SHE DIED—
When
spring, with brightest flowers,
Was
fresh’ning all the bowers.
The
linnet sung her choicest lay,
When
her sweet voice was hush’d for aye
The
snowdrop rose above the ground
When
she beneath her pillow found,
Both
cold, and white, and fair,—
She,
fairest of the fair,
She
died to teach us all
The
loveliest must fall.
A
curse is written on the brow
Of
beauty; and the lover’s vow
Cannot
retain the flitting breath,
Nor
save from all-devouring death.
SHE LIVES—
The
spirit left the earth;
And
he who gave her birth
Has
called her to his dread abode,
To
meet her Saviour and her God.
She
lives, to tell how blest
Is
the everlasting rest
Of
those who, in the Lamb’s blood laved,
Are
chosen, sanctified, and saved!
How
fearful is their doom
Who
drop into the tomb
Without
a covert from the ire
Of
Him who is consuming fire!
SHE SHALL LIVE—
The
grave shall yield his prize,
When,
from the rending skies,
Christ
shall with shouting angels come
To
wake the slumberers of the tomb.
And
many more shall rise
Before
our longing eyes.
Oh!
may we all together meet,
Embracing
the Redeemer’s feet!
“May 20.—General Assembly. The motion regarding Chapels of Ease lost by 106 to 103. Every shock of the ram is heavier and stronger, till all shall give way.”
“June 4.—Evening almost lost. Music will not sanctify, though it make feminine the heart.”
“June 22.—Omissions make way for commissions. Could I but take effective warning! A world’s wealth would not make up for that saying, ‘If any man sin, we have an Advocate with the Father.’ But how shall we that are dead to sin live any longer therein?”
“June 30.—Self-examination. Why is a missionary life so often an object of my thoughts? Is it simply for the love I bear to souls? Then, why do I not show it more where I am? Souls are as precious here as in Burmah. Does the romance of the business not weigh anything with me?—the interest and esteem I would carry with me?—the nice journals and letters I should write and receive? Why would I so much rather go to the East than to the West Indies? Am I wholly deceiving my own heart? and have I not a spark of true missionary zeal? Lord, give me to understand and imitate the spirit of those unearthly words of thy dear Son: ’It is enough for the disciple that he be as his Master, and the servant as his Lord.’ ’He that loveth father or mother more than me, is not worthy of me.’ Gloria in excelsis Deo!