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fiery wreck; some would fain have saved a friend almost in the last agonies; and some, strong in a savage despair, tore from them the clinched fingers that would have dragged them down, and forgot in fear both love and pity.

Enveloped in flames and smoke, yet insensible as a corpse to the burning, a frantic mother flung down her baby among the crew; and, as it fell among the upward oars unharmed, she shrieked out a prayer of thanksgiving: "Go, husband, go; for I am content to die. Oh! live! live! my husband! for our darling Willy's sake." But, in the prime of life, and with his manly bosom full of health and hope, the husband looked but for a moment, till he saw his child was safe; and then, taking his young wife in his arms, sat down beneath the burning fragments of the sail, with the rest that were resigned, never more to rise up till the sound of the last trumpet, when the faithful and afflicted shall be raised to breathe for ever the pure air of Heaven.

ANONYMOUS.

LESSON CLVIII.

THE DEAD OF THE WRECK.

[The Steamer Atlantic was wrecked, in a storm, on Long Island Sound, in Nov., 1846. As soon as the boat struck, its bell commenced tolling, probably from the action of the wind upon it, and continued to toll slowly and mournfully, as long as any portion of the wreck was to be seen.]

TOLL, toll, toll,

Thou Bell by billows swung,

And night and day thy warning words

Repeat with mournful tongue!

Toll for the queenly boat,

Wrecked on yon rocky shore,
Sea-weed is in her palace halls,
She rides the surge no more!

Toll for the master bold,

The high-souled and the brave,
Who ruled her like a thing of life,
Amid the crested wave!

Toll for the hardy crew,

Sons of the storm and blast, Who long the tyrant Ocean dared But it vanquished them at last!

Toll for the man of God,

Whose hallowed voice of prayer,
Rose calm above the stifled groan
Of that intense despair!
How precious were those tones
On that sad verge of life,

Amid the fierce and freezing storm,
And the mountain billows' strife!

Toll for the lover, lost

To the summoned bridal train!
Bright glows a picture on his breast,
Beneath the unfathomed main;
One from her casement gazeth
Long o'er the misty sea;
He cometh not, pale maiden,

His heart is cold to thee!

Toll for the absent sire,

Who to his home drew near,
To bless a glad expecting group,
Fond wife and children dear!

They heap the blazing hearth,
The festal board is spread,
But a fearful guest is at the gate:
Room for the sheeted dead!

Toll for the loved and fair,

The whelmed beneath the tide, The broken harps around whose strings The dull sea-monsters glide! Mother and nursling sweet,

Reft from the household throng, There's bitter weeping in the nest Where breathed their soul of song.

Toll for the hearts that bleed

'Neath misery's furrowing trace!

Toll for the hapless orphan left
The last of all his race!

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It hastens to them, by the breeze
Borne onward from more northern seas.

Near, and more near; and can it be,
(More venturous than their own)
A Ship, whose seeming ghost they see
Among the icebergs thrown?
With broken masts, dismantled all,
And dark sails like a funeral pall?

God of the mariner! protect

Her inmates as she moves along,

Through perils, which ere now had wrecked, But that thine arm is strong!

Ha! she has struck! she grounds! she stands Still, as if held by giant hands!

"Quick, man the boat!" away they sprang, The stranger ship to aid,

And loud their hailing voices rang,

And rapid speed they made;

But all in silence, deep, unbroke,

The vessel stood; none answering spoke.

'T was fearful! not a sound arose, No moving thing was there,

To interrupt the dread repose

Which filled each heart with fear.
On deck they silent stepped, and sought,
Till one, a man, their sad sight caught.

He was alone, the damp-chill mold

Of years hung on his cheek;

While the pen within his hand had told

The tale no voice might speak:

"Seventy days," the record stood,

"We have been in the ice, and wanted food!"

They took his book, and turned away,

But soon discovered where

The wife, in her death sleep, gently lay

Near him in life most dear,

Who, seated beside his young heart's pride,
Long years before had calmly died.

Oh, wedded love! how beautiful,
How pure a thing thou art,
Whose influence e'en in death can rule,
And triumph o'er the heart;

Can cheer life's roughest walk, and shed
A holy light around the dead!

There was a solemn, sacred feeling

Kindled in every breast,

And, softly from the cabin stealing,
They left them to their rest;

The fair, the young, the constant pair,
They left them, with a blessing, there.

And to their boat returning, each
With thoughtful brow, and haste,
And o'ercharged heart, too full for speech,
They left amid that waste

The Charnel ship, which, years before,
Had sailed from distant Albion's shore.

They left her in the icebergs, where
Few venture to intrude,

A monument of death and fear,

'Mid Ocean's solitude;

And grateful for their own release,

Thanked God, and sought their homes in peace.

MRS. A. P. DINNIES.

LESSON CXL.

THE USES OF SUFFERING.

BENEVOLENCE has a higher aim than to bestow enjoyment. There is a higher good than enjoyment; and this requires suffering, in order to be gained. Suffering ministers to human excellence; it calls forth the magnanimous and sublime virtues, and, at the same time, nourishes the tenderest, sweetest sympathies of our nature; it rouses us to energy and to the consciousness of our powers, and, at the same time, infuses the meekest dependence on God; it stimulates toil for the

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