Chink ere you Speak.

THINK ere you speak, for a word lightly spoken Oft wakens a pang which has slumbered for years;

And memory's repose, when once it is broken,

May turn a sweet smile into sadness and tears.

No pleasure can then chase the gloom from the mind,

Or recall the sweet smile which has played on the cheek;

With the heart's deepest sorrow that word may be twined:

Then strike not the chord, but think ere you

speak.

5

Passing Away.

CHARLES WEST THOMSON.

"I am wearing away to the land of the leal."

I AM passing away—I am passing away—
I see it-I see it in Nature's decay;

The leaves fall around, -the grass fades on the ground

The flowers of the summer can nowhere be found;
The morning beams bright, but will not remain;
Soon cometh night o'er the landscape again;.
And I turn to myself, and in sadness I see
That the shadows begin, too, to steal upon me.
I remember the time when I joyed in the dawn,
But the freshness and strength of my boyhood are

gone;

The fire burneth low which I cannot re-illume;

Youth has vanished, I know, and has taken its bloom;
My eye it is dimmed, and my hair it is gray-
I am passing away-I am passing away.

PASSING AWAY.

I am passing away—I am passing away—
I hear it-I hear it in all that they say;

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They tell me of changes that come o'er the scene Where my childhood, my boyhood, my manhood have been;

They tell me of some who have wandered afar, To the regions where love lights her love-beaming star;

They tell me of others whose wanderings are o'er, The sound of whose footsteps will greet me no

more;

And the breezes of winter, as round me they swell, Seem to break on my ear like a funeral bell;

They sweep o'er the heath with a moan and a sigh,
As if to remind me that I too must die.

Yes, I hear it-I hear it in all that they say,—
I am passing away—I am passing away.

I am passing away-I am passing away

I feel it—I feel it each swift-rolling day;

I

am not what I was in the days of my prime,

When my heart and my foot were both ready to

climb;

When, with health in my bosom, and pride on my

brow,

I pressed in a race which I cannot run now,

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PASSING AWAY.

Ambition is cold, and the hopes that once fled
The morn of my being, are vanished and dead;
For my pulse does not bound with the high, hearty
tone,

That found pleasure in waking the harp-string alone;
Now, I gather the laurel no more for my wreath,
But the sear leaves of Autumn, that fade on the
heath;

They are fitter, far fitter for him who must say,
I am passing away-I am passing away.

I am passing away-I am passing away:
Then let me the monitor's warning obey.
Not here, oh not here is the place of my rest;
Deep, deep, be this thought on my spirit imprest;
The time, it is short, and the moments, they fly,
And soon, ah! full soon, they will all have gone by;
And where shall I stand, at the end of the day,
When from earth and its scenes passed for ever away?
Oh Thou who ne'er changest, whose years have no
end,—

On whose mercy the sinner alone can depend,-
So guide me, so guard me, so wash out my stain,
In the blood of the Victim on Calvary slain,
That my soul may not tremble, with Him for its stay,
When I'm passing away—when I'm passing away.

་་ ལྦུ

"I have no Influence?

WHAT if the little rain should say, “So small a drop as I,

Can ne'er refresh those thirsty fields; I'll tarry in the sky?"

What if a shining beam of noon,

Should in its fountain stay,

Because its feeble light alone
Cannot create a day?

Doth not each rain-drop help to form The soul-refreshing shower?

And

every ray of light to warm And beautify the flower?

5*