Thank God for toil, for hardships, whence Come courage, patience, hardihood; And for that sad experience

Which leaves our bosoms flesh and blood;
Which leaves us tears for others' woe.
Brother in toil, respect thyself,
And let thy steadfast virtues show
That man is nobler far than pelf.

Thank God for toil! nor fear the face
Of wealth, nor rank-fear only sin;
That blight which mars all outward grace,
And dims the light of peace within.
Give me thy hand, my brother, give
The hard yet honest hand to me;
We are not dreamers-we shall live,
A brighter, better day to see.


THE tender words were spoken;
Alas! they were believed;
And thus her heart was broken,
The beautiful deceived.

The sod is green above her,

The summer wind sighs by;
Cold heart that could not love her!
Cold lips that breathed a lie!

Her cheek grew wan and hollow,
The glad light fled her eye;
And her pale lip parted never,
Save to a weary sigh.
The golden thread is broken,
The lily bowed its head-
Funereal words were spoken,
They laid her with the dead.


THERE's a sorrow upon thy path, Lulie,
That will not pass away!

It thins thy cheek, it pales thy brow,
And clouds thy sunniest day.
There's a shadow for every light, Lulie,
An end to the gladdest hour;
There's a tear for every smile, Lulie,
And dust on the fairest flower.

Oh! place thine hand in mine, Lulie,
Forget the dream that's past;
And know that in the name of God,
My love is pure and fast!

I'll win thee for my wife, Lulie,
Mine own-my spirit bride;
To share thy gladness with thee,
Or suffer by thy side.


[The Clementine Cuvier referred to in the following brief notice which we have copied from her biography, was the daughter of the justly celebrated French naturalist who has rendered the name so illustrious in the scientific world. It is not a little remarkable that a young person, who moved in the first circles of the brilliant society of Paris, should have furnished so signal an example of Christian piety as it is practised by protestants.]

FEW more beautiful and affecting instances could be adduced of the sanctifying and elevating influence of divine truth, than the history of the lovely Clementine. Destined to move in a rank of life the least adapted to cherish and nurture religious impressions, surrounded by the gay, the thoughtless, and the worldly-herself courted, beloved, and admired by all around-she had the moral courage, the heaven-inspired heroism, to break through the difficulties and hindrances which beset her path, and to avow herself an humble follower of the meek and the lowly Jesus. "Observe her situation," says the Rev. Angell James, "and mark the rare combination of circumstances which it presented to delight and fascinate an ardent mind. Think of the celebrity of her illustrious father, whose political offices and philosophical researches drew around him all the most distinguished men of France, and made his home one of the Parisian centres of intellectual and national greatness; think of those personal accom

plishments and mental acquirements, which excited the admiration and interest of all who knew her; think of the respect and attachment of the humane and religious, whose schemes she supported, and whose institutions she patronized; add to this the gratitude she perpetually received from the persons whose wants she had relieved; and, to crown all, think of the attachment of her lover and the prospect of her marriage; and you will then perceive that the world, invested with its brightest and purest glory, stood before her in a form best adapted to captivate a pure and youthful mind, and to compel it to say, ''Tis enough, I am satisfied; it is good to be here.' But did it satisfy her mind? Did it fill her heart, and leave her nothing more to wish for? No. Her memorialist tells us that, 'surrounded as she was by all the enjoyments and illusions of this world, she was only happy as she was conversant with the spiritual and substantial blessings of the kingdom of God. She felt that she must love an infinite object, and that Christ alone could fill the soul. Even to her the world was nothing more than a broken cistern that could hold no water; and she thirsted, panted, and looked round for the fountain of living water, and found it-in religion.'

And what was the character of Clementine's religion? It consisted not of empty forms and unmeaning ceremonies, but was throughout a matter that engaged the whole soul. Even before she had made a decided profession of faith in the doctrines of the gospel, it was observed, from her entire deportment, that

she was earnestly solicitous about the things that belonged to her everlasting peace. Hence the gravity of her countenance, the seriousness of her manner. She was in earnest; her mind, her heart was absorbed in a solemn work. Her eye was single. She looked only to Christ for pardon, peace, purity-life everlasting. "Formerly," she said on one occasion, "I vaguely assured myself that a merciful God would pardon me; but now I feel that I have obtained that pardon, that I obtain it every moment, and that I experience inexpressible delight in seeking it at the foot of the cross." All dependence on her own doings she completely renounced, and was enabled humbly and cheerfully to submit herself to the righteousness of God, which is by faith in Christ Jesus unto all and upon all them that believe. And while Clementine sought pardon and acceptance in God's own appointed way, through the merits and mediation of Christ, she was no less anxious to obtain the purity than the peace of the gospel. The new birth she felt to be as needful for her as for the most abandoned profligate, and therefore her frequent and earnest prayer was, "Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me." To her latest hour she mourned over the workings of indwelling corruption; and yet how seldom can a Christian be found breathing so much of the Spirit, exhibiting so much of the character of the meek and lowly Jesus! Like him, it was her delight to go about continually doing good-feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, comforting the mourner, instruct

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