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The lake and the fountain,

The river and main, Their magic combining,

Illume and controul, The care and repining

That darken the soul.

The timid spring, stealing

Through light and perfume ; The Summer's revealing

Of beauty and bloom ; The rich Autumn, glowing

With fruit treasures crown'd; The pale Winter throwing,

His snow-wreath's around All these producing,

A charm on the earth,

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Wake loftier musing

And holier mirth,

There is not a sorrow

That hath not a balm

From nature to borrow,

In tempest or calm ; There is not a season,

There is not a scene, But Fancy and Reason

May gaze on serene, And own its possessing

A zest for the glad, A solace and blessing

To comfort the sad.

FAITH.

Thy triumphs, Faith, we need not take
Alone for the blest martyr's stake;
In scenes obscure, no less we see
That faith is a reality.
An evidence of things not seen,
A substance firm whereon to lean,
Go search the cottager's lone room,
The day scarce piercing thro' the gloom;
The Christian en his dying bed
Unknown, unlettered, hardly fed ;
No flatt'ring witnesses attend,
To tell how glorious was his end;
Save in the book of life, his name
Unheard, he never dreamt of fame.

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No voice to soothe, no friend to cheer:
Of every earthly stay bereft,
And nothing but his Saviour left,
Fast sinking to his kindred dust,
The Word of Life is still his trust.
The joys God's promises impart
Lie like a cordial at his heart ;
Unshaken faith it's strength supplies,
He loves, believes, adores, and dies.

MRS. H. MORB.

WHO ARE THESE ARRAY'D IN WHITE.

Who are these array'd in white,

Brighter than the noon-tide sun?
Foremost of the sons of light;

Nearest the eternal throne?

These are they that bore the cross,

Nobly for their Master stood; Sufferers in his righteous cause ;

Followers of the Lamb of God.

Out of great distress they came :

Wash'd their robes by faith below, In the blood of yonder Lamb,

Blood that washes white as snow; Therefore are they next the throne,

Serve their Master day and night ; God resides among his own,

God doth in his saints delight.

More than conquerors at last,

Here they find their trials o'er; They have all their sufferings past,

Hunger now and thirst no more :

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