And neither sin nor sorrow be The land to which thou 'rt going. “ He thy Saviour and thy guide, For thy guilty sake that died, Even now is by thy side, Comfort thoughts bestowing. Angelic forms their arms extend, And smileth many a long-lost friend Glad welcome to thy journey's end The land to which thou ’rt going.” Then, as the burden of their song group of mourners throwing; The land to which I'm going. OVER THE RIVER. Further fide; VER the river they beckon to me Loved ones who've crossed to the further side The gleam of their snowy robes I see, But their voices are drowned in the rushing tide. There's one with ringlets of sunny gold, And eyes, the reflection of heaven's own blue ; He crossed in the twilight, gray and cold, And the pale mist hid him from mortal view. We saw not the angels who met him there ; The gates of the city we could not see ; Over the river, over the river, My brother stands waiting to welcome me ! Over the river, the boatman pale Carried another the household pet : Darling Minnie! I see her yet. And fearlessly entered the phantom bark; And all our sunshine grew strangely dark. We know she is safe on the further side, Where all the ransomed and angels be; Over the river, the mystic river, My childhood's idol is waiting for me. For none return from those quiet shores, Who cross with the boatman cold and pale ; We hear the dip of the golden oars, And catch a gleam of the snowy sail, And lo! they have passed from our yearning heart ; They cross the stream, and are gone for aye ; We may not sunder the veil apart, That hides from our vision the gates of day. May sail with us o'er life's stormy sea ; They watch, and beckon, and wait for me. And I sit and think, when the sunset's gold, Is Aushing river, and hill, and shore, And list for the sound of the boatman's oar; I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand; To the better shore of the spirit land; And joyfully sweet will the meeting be, Miss N. A. W. Priest. HEAVEN. HEAVEN. AN ANCIENT HYMN. B Relief sorrow, Thort-lived care ; RIEF life is here our portion, The life that knows no ending, The tearless life is there. Reward of grace how wondrous ! Short toil, - eternal rest! Oh! miracle of mercy, That rebels should be bleft! That we, with fin polluted, Should have our home so high ! That we should dwell in manfions Beyond the starry sky ! And then we wear the crown And ever bright renown. I know not, oh! I know not What social joys are there ; What pure, unfading glory ; What light beyond compare ; And when I fain would fing them, My spirit fails and faints, And vainly strives to image The assembly of the saints. There is the throne of David ; And there, from toil released, The thout of them that triumph, The song of them that feaft! O Plains that fear no ftrife! O Realm and Home of life! HEREAFTER. O THOU, on earth beloved, adored, My friend, my father, and my Lord, I see thee now without a veil, – Help; or my dazzled fight will fail. O bear me to that burning throne I scarce can brook to gaze upon, |