"He who asked of thee,

Loveth a cheerful giver." So she raised
Her gushing eyes, and, ere the tear-drop dried
Upon its fringes, smiled and that meek smile,
Like Abraham's faith, was counted righteousness.

MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY.

TWO ON EARTH AND TWO IN HEAVEN.

Two on earth, their little feet
Glance like sunbeams round the door;
Two in heaven, whose lips repeat
Words of blessings evermore.

Two on earth, at shut of day,
Softly sink to cradled rest;
Two in heaven, more blessed than they,
Slumber on the Saviour's breast.

Two with crowns of budding flowers
Dance the summer skies beneath;
Two in heaven's unfading bowers
Wear the glory like a wreath.

Two on earth, whose merry call
Stirs my heart to gladness now;
Two in heaven, whose kisses fall
Through the silence on my brow.

Two on earth, O, day by day,
Kneeling at my Father's throne,
Thus with pleading heart I pray,
"Shepherd, make my lambs thy own!"

Two within that sweeter home
Have no need of earthly prayer;
There with angel songs they roam
Through the pastures green and fair.

Oft I gaze with tearful eyes,
Where the church-yard daisies blow;
Oft my prayers are only sighs,
Yearning for my children so.

Yet I know the Shepherd's hand
Led them home in tender love;
Mine is sure a blessed band,

Two on earth and two above.

EMILY C. HUNTINGDON.

THE MEETING.

O! WHEN a mother meets on high,
The child she lost in infancy,
Hath she not then for pains and fears,
The day of woe, the watchful night,
For all her sorrows, all her tears,
An over payment of delight?

THE LOSS OF A LITTLE CHILD.

O! SAY not 't were a keener blow
To lose a child of riper years,
You cannot feel a mother's woe,

You cannot dry a mother's tears:

The girl who rears a sickly plant,
Or cherishes a wounded dove,
Will love them most while most they want
The watchfulness of love!

Time must have changed that fair young brow!
Time might have changed that spotless heart!

Years might have taught deceit - but now

In love's confiding dawn we part! Ere pain or grief had wrought decay, My babe is cradled in the tomb ; Like some fair blossom torn away Before its perfect bloom.

With thoughts of peril and of storm,

We see a bark first touch the wave;
But distant seems the whirlwind's form,
As distant - as an infant's grave!
Though all is calm, that beauteous ship
Must brave the whirlwind's rudest breath;
Though all is calm, that infant's lip

Must meet the kiss of death!

THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY,

A BEREAVED FATHER'S ASSURANCE.

LIKE you, my friend, I have been called to witness the unexpected departure of my children. Two of them I committed to the same grave, where they sleep the sleep of death. They were growing up together like two young flowers, which had intertwined their tendrils, and mingled their sweet fragrance, but which were suddenly withered by the same rude blast. Like them, these children were lovely in their lives, and in death they were not divided. The same storm overwhelmed them both. They lie, as it were, arm in arm, and side by side, in the same deep and narrow bed of earth, until they awake in the morning of the resurrection. Nor do they lie alone; their narrow bed has been uncovered to receive another sleeper, the victim of a similar malady, whose sun of brightest promise went down while my heart was still rejoicing in the beauty of its day-spring.

It was when tossed upon that sea of trouble in which these sudden visitations involved me, I was led to the full investigation of the question of the salvation of infants. That examination more than confirmed my hopes. It strengthened them into A COMFORTABLE ASSURANCE THAT IN THE DEATH OF INFANTS, IT IS WELL WITH THEM, AND WELL WITH THEIR PARENTS - that God's purposes are merciful to both and that while he glorifies himself in the exaltation of the children to heaven, he would also secure by such afflictions the sanctification and the salvation of their parents. Rev. Dr. Smyth's Solace for Bereaved Parents.

BEREAVEMENT.

NAY, weep not, dearest, though the child be dead, He lives again in heaven's unclouded life, With other angels that have early fled

From these dark scenes of sorrow, sin, and strife;

Nay, weep not, dearest, though thy yearning love Would fondly keep for earth its fairest flowers, And e'en deny to brighter realms above

The few that deck this dreary world of ours: Though much it seems a wonder and a wo That one so loved should be so early lost, And hallowed tears may unforbidden flow To mourn the blossom that we cherished most: Yet all is well; God's good design I see, That where our treasure is, our hearts may be! J. G. SAXE.