Why should I shrink at pain and woe,
Or feel at death dismay?

I've Canaan's goodly land in view,
And realms of endless day.

Apostles, martyrs, prophets, there,
Around my Saviour stand;

And soon my friends in Christ below,
Will join the glorious band.

Jerusalem! my happy home!
My soul still pants for thee;
Then shall my labours have an end,
When I thy joys shall sec.

THOU IN FAITHFULNESS HAST AFFLICTED ME."

GOD's furnace doth in Zion stand,

But Zion's God stands by,

As the refiner views his gold,
With an observant eye.

His thoughts are high, His love is wise,
His wounds a cure intend;

And though He doth not always smile,
He loves unto the end.

Thy love is constant to its line,

Though clouds oft come between ;

Oh! could my faith but pierce those clouds,
It might be always seen.

But I am weak, and forced to cry,

Take up my soul to Thee;

Then, as Thou ever art the same,

So shall I also be.

THE MAID IS NOT DEAD, BUT SLEEPETH."

LEFT in her little room alone,

The Ruler's child lay stiff and dead, While, vainly warm, the Syrian sun Played round her cold and silent bed;

While, vainly soft, from Judah's hills
Sighed through the lattice the soft air,
That could not move the close white lip,
Nor heave again the bosom fair.

The voice of anguish and despair

Is loud within the chamber near,

Of them lamenting bitterly

Her early doom with groan and tear.

Her mother maketh grievous moan :—

Ah! had the sire more swiftly sped, And brought the mighty Prophet here

Ere the last lingering breath was fled!

What now avails that far away

Comes o'er the plain his hastening tread!

Go tell him that he trouble not

The Master more; my child is dead."

Dead! is all o'er when that is said?

Are hope, and trust, and comfort, gone? The servant tells the weeping sire,

And yet the Prophet journeys on.

He stands amid the mourning throng;

66

Why do ye make this bitter cry?

The damsel is not dead, she sleeps,"

They laugh in scorn,-they saw her die.

Yea, but they see not the strong power
For life and death that standeth by,
Nor read the awful Godhead veiled
Beneath that meekly patient eye.

Go forth, then, unbelieving throng;
The three apostles, and the twain
Who love so tenderly, alone

Shall see her spirit come again.

Now waken, waken, little maiden,
His foot is on thy chamber-floor,
The Lord God of the living cometh
Thine earthly being to restore.

Lo, life returns, with mantling flow,

To cheek, and brow, and kindling eyes.

She riseth up, she walketh forth,

Her lip is red, her heart is warm; He gives her to her mother's kiss, He gives her to her father's arm.

Surely, we too have hope in sorrow,
Who for our Christian brethren weep;
Christ is our Life and Resurrection;

They are not dead, they do but sleep.