And I'd go through breakers, or swords, or surf,

To land on the shore of life.

So you're going away, Miss, alack for us!
Will ye sometimes pray for me?

Pray God, I may see you before I drift
Away on the unknown sea."

"Yes, I'm sailing away, my lady;

Oh, give me that little hand,

It opened the door that showed the light
Of the far and blessed land;

And that's the country I'm bound for, Miss;
The nets, the ropes, the seine,

Are all rolled up, and these withered hands
Will coil them never again.

"Have I found Him yet? Ah, that I have, And to think that all the while,

'Twas Him a-calling over the sea

Calling so many a mile;

And I thought how could He step aboard
Such a hulk of a heart as mine;

But He whispers, 'I died on the cross for you;

Says I, Jesus, Master, I'm Thine.'

"So I'm drifting away, away, Miss; Oh ! but I'm weak and old,

And the waters I'm sailing on now, Miss,
Are very dark and cold.

But the Captain is somewhere aboard, I know,
Though I can't see His precious face;
He told me He never would give me up;
I can trust His love and grace.

"God bless this hand for the rope it threw
To the old tar, just going down;
He'll not forget it upon the shore,
When he's a-wearing the crown;
And Bessie and I'll look out one day,

To watch till you touch the strand.
Oh! it is dark; Father calls me away ;
Blest Captain, is this the land?"

ON THE DEATH OF EDWARD MASON, ESQ.

DEDICATED WITH CHRISTIAN SYMPATHY TO THE CHOIR OF THE CENTENARY CHURCH, HAMILTON.

H

ANG your harps upon the willows,
Israel's Temple singers sweet;
You are weeping o'er the stillness
Of accustomed welcome feet;
Minor strains are in your music,

Earth to earth and dust to dust;

Cold and gloomy is the chamber

Where they've laid your precious trust.

From the solemn organ's pealing

Have the skilful fingers gone;
With you he no more is numbered-
Hushed the swelling anthem's tone.
Joyful Alleluias, echoing

As from Eden's far-off shore,

Soft refrain and hymns of sorrow
At his beckoning come no more.

Music's glorious power shall vibrate,
But not at his thrilling touch;
Harmony's sweet numbers echo,

Not for him their founts shall gush ;
Other hands and chords shall waken-
His are under dark mould hid ;

Other lips the sweet choir marshal—

His are 'neath the coffin lid !

Hang your harps upon the willows;
Generous heart and kindly tone,
Friendship's dear reciprocations

Have with your lov'd leader gone.
Will you watch for his soon coming?
All too quiet is that brow:
Will you wait his cheerful greeting?
You would weep to see him now.

Hang your harps upon the willows;
Hark! amid the soft refrain

Heard you not a known voice whisper,
"This your brother lives again?"
Murmur not; the tone you're missing
Wakes where Death hath never trod,
Far above your earthly temple-
In the Paradise of God.

Music, at whose feeblest whisper

Our earth-bound souls would faintSongs of love we dare not dream of, Greet the coming of the saint! Take your harps down from the willows, Israel's singers, sweet and clear ;

Christ hath over all prevailed,

"Therefore will we never fear."

God, our Father, hear our pleading;
May life's last and broken strain
Melt into the glorious cadence,

66

Worthy is the Lamb once slain !"
So that, 'neath the deathless branches,
And beside the river fair,

All the singers in their numbers

And the players shall meet there.

THE PALAIS CARDINAL.

O very still the shadows lie, and even the birds are

mute,

There comes no sound of winding horn, loud trump

or mellow flute,

Outside the Palace darkness grows, the moss is damp with

dew;

Inside a man lies dying now, terrible Richelieu.

Yonder upon his bed of State is propped the suffering

frame,

;

With agony in every nerve; circled by pomp and fame No scalding tear is shed for him, no fond lips kiss adieu, Oh! dying Cardinal, what comes in the land you are go

ing to?