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"precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints."—Psalm cxvi. 15.

"Oh, loose this frame, this knot of man untie,
That my free soul may use her wing
Which now is pinioned with mortality."


"I Fear not death, for Christ has pass'd

Its terrors through;
And following Him, I mount at last

With heaven in view.

These ebon arrows tipp'd with love

Affright me not:
By faith upborne, I fly above,

All else forgot.

Like the free bird which springs on high,

I leave my clay;
And upward soar with stedfast eye

To realms of day.

To see His face who died for me —

Whose precious blood, Offered in love upon the tree,

Brought me to God.

Though feebly gasps my failing breath,
I feel no fear;

I tremble not, though this be death,
For Christ is near.

His arm of love supports my head—

He whispers peace;
His presence cheers my dying bed,

My sorrows cease.

Loosely these earthly fetters hang—
One struggle more,

One quiv'ring gasp, one parting pang—
And all is o'er."

The soul has burst her bonds of clay,

And upward flies
To view the living splendour of a day

Too bright for mortal eyes.


"While they behold your chaste conversation, coupled with fear.

"Whose adorning, let it not be that outward adorning of plaiting the hair, and of wearing of gold, or of putting on of apparel:

"But let it be the hidden man of the heart, in that which is not corruptible, even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price."—1 Peter hi. 2, 3, 4.

Meek is her lowly mien—the loving grace
Of Christ, her God and Saviour, wc can trace;

Quiet and chaste her speech, with modest

She treads her onward path of service here.
Nor would she make this wilderness a home,
But seeks a better city yet to come.
Wisdom and meekness to her words belong,
The law of kindness dwelleth on her tongue;
Not here the busy gossip's tattling voice,
Which in another's failings would rejoice,
And tell her tales of scandal to a score
Of eager listeners, greedy still for more.
Not so the Christian—though her footsteps

In ready willingness to deeds of love;
To soothe the couch of agony and pain,
The weak and fainting spirit to sustain.
The poor and needy find a listening ear
To all their wants and woes, nor ever fear
The short and cold reply, the harsh rebuke,
Or sparing morsel doled with freezing look.
But willingly she takes of her own store,
To clothe the naked strangers at her door.
No gold, no glittering gem her brow adorns,
For Christ her Saviour wore a crown of

thorns. Nor would she wear the costly garb of pride, But the white robe wrought for a heavenly

bride; Her only ornament, the spirit meek, And quiet mind her Father's child should

seek. So dwells she here—no pride of outward show, But seeking chief her Master's will to know; Like Mary sitting at her Saviour's feet, In trusting love, and resignation sweet. Waiting till He she longs for, shall appear, To close her work of loving service here; Till Christ her Lord in glorious power shall

come, And call His children to their heavenly home.

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