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"And Rizpah, the daughter of Aiah, took sackcloth, and spread it for her upon the rock, from the beginning of harvest until the "water dropped upon them out of heaven; and suffered neither the birds of the air to rest on them by day, nor the beasts of the field by night."—2 Bam. xxi. 10.

Hush ! for a sound of dirge-like music floats
On the low breeze, while in its pealing notes
Lies the deep tenderness of woman's woe,
As mournfully those plaintive waitings flow.
See, on the summit of the tall rock's brow
Sits a lone female figure, bending low
Over the dead; her dark hair sweeps the

And casts a sable hue her form around.
No ravening beast by night, no bird by day,
Shall mark those mouldering bodies for their


For, hour by hour that lonely woman keeps
Her painful vigils there, she scarcely sleeps
By night or day, though o'er her sunken eye
Oft droops the heavy eyelid languidly.
And still she watches, while the moon's clear

Shines o'er the vallies low, and running stream;
Borne by the breeze the liquid air along,
Roll the sad echoes of her mournful song.

"How are ye fallen, my bright-haired sons! Cut off in your beauty, my blooming ones; Struck down, ere the glory of manhood's prime, As a green tree falls before its time.

The bird shall spring from her grassy nest. And the wild goat climb o'er the mountain's

breast; But your princely forms shall no more be seen Bounding along in the forest green.

Hushed are the voices that whispered low,
When ye knelt in prayer at the sunset's glow,
Or poured forth your praises, to heaven borne
By the light-winged zeyhyr of early morn.

But now ye must pass to the silent tomb,
Withered away in your life's young bloom;
While I am left like a leafless tree,
Sad and alone in my misery."

So weeps that mourning mother o'er the slain,
Through the long day, and in the evening's

wane; No comfort near, no voice to speak relief, And stem the torrent of her spirit's grief; But, Jesus, Thou art ever near, to heal The soul's deep wounds; Thy loving heart

can feel Each sorrowing mourner's woe, for Thou hast

been A man of sorrows in this world of sin. Saviour! Thy gracious voice shall stop the

tide Of deepest grief, since from Thy wounded side Flowed the full stream of love, in mercy spilt, To cleanse our wretched souls from all their

guilt; Sorrow and sinfulness, our only plea, Each weary heart shall find a rest in Thee.


"Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth, while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them."—Eceles. xii. 1.

Annie, thy brow is without a care,
And bright are the locks of thy sunny hair,
And pleasure beams in that happy eye,
While thy childhood's days pass lightly by.

But age may whiten that clustering hair,

And leave the traces of sorrow there,

May shade with its furrows that open brow,

And dim the eye that shines brightly now.

Then seek, dear child, in thy life's young bloom

A home of glory beyond the tomb:

In its early freshness yield the bud

Of unfolded days, to thy Maker God.

Seek Jesus first, and thy lot shall be

Happy through time and eternity.


"And the daughter of Pharaoh came down to wash herself at the river, and her maidens walked along by the river's side: and when she saw the ark among the flags, she sent hev maid to fetch it.

"And when she had opened it, she saw the child: and, behold, the babe wept. And she had compassion on him, and said, This is one of the Hebrew's children.

"Then said his sister to Pharaoh's daughter, Shall

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