Does the wave-tossed mariner regret when he sees the haven near

Where his shattered bark shall safely rest, nor storm nor danger fear?

Will the toil-worn labourer sigh because his weary task must close,

And evening's peaceful shades afford him calm and sweet repose?

Or does the child with sorrow mark each swift revolving mile

Which bears him to his cherished home and loving father's smile?

And shall the Christian grieve because some gentle signs are given

That he is nearer to the bliss, the perfect bliss of heaven?

That every moment closer brings that mansion fair and bright,

Prepared for him with tender love in realms of pure delight?

Oh! with such brilliant hopes as these how can my heart repine,

Although I feel my vigour fade, my wonted strength decline?

Rather with gladness would I hail these messages of

love,

Which tell me I shall quickly join the white-robed throng above.

My pilgrimage will soon be o'er, my arduous race be

run,

And the bright crown of victory triumphant faith have won;

No sorrow clouds the land of rest, hush'd is the thought of pain :

Oh! if for me to live is Christ, to die indeed is gain!

The Voice from Galilee.

HORATIUS BONAR, D. D.

"Of his fulness have all we received, and grace for grace."-John i. 16.

I HEARD the voice of Jesus say,
Come unto me and rest;

Lay down, thou weary one, lay down
Thy head upon my breast.

I came to Jesus as I was,

Weary, and worn, and sad;
I found in him a resting-place,
And he has made me glad.

I heard the voice of Jesus say,
Behold, I freely give

The living water,-thirsty one,

Stoop down, and drink, and live.

I came to Jesus and I drank

Of that life-giving stream;

My thirst was quenched, my soul revived,

And now I live in him.

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I heard the voice of Jesus say,

I am this dark world's light, Look unto me, thy morn shall rise, And all thy day be bright.

I looked to Jesus and I found

In him my star, my sun;

And in that light of life I'll walk Till travelling days are done.

The Father-Land.•

FROM THE GERMAN OF CLAUS HARMS,

KNOW ye the land-on earth 'twere vainly soughtTo which the heart in sorrows turns its thought? Where no complaint is heard,-tears never flow,— The good are blest,-the weak with vigour glow? Know ye it well?

For this, for this,

All earthly wish or care, my friends, dismiss!

Know ye the way-the rugged path of thorns? His lagging progress there the traveller mourns; He faints, he sinks,-from dust he cries to God— "Relieve me, Father, from the weary road!" Know ye it well?

It guides, it guides

To that dear land where all we hope abides.

Know ye that Friend?-In him a man you see;Yet more than man, more than all men, is he:

*Translated by Dr. Mills.