, another baby

Ne'er shall suckle more;
Mother, make the most of this,
Seal it with thy fondest kiss !

Plants on moisture thrive and climb,
Gently rear the weenie thing,
Dip its supple limbs in water,

From the healthful spring;
Bathe it till its blood doth glow,
Make it clap its hands and crow!

Lo! the christ'ning day hath come,
Little sisters, little brother,
Gaze with wonder on the infant,

In the arms of mother;
Lo! they lave with drops its brow,
And its name is · CHARLIE' now !

Peerie mannie, babe of beauty,
Yet ! all pure and undefild,
All the mother's soul is center'd

In that bonnie child;

God doth need him ; Charlie, boy,
Whence that hectic, burning glow,
That enfires thy cheek, then leaves it

Pale as driven snow?
Eyes that sparkle, then grow dim,
Weariness in ev'ry limb?
Ah, relentless, fatal fever!
Gnaw the ripe-fruits one by one,
But, oh! spare the widow's blossom,

Spare her youngest son !
Sable angel pass him o'er,
Mark the lintel of her door!

Vain entreaty ! tread with softness!
Yonder curtain'd cot behold!
And upon it little Charlie,

Very white and cold !
White, as lilies of the spring,
Still, as bird with broken wing!

Charlie! mother's fondest treasure,
Brother's playmate, sisters' pet,
On thy baby-cheek, death's signal

Now at length is set ;
Gone for aye the peach-bud's hue,
Quench'd the laughing eye of blue !

Little limbs, how still and quiet!
Tiny feet, your faery-tread
Never more shall wake the echoes,

Dead ! my Charlie, dead!
Yet what knowledge on that brow,
Child I thou'rt more than Man just now!

Courage! crush'd and stricken Rachel, Weeping blood-drops day and night, Recollect, the darkest storm-clouds

Have a lining bright!

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