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Ivy, clinging round the tree,
Gladly would I learn of thee;
Clinging, as the year goes round,
To the cross would I be found.


Art thou a pilgrim? dost thou travel straight
By Calvary's cross, to find the narrow gate ?
Is Christ thy hope, thy trust? yea, day by day
Thy guide, thy staff, thy lantern, and thy way?
Canst thou for him renounce thy worldly pride ?
Is he thy riches ? Is all dross beside ?
Is he thy sword and shield in peril's hour?
Thy rock, thy refuge, thine abiding tower?
If, with thy wealth around thee, thou canst bend,
And seek with all thy soul the sinner's Friend,
A beggar still at mercy's open door,
Then art thou rich indeed: if not, thou’rt poor.


Art thou young, and this world dost thou love?

Oh, why shouldst thou thoughtlessly roam ?
Thy Father is calling thy young heart above,

And the beautiful heavens are thy home:
To thy home, truant boy, to thy home.

Hast thou number'd the years of a man?

Oh, think then in time of thine end; Though thy griefs may be many-though life be a

span, Yet God is thy Father and Friend: To thy Friend, man of grief, to thy Friend!

Art thou aged in years and in woes,


worn, and oppress'd ? There's a peace for the pilgrim, a place of repose,

And heaven is appointed for rest:
To thy rest, man of years, to thy rest !


With erring heart I went astray

In paths of sin, and wander'd wide,
Till Mercy met me in my way,

And softly whisper'd, “Jesus died.”

Offended at that sudden sound,

Indignantly I turned aside ;
But still the voice was heard around,

And still it whisperd, “Jesus died.”

Then Justice cross'd my path, and stood,

Erect and stern, to quell my pride;
His glittering sword was bathed in blood;

Ah! well for me that “ Jesus died.”

“Come forth, thou traitor to thy God,"

His voice in thundering accents cried;
Oppress’d, I sank upon the sod,

And faintly answered, “ Jesus died.”

E'en as I falter'd forth the word,

He strove his blushing face to hide,
And sheathed in haste his blood-stain'd sword;

And then I shouted, “ Jesus died !"


Though thy sins were untold as the sands,

Thy Saviour has scatter'd them wide;
Oh, look on the palms of his hands,

And the rent and the stream at his side.

So long as thy Saviour shall reign,

And the throne of his glory endure,
So long will his promise remain,

And thy pardon and peace be secure.

The glowing piety apparent in some of the preceding contributions, and others in this volume, partook of a more subdued and chastened character in the Christian life of their author. His piety was indeed of a quiet and unobtrusive character. With great meekness, he would at times refer to the lowly, abasing views of himself which possessed his mind. He felt that he must lie very low at the foot of the cross, seeking for salvation only for the righteousness' sake of his divine Redeemer. But whatever were the sentiments as to his own religious experience, those who knew him best in the family circle, or in the intimacy of friendship, felt that they might, without irreverence, apply to him the Saviour's commendation of Nathaniel: “ Behold an Israelite indeed, in whom is no guile !"




YEARS passed away in active literary engagements, until Mr. Mogridge became a real "Old Humphrey." But with advancing age came weakness and affiction; chiefly from the effects of a sprained ankle. He thus describes the occasion of his inconvenience and pain :-"I was returning home late, (sadly too late for one of my years, for it was eleven o'clock at night, but I had been unexpectedly detained,) when suddenly I set my foot on a broken flag-stone. Something gave a snap, but at the moment so intense was my agony, that I knew not whether it was my leg, or a piece of wood on the flag-stone. A deathly coldness came over me, and I thought that my senses were about to leave me; so, steadying myself against a closed shop-window, I awaited the crisis. A cold perspiration having somewhat relieved me, and being near my abode, I hopped to some palisades by the road-side, and, with the assistance they afforded me, contrived to reach my own habitation.

What a blessing it is to be calm and collected in bodily affliction! This has hitherto almost always been

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