And he has seen Bethesda heal,
While on its virtues lay a seal
For him, a wretch to misery sold.
And he has seen the young, the old,
The timorous, doubting, and the bold
Go down, while he aside is cast.
Yet not for want of effort, he
Is left in his infirmity.

How often, when despair was nigh,
He checked the fiend! - his eager eye

·1 the cry

- then he strove

Kindled once more with hope:
Went round, "THE ANGEL!"
By thought of all that bound his love
To life, to rise and in the wave
Of healing, his disease to lave.
But e'en while coming, feebly, slow,
The stronger gained the pool below;
Another stepped before him,— hand

Was none to help, or guide his foot-
Not one of kin, or friendship's band
The old man in the wave to put.

Yes! there was One drew near him then,
Of rich compassion, more than men.
He comes-no conqueror so great-
In lowly, meek, derided state.

His followers base esteemed, the scum
Of earth- the heirs of crowns to come.
And who is He!-I know him now
By that pale cheek and wondrous brow;

That face with softest pity beaming, That awful eye whence God is gleaming. "Wilt thou be healed?" he kindly said; —

Could He raise wishes, but to balk? Oh, no! when JESUS speaks, the dead Shall live, all mortal ills must die;

At His command diseases fly,

The sick shall take his bed and walk!

AFRICA.

GOD! while dusky Hindostan

Sees the light that comes from Thee,
While no more Mahratta's man

Gives to Boodh the knee,-
While again the Grecian hears
On his Mars'-hill, truth, profound,
While the Crescent disappears

From Calvary's holy ground,
Yea, while Smyrna far hath cast

Age's seven-fold bigot pall,
And for China word hath past
That overleaps her wall-

God! shall not the Negro's land
As other lands be blest?

Shall not Ethiopia's band
Enter into rest?

Shall Sahara's parched ranger
Never taste the rivulet?

Still shall Christendom the stranger
In the Moorish gate forget?
While thy Dove of Mystery
Every where is flying,
Will not leaves of healing be
Sent to Afric, dying?

Where Cleopatra the pearl

Mingled, is thy pearl forbid ?

Shall not men the Cross unfurl

On the Pyramid !

May not upon night again

Open the immortal morn, Where Cyprian taught, and Origen Adorned the priestly lawn? May not hamlets that festoon, Beautifully, Niger's flood, With Alexandria and Wednoon, Be given unto God?

On the coast of nations, look!

Where deceitful beams prevail —

Shall they not, at thy rebuke,
Pale, as stars at morning pale ?
Wilt Thou not awake the dead?

Captive lead captivity

May not Ethiopia spread

Heart and hand to Thee !

May not, for the cries that went
Skyward, be the hymn of bliss?

May not bloom a continent
Where was only oasis!

WEEP NOT FOR THE DEAD.

I hear the voice

Of the expecting grave. - Martyr of Antioch.

THE grave hath voice, and seems to say,
Weep ye who on my surface tread,
Condemned to bear the heat of day-
But weep not for the slumbering dead.
Weep ye for those for whom no tear

Is given, the sorrowing, the distressed, The troubled, whom there's none to cheer, But not for him that is at rest.

Weep for the living wretch, whose sighs
Go up for loss of friend and lover ;
For him that as survivor dies,

Not him whose parting pangs are over.
Weep for the living; - he's alone ;·

Few are the living; who may know How few, compared to the unknown

Nations of men that sleep below!

Weep for the sufferer who is tost
On restless seas of pain and ill;
But not for him who, having crossed
The ocean, rides secure and still.
Weep for the sinner, sadder far!
Who wanders in the depths of night;
But not for him on whom the star
Of morning trembles out in light.

Weep, weep for her who comes to weep Where her sweet infant lies full low; Not for the spark whose upward leap Hath made it flame with cherubs so! Weep for the prisoner, for the heir

Of misery, toil, and tears and pain; But not for those, escaped, who share Immortal joys, undying gain.

BEAUTY.

Thus she stood amid the stooks,
Praising God with sweetest looks. - Ruth.

MODEST Beauty praises God,

When it sends its glance abroad,
With a look of cheerfulness;

Beauty doth the Giver bless,
When its roses show the hue

Of bright health, with lip of dew,