I clasped her wildly, and forgot

All else beneath the sky.

One kiss,-one look,-and she was not ;

And I-ah, what was I?

From that dark day I walked alone
In this wide world of care,

My widowed heart regardless grown
Of aught that wooed it there.

Its joys and griefs I learned to view
Without a smile or sigh;

And nought seemed left me now to do,
But lay me down and die.

Bereavement was not long her dower;

She feels no more its sway:

She pined, she drooped, my severed flower! And passed from earth away.

No plaint she breathed, no pain confessed,

But calmly fell asleep.

She stole into her grave for rest,

And left me here to weep.

While thou wert here, there was a hope,

All dimly as it shone :

'Tis gone! and I am left to cope

With this cold world alone.

Yet death cannot our hearts divide,
Or make thee less my own.

'Twere sweeter sleeping at thy side
Than watching here alone.

Yet never, never can we part,

While Memory holds her reign :

Thine, thine is all this withered heart,

Till we shall meet again.

That meet we shall, I do not fear :

The thought was joy to thee:

And I have now but little here

To part my God and me.

I feel, too, in my darkest mood,
How much my soul has won :

I know 'twas needful all, and good;
And say, "Thy will be done!"

Still, thoughts like these at times will come,

My firmness to surprise.

When shall I be with thee at home,

Beyond the reach of sighs?

PLEADING FOR MERCY.

WHEN at Thy footstool, Lord, I bend, And plead with Thee for mercy there, Think of the sinner's dying Friend,

And for His sake receive my prayer! Ọ think not of my shame and guilt,

My thousand stains of deepest dye : Think of the blood which Jesus spilt, And let that blood my pardon buy.

Think, Lord, how I am still Thy own, The trembling creature of Thy hand; Think how my heart to sin is prone,

And what temptations round me stand.

O think how blind and weak am I,

How strong and wily are my foes : They wrestled with Thy hosts on high; And can a worm their might oppose?

O think upon Thy holy word,

And every plighted promise thereHow prayer should evermore be heard, And how Thy glory is to spare.

O think not of my doubts and fears,
My strivings with Thy grace divine:

Think upon Jesus' woes and tears,
And let His merits stand for mine.

Thine eye, Thine ear, they are not dull;

Thine arm can never shortened be:

Behold me here-my heart is full-

Behold, and spare and succour me.