THE STAR IN THE EAST.

Night flung a sable stole o'er Bethlehem

On which, as on a velvet ground, each gem,
Strown beautiful and grand, lay glorious there ;---
And yet was seen, embosomed in the air,

One star to astrologic lore unknown,

That like a flame of Love on midnight's ocean shone!

Low o'er Olivet's trembling outline hung

This new-born flame, whence milder splendors sprung
Than ever flooded heaven or silvered earth;

Hail thou, bright herald of my Saviour's birth!

Were every golden urn of Vesper dim,

Thy gushing fount of light would roll its waves to Him!

Now heaving up the skies-an eye of love,
The magi saw the wonder roll above

The arc where constellations gambol wild

They saw-and knew that Heaven's great monarch smiled,

And took their jewelled gifts in haste to crown

The kingly head that drew such rays of glory down!

On Bethlehem's manger low, the radiance glowed
With ten fold beauty as a Babe it showed-
'Twas Christ-Creator and Redeemer-there
Nursed by the virgin in a straw-built lair;
Oh, let my contrite soul with wise men bow
To Him who died for me-yet lives in glory now.

LINES WRITTEN IN DEJECTION.

J.N.M.

I strive in vain-I strive in vain-to still this throbbing breast,
Sorrow's keen dart is rankling there-it steals, it steals my rest:
I once knew peace, but peace has flown—a blight hath damm'd my

years,

And paths that once were strew'd with flow'rs, are moistened now

with tears.

Fer o'er dark ocean's waves I've roamed, o'er mountain wilds I've strayed, [have play'd: When gathering thunders round have roll'd, and lightning's fires I've wak'd to hail the morning's dawn-watch'd eve's expiring ray, Too blest to think life's brightest hours, e'en thus, would pass

away!

Then I was young-and vainly deem'd this world was made for me,
Its spangled skies-its hills and vales-its blue ethereal sea;
I deem'd that all was all it seem'd—too young, alas! to know
That under Nature's fairest hues, the rankest poisons grow.

I deem'd not then how soon proud Death earth's firmest bonds can

sever;

How coldly hearts, that once lov'd deep, can part, aye, part forever;

How friends prove false-how angel-hopes dissolve themselves in

air,

[Despair!

And Fiends usurp the Throne they held-Revenge-Remorse

I knew not this-I feel it now-e'en more than I can speak, And, feeling thus, 'tis true, methinks, this bankrupt heart should break;

For oh! its strings are aching so, such withering grief lies there, "Twere kind in fate to rescue me from pains I ili can bear!

Who, when life's morning hours are past, its sunniest moments fled, Each hope o'erthrown, each charm dissolved, its every garland dead

Would wish, still wish, to wander on in this cold world unknown
To stand, like the blasted tree of old, unpitied and alone!

But yet, oh yet be calm my soul !" thou hast a guardian still,
One who will aid thy tott'ring steps in darkest hours of ill:
On Him, the Rock of Ages, cast the burden of thy care,
In faith that they who seek, shall find, a resvite from Despair!

Upon this Rock, when heart, and flesh, and earthlier succors fail,
Thou still, my wearied, sinking soul, in humble hope shall dwell:
Then, though mid wind and storms, thy bark sink in Time's trou-
bled wave,

That latest anchor shall be thine in shores beyond the grave !H.W.

THE WATCH TOWER LIGHT.

Seen from my window at midnight.

"Tis midnight deep,---the storm is loud,
And wild the gale is roaring;

And from a dark and watery cloud
Impetuous rain is pouring.
No star to gild the threat'ning sky
With cheerful light is gleaming,
But bright, from yonder beacon high
The watch tower light is streaming.

And though the night is dark and drear,
And though the storm grows wilder;
That light the gath'ring gloom can cheer
And make its terrors milder.
It shines like youth's unclouded dreams
When hope and joy are beaming,
And bright as truth's unsullied beams,
The watch tower light is streaming.
So on life's dark tempestuous way,
Where pain and bliss are twining,
May holy hope's unclouded ray
On me be ever shining;
And blest religion's tranquil light
Be ever round me beaming,

As o'er this dark and dreary night,

The watch tower light is streaming.--MRS. THAYER

THE different varieties of the Fig Tree are very common in Palestine and other eastern countries, and they flourish with the greatest luxuriance in those barren and stony situations where little else will grow. In the Hebrew scriptures the fig is called Fanch, "the grief tree," from the roughness of the upper surface of the leaf, which causes it to irritate and fret such parts of the human body as it is applied to. Hence the Rabbins and several of the Christian Fathers, represent Adam as selecting this tree-a kind of natural sackcloth to clothe himself and his wife immediately after the fall, for the purpose of acknowledging his fault and expressing his contrition.

The traditions of the Greeks carry the origin of the Fig back to the most remote antiquity. It was known to the people of the East before the Cerealia; and stood in the same relation to the inhabitants as the banana does to the Indian tribes of South America at the present day. With little trouble of cultivation it supplied their principal necessities; and furnished them with a source, not, as with us, of occasional luxury, but of constant food. The want of blossoms on the Fig Tree, was regarded by the Jews as a most grievous calamity. Cakes of Figs were included in the presents of provisions by which the widow of Nabal appeased the wrath of David. In Greece when Lycurgus decreed that the Spartan men should dine in a common hall, flour, wine, cheese, and figs were the principal contributions of each