frail time, and that the remembrance of it would soon be lost. Aye, did you not feel the warm glow of the sunshine so unusual at this season, and thought it appeared, like the harbinger of the coming spring, with all its freshness? Even verdure began to thrive beneath its benign influence, and here and there a primrose or daisy unveiled its modest head!

Surely then, you were led to look forward with hope? There must be strange appearances in the hemisphere of your "world of thoughts," if hope is not among them. Nay, even worse, what pleasure is there in life if you hope not at all? Such despondency reminds us of the great poet Wordsworth, when he addresses a little flower, he says

O yes, christian, for "every season." And now that another "opening year" hath brought to thy home, "times of renewing"-now that thy prospects are about to be renovated, by some mysterious change or another, (and we always hope for the best,) let thy inward thought rise upwards, higher and higher, to

G

the throne from whence also flows "times of refreshing from the presence of the Lord." Think not, dark clouds will be suffered to cover all thy bright hopes, in such a case. Behold the Sun of Promise rises, the morning opens with brilliancy and beauty, to let in his everlasting glory. And what is the promise? "As thy day, so shall thy strength be." Aye, in the seasons wherein thou shalt be troubled and tried, thou shall not be forgotten. As in the day of thy duty— in the day of thy weakness-in the day of temptation —in the day of mourning—and in the day of death!— so will I grant thee "strength," saith thy Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel.

Go then, brethren, ye who have seen the day-star dawn from on high, and ponder these things in your hearts. Peradventure the recollection of a bye-gone year, will bring back to light some duties neglected, or some graces despised, which require thy most urgent attention now. Oh! suffer not another occasion to slip, which might with thine own improvement, and God's holy spirit, prove beneficial both to yourself and to your fellow creatures; but strive-in earnest hope-strive to gain the prize which is awaiting thee"When years their courses shall have run,

Beyond the circle of the sun;"

-An inheritance incorruptible, and A CROWN OF

EVERLASTING LIFE!

A RECORD,

OF RECEIVING A BOOK, FROM THE HANDS OF A GENTLEMAN, AFTER HAVING MIS-LAID IT MORE THAN SIX YEARS.

A FLOWER that 'midst the wilderness,

In lonely beauty grows;

Bears not one glowing tint the less,

Though fair the lily blows;

And though, within the gay parterre,

A thousand rivals shine;

Why should it for the bloom they wear,

Its hidden worth repine?

Thus have thy leaves, dear volume, laid
Unopened long by me;

For 'mong my thoughts to others paid,
I had forgotten thee:

But welcome back, and since my friend
Hath cherished thee with care,
New joys I'll with thy pages blend-
My Mother's name is there!

SPRING.

SPRING-laughing Spring! came blooming gay,

And ev'ry leaf upon the spray,

Put forth a bud of shining hue,

While here and there, the wild rose threw
Its fragrance o'er the happy dell:-
There, peeping forth, the blue hair-bell
Smiled on the daisy, by its side;
Where, close the violet sought to hide,
Her dew-robed head, the moss between-
Where gurgled on, the crystal stream;
Wafting far o'er its silver rill,
The mellow notes, and bounding thrill,
Of linnet's tune, and blackbird's song!
O'er waving woods, the trees among,
The gentle zephyr-breezes play'd;
And where the roving woodbine stray'd,
The rising sun his lustre shed,
Upon the opening primrose bed;
Where cowslips nestle, and their queen,
The lily of the valley's seen.

Oh! happy Spring! we welcome thee,
Thy name bursts forth from ev'ry tree;

And April culls sweet garlands now,
To deck with joy thy virgin brow;
While, in her rustic hawthorn bower,
Thou dwell'st amidst the genial shower.

Then, May, light-hearted nymph appears,
To tell the tale of ancient years;
And by some silent greenwood lake—
The lyric harp of music wake-
To wreathe the oak leaf newly born,
And there some sister muse adorn;
To charm the mind of each new comer,
With views of rich approaching Summer.

"BE IT MINE, TO SOOTHE THE

BURNING BROW."

THOUSANDS may seek the new laurel wreath, And bind among their hair;

Ev'ry golden flow'r of earth beneath,

Or jewels bright and fair:

Be it mine, to soothe the burning brow

The voice of anguish hush—

When sufferings, clad with tear-drops flow, In one spontaneous gush.