THE ORPHAN'S COMPLAINT AND COMFORT.

Olney.

I LOVE to gaze upon the fire,

And on its brightness trace

Those forms that did my joys inspire,

In scenes of other days.

My wayward fancy still will rove;
My thoughts too often stray;
And follow those whom much I love,
Who now are far away.

Yes, oft in fancy I can trace

The forms of loved ones gone;
While I am left on earth's wide space,
All lonely and forlorn.

But I shall go to them, for they

Shall ne'er return to me;

Shall dwell with them in endless day,
With them God's glory see.

Again my fancy flies away,

And o'er yon deep blue sea,

Brings back the wanderers that stray,

So far away from me.

But when I wake again, and find

That I am all alone,

That with me dwells no kindred mind,
That all my joys are gone,

I mourn, and long for some one near
To tell my tale of grief;

But all are gone, and no one here,
Can give my mind relief!

What have I said? I have a Friend,

Who yet is always near;

One that will love me to the end,
And calm each rising fear.

Oh! THOU, my Saviour and my God,

Look kindly down on me,

And guide me safely on the road,

That leads to heaven and Thee!

R. A. S.

ORIGINAL PIECES BY THE YOUNG.

TRANSLATIONS OF THE FRENCH VERSES.

SINCE our last notice, at page 80, we have received several more translations of the two verses which appeared at page 69. They are all very creditable to the talents of the writers, and we are much pleased to find that many of our young friends are so well acquainted with that interesting language, now so popular in Europe. We might have formed some estimate of their respective merits as English compositions ourselves, but not trusting our imperfect knowledge of French, we could not decide which of them should have preference as a translation. We, therefore, as we said we should, placed all of them in the hands of a friend, who informs us that the following is the one to which preference should be given.

Soon, very soon, my journey's end will come,
And bring to me the time of rest at home;
My Lord, the powerful witness, will me keep
Amidst the lonely waters dark and deep.

O, country mine! O, promised land! from far

My heart is moved and greets thee: nought shall mar

The raptures of this holy joy of mine.

O God! let praise be thine, for ever thine!

Oakham. L. J. To L. J. we therefore appropriate the volume mentioned at page 56.

TO OUR YOUNG CORRESPONDENTS. WE have just looked over the original papers you have sent us, and as we expect you are naturally anxious to know our decision respecting them, we shall now refer to those, which, in our estimation, are the most promising.

E. E. B. on "Woods in summer"-H. B. A. on "Gopher Wood," and W. H. S. on "The Citron," are all, considering the age of the writers, pleasing and hopeful attempts.

W. S. M. on "Gethsemane,"-and H. C. R. on "No night there," are subjects on which imagination must not be indulged too far. Young writers had better keep within the region of known facts. C. C. F.-Your "Rakemoor" indicates observation, but you might have worked it out better if you had taken more time and pains.

A. A. B. We thank you for your suggestion, but we really have not time to undertake what you propose. Indeed such things are better done by a number of young persons by mutual arrangement.

WHAT words can utter the new-born feelings which sometimes rise within us when walking forth amid the glory of a genial Spring morning? When having left the city with its dim Babel-like confusion, its hard biting selfishness in which man preys upon man, we have gone forth in the old freedom of our boyhood to roam once more over the green hills and valleys, have we not ere now been arrested, almost spell-bound, by the scenes and sounds of Spring? And while we have stood still, either to feast our eye upon the rich verdure streaked with the white blossom of flowering hedge-rows and fruit trees; or to watch the motion of the clouds and the play of the lights and shadows disappearing in the blue hills which skirt the far-off horizon; or to listen to the bleating of distant flocks, the hum of insect life waking up from its winter sleep, the rippling of streams blended with the songs of birds, and the more thrilling music of children at play around their hillside cottages, all melted into one current of soul-like melody by the, breath of the soft Spring gales laden with the odours they had stolen from the gardens, the orchards, the meadows and forests, over which they had swept;-while we have thus stood with our soul open to the vernal scene, has it not sometimes been as if a new spirit emerging from it had rushed into our bosom?

The Prince of Peace hushed tempest and sea, and went on through the deep quietude of nature, drawing his imagery from the carpet of flowers on which he trod, or the light which decked those flowers in more than kingly pride, or the birds of the air, or the

springing of the corn, or the olive grove, the fig tree and the vine. It has been remarked by a living author with a wisdom deeper than at first appears, that if there be one passage of the older scriptures which specially represents the natural storehouse of the Parables of the Gospel, it is the gentle and touching burst of the imagery of spring: The winter is past, the rain is over and gone, the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land; the fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell." The most simple, tender, and familiar parts of external nature were pressed by Christ into the service and utterance of his religion, and thus he made it speak in a language which child and sage, savage and citizen, might understand.

Spring scenery fastens our thoughts upon the Divine process of life. As death is the idea suggested by the Winter, so life is the idea of the Spring. As we cannot gaze upon the world, when strewn with Autumn leaves or sheeted in Winter snows as if it were dead and awaiting its burial, without opening the eyes of our historic memory and looking back through the long vistas of entombed nations, empires, and epochs; so we cannot gaze upon the bursting buds of Spring without opening the eyes of that faith which is "the evidence of things not seen," and looking up ador. ingly through endless vistas of life-life ever gushing forth upon the universe from its God. We stand face to face with Him in whom is the life-fountain. Our soul feels him near-feels the movement of his hand pouring through the earth the bright waves of vernal life which winter had pent back into their hidden channels. And when our thoughts and affections thus centre, not so much in the Divine work of nature, as the Divine worker himself, we tread this common earth reverently. It is to us then a temple-world. On all sides of it we hear the footsteps of Him whom we worship in the gospel of Christ. We see his glorious countenance bending over his children. We catch the warm glow, which-in coming forth to "crown the year with his goodness' he spreads over the valleys and hills, and we, too, with them "shout for joy." And while our heart is thus raised in adoration how easy it is for us to adopt, in reference to the quieter scenes of our English landscapes, the full spirit of those glowing words with which Alpine nature inspired the pen of Coleridge :

Awake,

Voice of sweet song! Awake my heart, awake!
Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn.

"

Motionless torrents! silent cataracts!

Who made you glorious as the gates of Heaven
Beneath the keen full Moon? Who hade the Sun

Clothe you with Rainbows? Who, with living flowers
Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?

GOD! let the Torrents, like a shout of Nations
Answer! and let the Ice-plains echo, GOD!

GOD! sing ye meadow-streams with gladsome voice,
Ye Pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds,
And they too have a voice, yon fields of snow,

And in their perilous fall shall thunder, GOD!

Christ is the life of the world. But how? Through death. The gospel asserts this. And do not observation and science assert that everywhere through the material universe death is the basis of life? Is there not an analogy between the plainest fact in nature, namely, that vegetable life is originated and sustained through an antecedent process of death, and the profoundest supernatural truth in the religion of the gospel, namely, that eternal life is implanted and developed in man through his connection with the death of Christ? Look at the Spring. Whence came those bridal robes of verdure and bloom? Were they woven in "the tabernacle of the Sun ?" From thence did some unseen skyey agency bear them noiselessly down to the earth? Nay. They are being woven while I speak. There is a dark hand evermore at work in that mysterious loom which is weaving those bright fabrics of living verdure in which the glad earth is clothing herself—it is the hand of Death. Death is the root-power of the blade of corn which has just burst the soil and is feeding upon Heaven's light. "Verily, verily, I say unto you, except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die it abideth alone, but if it die it bringeth forth much fruit." As the grain of wheat has infolded in itself the rudiments of a new fabric of life, so Christ when he used this simile had infolded in his own person the rudiments of a new creation." As the grain of wheat could not unfold and multiply the life that was in it except it died, so neither, to speak with reverence, could Christ unfold and multiply through the earth the life that was in him except he died. In this simile he obviously intended the emphasis to be thrown on the fact of his own death as that which evolved in the hearts of his disciples the power of a new life.

The bright scenes of Spring call up memories of the bright treasures that have been taken from us by death. Crowds of such recollections must, one would think, start up in the mind of an aged man who goes forth to hail the Spring-time. It lays its