SAFE FOR EVERMORE.

Our beauteous child we laid amidst the silence of the dead,

We heaped the earth and spread the turf above the cherub head;

We turned again to sunny life, to other ties as dear,

And the world has thought us comforted, when we have dried the tear.

O we have one, and only one, secure in sacred trust,

It is the lone and lovely one that's sleeping in the dust;

We fold it in our arms again, we see it by our side,

In the helplessness of innocence which sin has never tried.

All earthly trust, all mortal years, however light they fly,

But darken on the glowing cheek, and dim the

eagle eye;

But there, our bright, unwithering flower - our

spirit's hoarded store

We keep through every chance and change, the

MY CHILD.

I CANNOT make him dead!

His fair sunshiny head

Is ever bounding round my study chair;
Yet, when my eyes, now dim

With tears, I turn to him,

The vision vanishes - he is not there!

I walk my parlor floor,
And through the open door

I hear a footfall on the chamber stair;

I'm stepping toward the hall,

To give the boy a call;

And then bethink me that

he is not there!

I tread the crowded street;

A satchell'd lad I meet,

With the same beaming eyes and colored hair;

And, as he's running by,

Follow him with my eye,

Scarcely believing that - he is not there!

I know his face is hid

Under the coffin-lid;

Closed are his eyes; cold is his forehead fair :

My hand that marble felt;

O'er it in prayer I knelt;

Yet my heart whispers that - he is not there!

I cannot make him dead!

When passing by the bed,

So long watched over with parental care,

My spirit and my eye

Seek it inquiringly,

Before the thought comes that - he is not there!

When at the cool, gray break

Of day, from sleep I wake,

With my first breathing of the morning air

My soul goes up, with joy,

To Him who gave my boy;

Then comes the sad thought that he is not

there!

When at the day's calm close,

Before we seek repose,

I'm with his mother, offering up our prayer,

Whate'er I may be saying,
I am, in spirit, praying

For our boy's spirit, though - he is not there!

Not there! - Where then is he?

The form I used to see

Was but the raiment that he used to wear:
The grave, that now doth press
Upon that cast-off dress,

Is but his wardrobe locked; - he is not there!

He lives! - In all the past
He lives; nor to the last,

Of seeing him again will I despair :

In dreams I see him now;

And, on his angel brow,

I see it written, "Thou shalt see me there!”

Yes, we all live to God!

FATHER, thy chastening rod

So help us, thine afflicted ones, to bear,
That, in the spirit land,

Meeting, at thy right hand,

'T will be our heaven to find that - he is there!

REV. JOHN PIERPONT.

THE TRANSPLANTED FLOWER.

In some rude spot, where vulgar herbage grows,
If chance a violet rear its purple head,
The careful gard'ner moves it ere it blows,
To thrive and flourish in a nobler bed.

Such was thy fate, dear child,
Thy opening such!

Pre-eminence in early bloom was shown,
For earth too good, perhaps,
And loved too much

Heav'n saw, and early marked thee for its own!

R. B. SHERIDAN.

the

MARTIN LUTHER AND HIS DYING

DAUGHTER.

LUTHER was called to part with Magdalen at age of fourteen. She was a most endearing child, and united the firmness and perseverance of the father, with the gentleness and delicacy of the mother. When she grew very ill, Luther said, "Dearly do I love her! but, O my God, if it be Thy will to take her hence, I resign her to Thee without a murmur."

He then approached the bed, and said to her, "My dear little daughter, my beloved Magdalen, you would willingly remain with your earthly father; but, if God calls you, you will also willingly go to your Heavenly Father."

She replied, "Yes, dear father; it is as God pleases."

"Dear little girl," he exclaimed, "O how I love her! The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak."

He then took the Bible and read to her the passage in Isaiah: "Thy dead men shall live, together with my dead body shall they arise. Awake and sing, ye that dwell in dust, for thy dew is as the dew of herbs, and the earth shall cast out the dead."