CAMERONIAN'S DREAM.

A seraph unfolded its doors bright and shining,
All dazzling like gold of the seventh refining;
And the souls that came forth out of great tribulation,
Have mounted the chariot and steeds of salvation.

On the arch of the rainbow the chariot is gliding, Through the path of the thunder the horsemen are riding; Glide swiftly, bright spirits, the prize is before ye,

A crown never fading, a kingdom of glory.

HYSLOP.

Jesus stilling the Tempest.

D3

WHEN through the torn sail the wild tempest is streaming,
When o'er the dark wave the red lightning is gleaming,
Nor hope lends a ray, the poor seaman to cherish,
We fly to our Maker: "Save, Lord! or we perish."

O Jesus! once rock'd on the breast of the billow,
Aroused by the shriek of despair from thy pillow;
Now seated in glory, the mariner cherish,
Who cries in his anguish, "Save, Lord, or we perish."

And, O! when the whirlwind of passion is raging,
When sin in our hearts his wild warfare is waging,
Then send down thy grace, thy redeemed to cherish;
Rebuke the destroyer; "Save, Lord, or we perish."

HEBER.

CHRIST A SYMPATHISING FRIEND.

When, mourning, o'er some stone I bend,
Which covers all that was a friend,
And from his voice, his hand, his smile,
Divides me for a little while;

Thou, Saviour, mark'st the tears I shed,
For thou didst weep o'er Lazarus dead.

And, oh, when I have safely past
Through every conflict but the last,
Still, still unchanging, watch beside
My painful bed-for thou hast died;
Then point to realms of cloudless day,
And wipe the latest tear away.

This World a Bubble.

GRANT.

My soul, what's lighter than a feather? Wind.

Than wind? The fire. And what than fire?

The mind.

What's lighter than the mind? A thought. Than thought? This bubble, world. What than this bubble?

Naught.

QUARLES.

The "Three Mighty."

UIETLY falls from heaven the light

Of the stars and moon in the summer night;
And the rising sun in Rephaim's vale

Is met by the glitter of clanging mail.

The Philistine hath fix'd his encampment here,

Afar stretch his lines of banner and spear,

And his chariots of brass are ranged side by side,

And his war-steeds neigh loud in their trappings of pride.

His tents are placed where the waters flow;
The sun hath dried up the spring below;

And Israel hath neither well nor pool
The rage of her soldiers' thirst to cool.

In the cave of Adullam King David lies,
Overcome with the glare of the burning skies;
And the lip is parch'd, and his tongue is dry,
But none can the grateful draught supply.

Though a crowned king, in that painful hour,
One flowing cup might have bought his power:
What worth in the fire of thirst could be
The purple pomp of his sovereignty?

But no cooling cup from river or spring

To relieve his want can his servants bring,

And he cries, "Are there none in my train or state
Will fetch me the water of Bethlehem gate?"

THE THREE MIGHTY.

Then three of his warriors, the Mighty Three,
The boast of the monarch's chivalry,

Uprose in their strength, and their bucklers rang,
As with flashing eyes on their steeds they sprang.

On their steeds they sprang, and then forth with speed
They rush in the strength of a noble deed,

They dash on the foe like a torrent flood,

Till his armour is dyed in his flowing blood.

To the right, to the left, where their blue swords shine,

Like autumn corn, falls the Philistine;

And sweeping along with the arms of fate,
The Mighty rush to the Bethlehem gate.

Through a bloody gap in his shatter'd array
To a crystal well they have hewn their way;
Then backward they turn on the corse-cover'd plain,
And charge through the foe to their monarch again.

The king look'd on the cup, "Oh, never a draught
So dearly bought shall by me be quaff'd!"
On his cheek is pallor, and quivers his lip,
Yet all vainly they urge him the water to sip.

But with head uncover'd and upturn'd eye

He

pours it forth to the Lord on high;

'Tis a draught of death-'tis a cup blood-stain'd

"Tis a prize by man's peril and agony gain'd.

Should he taste of a cup that his Mighty Three

Had obtain❜d by súch valour and jeopardy?

Should he drink of their life?—"Twas the thought of a king! And again he return'd to his suffering.