That voice paternal, whispering, watching ever? My bosom? - Never!

Father and Saviour! plant within that bosom These seeds of holiness, and bid them blossom In fragrance and in beauty bright and vernal, And spring eternal.

Then place them in those everlasting gardens, Where angels walk, and seraphs are the wardens; Where every flower that creeps through death's dark portal

Becomes immortal.

THE GATE OF HEAVEN.

DISCIPLES' HYMN-BOOK.

SHE stood outside the gate of heaven, and saw them entering in,

A world-long train of shining ones, all washed in blood from sin.

The hero-martyr in that blaze uplifted his strong

eye,

And trod firm the reconquered soil of his na

tivity!

THE GATE OF HEAVEN.

223

And he who had despised his life, and laid it down in pain,

Now triumphed in its worthiness, and took it up again.

The holy one, who had met God in desert cave

alone,

Feared not to stand with brethren around the Father's throne.

They who had done, in darkest night, the deeds of light and flame,

Circled with them about as with a glowing halo

came.

And humble souls, who held themselves too dear for earth to buy,

Now passed through the golden gate, to live eternally.

And when into the glory the last of all did

go,

"Thank God! there is a heaven," she cried, "though mine is endless woe."

The angel of the golden gate said: "Where, then, dost thou dwell?

And who art thou that enterest not?" "A soul escaped from hell."

"Who knows to bless with prayer like thine, in hell can never be;

God's angel could not, if he would, bar up

door from thee."

this

She left her sin outside the gate, she meekly entered there,

Breathed free the blessed air of heaven, and knew her native air.

PART VII.

TRUST AND SUBMISSION.

ACTION AND THOUGHT.

R. M. MILNES.

THERE is a world where struggle and stern toil
Are all the nurture of the soul of man,-
Ordained to raise from life's ungrateful soil
Pain as he must, and Pleasure as he can.
Then to that other world of thought from this
Turns the sad soul, all hopeful of repose,
But round in weirdest metamorphosis,

False shapes and true, divine and devilish, close.
Above these two, and resting upon each
A meditative and compassionate eye,
Broodeth the Spirit of God; thence evermore,
On those poor wanderers, cast from shore to shore,
Falleth a voice, omnipotent to teach

Them that will hear,-"Despair not! it is I."

FROM "THE HEAVENLY FRIEND.”

BERNARD BARTON.

THERE IS A FRIEND more tender, true
Than brother e'er can be ;

Who, when all others bid adieu,
Will still abide by thee;

Who, be their pathway bright or dim,
Deserts not those that turn to HIM.

The heart by Him sustained, though deep
Its anguish, still can bear;
The soul He condescends to keep,
Shall never know despair;

In nature's weakness, sorrow's night,
God is its strength, its joy, and light.

He is the Friend who changeth not
In sickness or in health,
Whether on earth our transient lot

Be poverty or wealth;

In joy or grief, contempt or fame,
To all who seek Him still the same.

Of human hearts He holds the key:
Is friendship meet for ours?
O, be assured that none but He

Unlocks its purest powers: