To seek eternal bliss
    Within time’s narrow span,
  Is man’s best int’rest;—­only this
    Can form the future man.

  Let dying mortals then
    Their foolish dreams forsake;
  Unto their rest return again,
    And Christ their refuge make.

  Then, even timid youth
    May smile upon the tomb;
  And festive moments welcome truth,
    Though clad in robes of gloom.

  By Jesus’ death, is broke
    Death’s dark and powerful spell;
  And, while to Him by faith we look,
    We know that all is well.

“While meeting the little company my soul was blest.  O for spiritual discernment and grace, that I may be truly helpful to them, and deal faithfully.  Visited a dying person who says, she dare not rest on Jesus;—­yet HE is a tower.”

  ON THE DEATH OF POPE PIUS XIII.

  His Holiness, the Pope,
    Hath yielded up his breath;
  He, who could sins forgive,
    Hath no command o’er death;
  How wonderful! such power to have,
  And yet to sink into the grave!

  If sin, the sting of Death,
    His Holiness could draw;
  Why render up His breath
    Unto a conquered foe? 
  Either, he fallible must be,
  Or sin hath gained the victory.

“I am thankful for the decision of character I feel.  My daily want is more of the love ’that conquers all, and every mountain moves.’—­My private communings with God are my most precious seasons.  There I can tell all my wants, unbosom all my griefs, reveal all my secrets, expose all my temptations, and there the Lord graciously condescends to visit me with fresh manifestations of His love and power.  These visits humble me, and give me to see, where my strength lies.  Come, Lord, and dwell in me, that every moment I may have the witness that all I do is right.—­I called to see my dear afflicted friend W., whose eldest daughter is slowly sinking into the tomb.  As it was the hour we usually meet in band, we retired to pour out our souls before the Lord.  My friend seemed willing to give up her daughter, if only she could be assured, that a divine change had taken place.  The Lord gave us the Spirit of prayer to plead on this account, and glory be to God, in that same hour, He imparted peace to the dying child.—­The night was awfully tempestuous.  I rose twice to pour out my soul to Him, who rules the storm, and found sweet calm within.—­After tea, Mr. Spence asked me, why I had invited my friends.  I replied, it was my desire, that we should help each other to heaven.  A conversation on holiness of heart ensued, which to me, and I trust to all present, was profitable.  This conversation will leave no painful reflection.  I avowed that I held, though with a trembling hand, the power to love God with all my heart, and felt the sweet assurance at the time; but the next morning when I awoke, it was suggested, I knew not what I had avowed.  The satisfactory evidence was for a moment