With this disciple, to commemorate

His death, ere she departed hence. Oft had
This man of God beside the dying stood

In holy ministrations. Seldom had

He been so moved. This was the favorite lamb

Of all his flock, so soon to be resigned

To the great Shepherd's arms. With trembling voice
He read, and trembling voices sang a song

Of Zion. Then he bowed in prayer. "T is well
That he to whom we pray needs not that speech
With faultless utterance should show our wants,
For few and broken were the words of that
Petition, choked with swelling tears, while sobs
Responsive rose from every bosom. She

Alone, for whom they sorrowed thus, was calm,
Her eye undimmed. Her soul seemed gathering strength
Unto the trying hour. The aged man

Took up the consecrated bread, and brake

And gave the happy saint. "Take this," he said, "In dear remembrance of thy dying Lord,

His body given for thee, and in thy heart

Feed thou on him with thankfulness." Then took

"drink this," he said,

"and may the blood

The cup;
Which once for thee was shed preserve thy soul

And body to eternal life." To each
Some word of comfort spake he, as to each

He gave the sacred symbols. Unto all,

That chamber seemed the very gate of heaven;
And as they looked on her so soon to pass
Its portals, saw what radiant joy illumed
Her countenance, what triumph of the soul
O'er failing flesh, not one but then resolved
Anew to live for God. Another hymn

Was sung, and then the youthful group, with looks
Of silent farewell to their friend, withdrew.

Kindly the old man took her hand; "fear not,"
"thou shalt not tread the vale alone.

He said,
He will be with thee, and it shall be light.'

Her tongue refused to speak. More eloquent
Than words, a smile celestial, lighting up

Her pallid face, replied, "I will not fear."

With twilight's deepening shades, soft slumbers fell Upon her weary sense. Life gently ebbed

Away. And as the dewy night came forth

With star-gemmed brow, this heir of heaven put on Her glorious robe and her eternal crown.

CHELSEA, MASS.

17*

THE LOST CHILD.

BY REV. T. STREET.

I shall never forget the intense feeling produced in the little village of T., on the East shore of Maryland, when it was announced one bright morning that Mary A., a sweet girl of ten summers, had wandered from home and was no where to be found. Search had been made since eight o'clock, the time she was first missed, but no tidings had been gained of her. Mary was no ordinary child — a lovelier girl never graced a village or beset a human heart. Just budding from infancy into girlhood, a thousand winning charms were developing themselves, to attract the heart and love of all who knew her. I have no adequate description to give of her beauty-eyes, blue as the softest mid-summer sky-hair, yellow and waving, like molten gold a cheek rivalling the roses' richest tint - were nothing compared to the sweetness of her manner, the mildness of her tone, and the gentleness of her heart. In short, she was the idol of the whole town; and many a stranger would stop as she passed, and remark, "What a lovely child." Full of affection, she loved every body, and every body loved her in return. Was any one in distress?