will be our work through a long eternity; it is endless as it is blessed. It should be easy, the spontaneous utterance of over-flowing gratitude; but often, like the Psalmist, we shall find it needful to stir up our laggard spirits, saying, "Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits." Now we are to show forth his most worthy praise. The selfishness of our nature shows itself even in our devotions. We pray much for the supply of our own wants; we return thanks for the blessings received, but we do not, as often as we ought, show forth God's most worthy praise. We do not, with the fond delight of an admiring child, dwell upon our Father's glory, and our minds are low and grovelling, because we do not fix them on the only object capable of raising and purifying them. Our church would guard us against this danger. It sets before us God's most worthy praise as one main object of our public devotions, as well as hearing his most holy word, and asking those things which are requisite for body and soul.

May God give us his grace, that these words repeated to us each Sabbath may stir up our souls to a sense of the importance of public worship; that, conscious of our own weakness, we may lay hold of his strength, and go through the solemn duty in a might not our

own.

LINES

IN MEMORY OF CHARLOTTE ELIZABETH.

"Fly, celestial tenant, fly,

Burst thy shackles, drop thy clay,
Sweetly breathe thyself away;

Singing, to thy crown remove,

Swift of wing and fired with love."

TOPLADY.

AND thou art gone-handmaid of Judah's Prince-
Gone calmly to the traveller's last bourne ;
Gone from a world where Grief laid heavy hand
Upon thy buoyant spirit-ever bent

To clip the sinews of its soaring wing.

But earth's rude bars cage not the bird of heaven,
And thou-with ruffled plume and bleeding breast
Gently didst rise at last on azure course,
And angels bore thee upwards in their arms
Lest thou should'st dash thy foot against a stone.
CHARLOTTE ELIZABETH! Thine eye hath met
Th' approving gaze-the glowing smile of Him
Who, once the tried, the tempted, the forlorn,
In all His people's sorrows sorrows too ;-
He unto whom were consecrated all

Those talents which His own discerning grace
Had granted thee-He hath received thee safe,
The King of Salem, which is King of Peace!

F. J.

THE FOUNTAIN AND THE DEW-DROP.

A TALE FOR THE SICK ROOM.

How bright is the hour of early dawn, when the soul, casting off the burden of the past day's weariness and sorrow, springs forward to enjoy the new life, to meet the new hopes and joys of another morning. Such had been often Jessie's thoughts, as she arose with a light and buoyant heart to devote this first bright hour to her God; but now the feverish broken slumbers of sickness had brought no refreshment to her weary frame; her book lay open on the bed, and her eye followed the wellknown lines, but her feeble thoughts strove vainly to grasp their meaning. At length, wearied with the effort, she closed the volume, and, withdrawing the curtain which shaded her casement-window, gazed listlessly on the scene before her. A little cottage girl tripped lightly past, her pitcher in her hand, to seek water at the neighbouring spring. Happy child, thought Jessie; how often have I seen thee thus pass my window, when I too could bear my pitcher to a better fountain, and drink water with joy out of the wells of salvation, and now they seem quite closed to my thirsty spirit. But perhaps I have done wrong thus easily to yield to a sense of weariness which might have been overcome. With these words she once more opened her Bible. In vain ; the more she strove to fix her thoughts, the more distracted they became; her mind seemed as one dead SEPTEMBER, 1846.

R

blank, or as a mirror broken into a thousand pieces, which could reflect no image distinctly, and with a feeling of deep dejection, she closed her eyes, and laid her aching head upon the pillow. She had not long remained thus disconsolate, when a little bird, perching on the tree near her window, commenced his matin-song. At first it was but a broken chirping, and Jessie heeded it not; but by degrees its melody grew more full and clear, and breathed such love and joy, that, as she listened to the strain, the burden on her heart grew light. Another and another sweet songster replied from the neighbouring wood, till the whole air was full of their joyous melody.

'What a burst of wild joy from the songsters of the wood,' cried Jessie; surely it is to greet the morning sun. Ellen,' said she, turning to her attendant, 'raise me up, and open my casement, that I too may enjoy his first bright beams.' It was a glorious scene that met her view. The light clouds that floated in the sky were tinged, not with the gorgeous hues of evening, but with the delicate tints, tender as childhood, so peculiar to the early dawn. The hills were bathed in rosy light, while wreaths of silvery mist floated over the valley. The sunlight glanced brightly on the rippling waves of the lake, and on the oars of the fishermen now hasting to their morning toil. In Jessie's garden, each bower and shrub glittered with a thousand dew-drops, and the breeze was perfumed with the fragrance of their flowers. She gazed in silent rapture on the scene, and yielding passively to its influence, drank in joy at every sense. On the wings of joy her heaven-tuned spirit soon mounted in praise to her Father's throne: his love was breathed in all the loveliness around her, and her soul rested in sweet childlike communion on him. Ellen's

voice now broke the chain of her thoughts, as the affectionate girl reached her a beautiful bunch of roses-'See, dear mistress,' said she, 'I told you I should soon be able to pluck them from your window, and they are, as you love to see them, all glistening with the morningdew. They are, indeed, fresh and beautiful,' cried she, and seem as if they had been drinking in the precious gift of heaven.' 'Yes,' answered Ellen, who, brought up with her young mistress, had learned to sympathize in her thoughts and feelings, 'I often think how good God is to the lovely flowers, they do but stand still and look up to heaven, and the soft dew falls freshly on their glowing leaves.'

'Dear Ellen,' said Jessie, 'have you divined my thoughts; you do not know how sad I felt this morning, when, striving vainly to read my Bible; I saw a child pass by to seek water at the fountain. Now, I see how needless was my grief;-if I can no longer seek water at the fountain, I can at least, as the little flowers, look up to heaven, and my Father will send on me the soft dews of his grace. He has done so this morning, when I was unable to raise my thoughts to him; He spoke to me in the sweet song of the birds and the glistening sunshine. I will trust and not be afraid. He shall work for me, and in me. Thou, blessed Saviour, hast borne the heat and burden of the day: I, thy weary child, have but to rest in sweet peace upon thy bosom.'