Where are they now? I saw the youngest -he was the dearest of the flock-his mother's spirit seemed to have settled on him-crushed at my feet a bleeding mass. One moment, and his light laugh was in my ear; the next, and the large mass came: there was no cry, no look of terror; but the transition to eternity was as the lightning's flash; and my poor boy lay crushed beneath the fearful load. It was an awful moment; but time, that changes all things, brought relief; and I had still two sons. But my cup of affliction was not yet full. They too were taken from me. Side by side they died-not as their brother-but the firedamp caught their breath, and left them scorched and lifeless. People brought them home to the old man-his fair jewels, by whom earth's richest treasures in his sight had no price-and told him he was childless and alone. It is a strange decree that the old plant should thus

survive the stripling things it shaded, and for whom it would have died a thousand times. Is it surprising that I should

wish to die here in the mines?"

"You have indeed," I replied, "drank Whence did you derive

of affliction.

consolation?"

The old man looked up-" From heaven: The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord."" I bowed my head to the miner's prayer, and the old man passed on.

THE GERMAN WATCHMAN'S SONG.

HARK, while I sing, our village clock,
The hour of eight, good sirs, has struck:
Eight souls alone from death were kept,
When God the earth with deluge swept.

Unless the Lord to guard us deign,
Man wakes and watches all in vain.
Lord, through thine all-prevailing might,
Do thou vouchsafe us a good night.

Hark, while I sing, our village clock,
The hour of nine, good sirs, has struck :
Nine lepers cleansed returnèd not-

Be not, thy blessings, man forgot.

Unless the Lord, &c.

Hark, while I sing, our village clock,
The hour of ten, good sirs, has struck :
Ten precepts show God's holy will.

Oh! may we prove obedient still.

Unless the Lord, &c.

Hark, while I sing, our village clock,
The hour eleven, good sirs, has struck :
Eleven apostles remained true;

May we be like the faithful few.

Unless the Lord, &c.

Hark, while I sing, our village clock,
The hour of twelve, good sirs, has struck:

Twelve is of time the boundary;

Man, think upon eternity!

Unless the Lord, &c.

Hark, while I sing, our village clock,
The hour of one, good sirs, has struck:
One God alone reigns over all,

Nought can without his will befall.

Unless the Lord, &c.

Hark, while I sing, our village clock,
The hour of two, good sirs, has struck:
Two ways for man to walk are given;
Teach us the right, the path to heaven.

Unless the Lord, &c.

Hark, while I sing, our village clock,
The hour of three, good sirs, has struck :
Three in one God, exalted most,

The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

Unless the Lord, &c.

Hark, while I sing, our village clock,
The hour of four, good sirs, has struck:
Four seasons crown the farmer's care,
Oh! may we each our hearts prepare.
Up, up! awake! nor slumber on,
The morn approaches, night is gone;
Thank Him who by His power and might
Has watched and kept us through the night.

THE FLOWERS AND THE COFFIN.

LAST week I was at a funeral. Two rooms were filled with friends, who had come to attend the burial of a little girl.

Her body lay in a coffin, on a marble table in the middle of the parlour. Her sweet lips were closed, and her pale hands, folded over her bosom, were as cold as the marble.

By the side of the little coffin was a silver cup, such as children use, and in in it was a bunch of fresh flowers. I dare say it was Emily's cup. Whenever her father and mother look at it, they will always think of their child, who used to drink out of it.

It made me so sorrowful to see these sweet flowers by the side of a corpse. They were beautiful, but they were sad. Emily was like these flowers. She grew up, and was as promising and as lovely as they. Now she is cut down and withered.

In a few hours the flowers will be dead also. But here is the difference. The flowers will never

They are gone for ever.

bloom again.

But Emily is