HEAVEN.

That clime is not like this dull clime of ours,
All, all is brightness there;

A sweeter influence breathes around its flowers,
And a far milder air.

No calm below is like that calm above,

No region here is like that realm of love;
Earth's softest spring ne'er shed so soft a light,
Earth's brightest summer never shone so bright.

That sky is not like this sad sky of ours,

Tinged with earth's change and care;
No shadow dims it, and no rain-cloud lowers-
No broken sunshine there!

One everlasting stretch of azure pours
Its stainless splendour o'er those sinless shores;
For there Jehovah shines with heavenly ray,
There Jesus reigns, dispensing endless day.

These dwellers there are not like those of earth,
No mortal stain they bear;
And yet they seem of kindred blood and birth-
Whence and how came they there?
Earth was their native soil; from sin and shame,
Through tribulation they to glory came;
Bond slaves delivered from sin's crushing load,
Brands plucked from burning by the hand of God.

These robes of theirs are not like those below:
No angel's half so bright!
Whence came that beauty, whence that living
glow,

Whence came that radiant white?
Washed in the blood of the atoning Lamb,
Fair as the light these robes of theirs became,
And now, all tears wiped off from every eye,
They wander where the freshest pastures lie,
Through all the nightless day of that unfading
sky.

THE MARTYRS OF SCOTLAND.

There was gladness in Zion, her standard was flying,

Free o'er her battlements glorious and gay; All fair as the morning shone forth her adorning, And fearful to foes was her godly array.

There is mourning in Zion, her standard is lying
Defiled in the dust, to the spoiler a prey;
And now there is wailing, and sorrow prevailing,
For the best of her children are weeded away.

The good have been taken, their place is forsaken— The man and the maiden, the green and the gray;

All night we watched the ebbing life,
As if its flight to stay;
Till, as the dawn was coming up,
Our last hope passed away.

She was the music of our home,
A day that knew no night,
The fragrance of our garden-bower,
A thing all smiles and light.
Above the couch we bent and prayed,
In the half-lighted room;
As the bright hues of infant life
Sank slowly into gloom.

Each flutter of the pulse we marked,
Each quiver of the eye;

To the dear lips our ear we laid,
To catch the last low sigh.

We stroked the little sinking cheeks,
The forehead pale and fair;
We kissed the small, round, ruby mouth,
For Lucy still was there.

We fondly smoothed the scatter'd curls
Of her rich golden hair;

We held the gentle palm in ours,
For Lucy still was there.

At last the fluttering pulse stood still; The death-frost, through her clay Stole slowly, and, as morn came up,

Our sweet flower pass'd away.

The form remained; but there was now
No soul our love to share;
No warm responding lip to kiss;
For Lucy was not there.

Farewell, with weeping hearts, we said,
Child of our love and care!
And then we ceased to kiss those lips,

For Lucy was not there.

But years are moving quickly past,
And time will soon be o'er;
Death shall be swallow'd up of life
On the immortal shore.

Then shall we clasp that hand once more,
And smooth that golden hair;
Then shall we kiss those lips again,
When Lucy shall be there.

NO MORE SEA.

Summer ocean, idly washing

This gray rock on which I lean; Summer ocean, broadly flashing

With thy hues of gold and green; Gently swelling, wildly dashing

O'er yon island-studded scene; Summer ocean, how I'll miss thee, Miss the thunder of thy roar, Miss the music of thy ripple,

Miss thy sorrow-soothing shore. Summer ocean, how I'll miss thee,

When the sea shall be no more." Summer ocean, how I'll miss thee, As along thy strand I range; Or, as here I sit and watch thee In thy moods of endless change. Mirthful moods of morning gladness, Musing moods of sunset sadness; When the dying winds caress thee, And the sinking sunbeams kiss thee, And the crimson cloudlets press thee, And all nature seems to bless thee! Summer ocean, how I'll miss thee, Miss the wonders of thy shore, Miss the magic of thy grandeur, When the sea shall be no more!"

And yet sometimes in my musings, When I think of what shall be,

In the day of earth's new glory,
Still I seem to roam by thee.
As if all had not departed,

But the glory lingered still;
As if that which made thee lovely
Had remained unchangeable.
Only that which marred thy beauty,
Only that had passed away;
Sullen wilds of ocean-moorland,
Bloated features of decay.

Only that dark waste of waters

Line ne'er fathomed, eye ne'er scanned; Only that shall shrink and vanish,

Yielding back the imprisoned land. Yielding back earth's fertile hollows, Long submerged and hidden plains; Giving up a thousand valleys

Of the ancient world's domains. Leaving still bright azure ranges,

Winding round this rocky tower; Leaving still yon gem-bright island, Sparkling like an ocean flower. Leaving still some placid sketches, Where the sunbeams bathe at noon; Leaving still some lake-like reaches, Mirrors for the silver moon. Only all of gloom and horror, Idle wastes of endless brine, Haunts of darkness, storm, and danger; These shall be no longer thine. Backward ebbing, wave and ripple,

Wondrous scenes shall then disclose; And, like earth's, the wastes of ocean Then shall blossom as the rose.

ALL WELL.

No seas again shall sever,
No desert intervene;
No deep, sad-flowing river

Shall roll its tide between.

No bleak cliffs, upward towering, Shall bound our eager sight; No tempest, darkly lowering, Shall wrap us in its night.

Love, and unsevered union

Of soul with those we love,
Nearness and glad communion,
Shall be our joy above.

No dread of wasting sickness,
No thought of ache or pain,
No fretting hours of weakness,
Shall mar our peace again.