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Look up with grateful joy, and weep no more ;

To you the precious privilege is given-
Better than adding thousands to your store-

Of adding angels to the host of heaven.

“I wish you could see us in our happy abode, with the profusion of buds and blossoms that surround us; for our house seems positively to laugh in the sunshine, and our children are as tractable as frisky little lambkins, all spirits, and yet all gentleness.”

Such was the picture of happiness drawn by a maternal pen; such was the language of our buoyant friend. We did see that happy abode, and we did see our exulting friend and correspondent; but a shadow rested on her habitation, and grief was heavy at her heart. We walked with her to a village churchyard, where they had laid the little one who was almost as dear to her as the ruddy drops that warmed her heart. Her spirit clung with tenacious grasp to the mouldering tenant of the tomb, and she could not realize the loss she had sustained; the past was to her as a dream. What a wondrous thing is the love of a mother for her child !

There is a grief that sorrows for the dead,

Yet realizes not the loss it grieves;
That cannot learn to think its treasures fled,

And gazes round, and mourns, and disbelieves.
And ever and anon affections strong

Fill up the vacant place that death bas made
With smiling shadows, and the heart is wrung

With unsubstantial hope and fleeting shade.

It is not without pain that we refer to a spectacle we once witnessed. We were present at the vaultscene of an Irish funeral, when the apparently distracted parents of the deceased child tore their hair, and beat with their hands upon the coffin-lid of him they were consigning to the grave, calling him back again to his disconsolate friends with the most intemperate expressions of frantic sorrow.

It was an afflicting exhibition of human infirmity. What can be more unchristian-like than such indecorous grief? Is not He who gave us life and liberty to number our days ? Are we to make ourselves greater than God, and to reverse his just decrees? How different to this is the language and spirit of Job : The Lord gave,

and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord :" Job i. 21.

There is a stormy, wild, and frantic grief,

That madly rushes on the heart distress'd;
That seeks not pity, hopes not for relief,

Refuses comfort, and despises rest.
When fierce affection claims a right to rave,

And wild and clamorous desires are given,
That fain would tear the body from the grave,

And pluck the spirit from its home in heaven.

This is a sad state of things; and better it is to humble ourselves under our afflictions than thus to increase them by our unreasonable grief.

The case of a Christian widower with two children supplies us with a strong contrast to the foregoing manifestation of infirmity. The loss of his wife was a heavy loss; and when his first-born followed, he clung with an intensity of affection to his remaining treasure. His surviving child was smitten down by sickness, and for a time life and death trembled in the scale. His trial was severe, for his child died, but his faith failed not. His frame was worn with anxiety, his face pallid with painful emotion, and the sharp arrow of affliction was deeply embedded in his heart; yet not a murmur fell from his lips; but, on the contrary, resignation and acquiescence to the will of his Heavenly Father were meekly manifested in his words and his deeds.

There is a blessed grief that all transcends,

That knows too well how much has pass'd away
Of happiness and bliss,—yet meekly bends,

And bows submissive o'er its kindred clay;
Chasten'd and humbled by the trial past,

The bleeding bosom heaves a conscious sigh;
But Faith is seen to smile amid the blast,

And rebel thoughts and idol passions die.

That such as live only for this world, and have no Christian hope either for themselves or their children, should be overwhelmed with affliction under bereavements, can hardly be cause of wonder; but followers of the Redeemer, though they may lament the loss of those dear to them, cannot sorrow without hope, without denying their Christian profession. He that can say, “I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth; and though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God,"-"God will redeem my soul from the power of the grave," — and “I know whom I have believed, and am persuaded that He is able to keep that which I have committed unto him against that day," --should be ever ready, without inordinate grief, to give up his friends, his children, his wife, and himself, into the hands of a faithful Creator and Redeemer.

Christian ! the loss of children may be among the thorns in thy pathway through the world; but though they may wound thee, yet look unto thy Lord, and he shall give thee not only patience to endure them, but also strong consolation, and hope, and faith, and peace, and heavenly joy.



AWAKE! for this is Christmas morn,

And raise your voices high,
To celebrate the Son of God

Descending from the sky.
Ye winged Hallelujahs, rise,

The Lord of life proclaim;
Ye loud Hosannas, rend the skies,

And magnify his name.

Did bright-eyed, burning seraphim

Attend him on his way,
· And, flashing round his radiant car,

The living lightning play?
Did glittering stars adorn the crown

That deck'd his sacred head,
And glowing skies, with purple dyes,

Their robes around him spread ?

No seraph waved his shining wing,

No splendour round him roll’d;
The Prince of peace among us came,

A child of mortal mould.

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