We miss her in the place of prayer, Once more her sweet "Good night!' There seems a shadow on the day Alone unto our Father's will One thought hath reconciled; That He whose love exceedeth ours Hath taken home His child. Fold her, oh Father! in Thine arms, A messenger of love between Our human hearts and Thee. Still let her mild rebuking stand And grant that she who, trembling, here Distrusted all her powers, May welcome to her holier home The well-beloved of ours. J. G. WHITTIER. SHE THE GATE OF HEAVEN. HE 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 re-conquered soil of his nativity! 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 this door from thee." She left her sin outside the gate, she meekly entered there, Breathed free the blessed air of heaven, and knew her native air. DISCIPLES' HYMN-BOOK. THE NEW HEAVEN. L ET whosoever will, inquire To shape into the heart's desire My God, I rather look to Thee I seek not of Thy Eden-land What duties fill the heavenly day, Oh, joy! to hear with sense new born And sweet to see the first fair morn Gild the celestial plains. But sweeter far to trust in Thee While all is yet unknown, And through the death-dark cheerily In Thee, my powers, my treasures live, And wherefore should I seek above Thy City in the sky? Since firm in faith, and deep in love, Since in a life of peace and prayer, Where faith the soul hath purified, ELIZA SCUDDEr, 1855. PASSAGE FROM "ANDREW RYKMAN'S SCA PRAYER.". CARCELY Hope hath shaped for nie Other lips may well be bold; |