With the device, a butterfly bursting its shell, and the motto,"

BURST, O my soul, this shell of clay,
Mount up to God and soar away,

On silver wings and plumes of brightest gold :*
Grovel no more on this vile earth,

Taste the full joys of thy new birth

Joys which no eye hath seen, no eye hath told.

Psalm xlviii. 13,

NEW-YEAR'S EVE.

SOUNDING from far I hear the midnight bell,
As if it spoke to bid the year farewell.

Who heeds its going? Not the careless throng,
Whose folly finds the useless day too long,
Till swiftly fled, its duties all undone,
They sigh, and wonder how it went so soon.
Not the unconscious sinner, who can sleep
On the near verge of that unfathom'd deep,
To whose dark waters every closing year,
Unheeded leaves the slumberer more near.
Who heeds it? Not the thoughtless and the gay,
Whose folly bids the harp and viol play
Amid the feast, assembled to rejoice

O'er that departing year, whose warning voice
Cries, as it were, from forth its closing grave,
To tell them they have one year less to live.
Angels, perhaps-Angels from heaven descending
In gentle pity o'er the lost world bending,
Watchful to catch the first repentant sigh,
And bear the welcome message to the sky-
Angels who know how e'en in heaven they wait
In aw'd suspense upon the sinner's fate-
And even He they serve, with wishful ear,
Waits the first whisper of conviction's pray'r.
They hear, perhaps, the year's departing call-
The last to many, and one less to all:

And listing, bow their sacred heads with fear,
And heave a sigh for those who will not hear-
For some who wist not that for them no more
The clock shall strike to say the year is o'er.
Celestial spirits, joyful e'en in heaven,
O'er one on earth repenting and forgiven-
Yes-even they in heaven methinks will heed
To see those few and fleeting years recede,
Whose little space is all that lies between
The sinner and the forfeit of his sin-

Is all the space forbearing love concedes,

To seek the pardon and the grace he needs:

While they whose days are number'd, note it not-
The earth their idol and their God forgot.
Mortals alone, the ruined and the lost,
Madly rejoicing o'er their moments pass'd,
In fearless gaiety their revels keep,

Shouting for joy, while angels almost weep.
Nay, pause a moment-True, the year is gone-
Is there no thought of duties left undone ?
Does conscience whisper no unwelcome tale?
Unclose the record-Hast thou spent it well?
Has He whose mercy lengthens out thy days,
Received his meed of gratitude and praise?
Has he who lent you all, been still preferr'd
To all on earth his bounty has conferr'd?
The world relinquish'd, sin and self denied,
His love your object, and his law your guide,
Have the past moments left no stain within?
No blot of willing, unresisted sin?
No truth dissembled, no unhallowed thought-
No voice of warning mercy heeded not?
No cold forgetfulness of Him who died?
Nor claim refused, nor services denied?
O, if there be, or ere the leaf be clos'd,
The fatal record of thy year misus'd,
Rather let penitence thy soul engage,
And ask of heaven to blot it from the page,
Thou hast another. Yes, but it will go→
Thy folly soon will sing its death-dirge too.
Another and another, and the voice
Of careless mirth will bid thee still rejoice;
And the false world persuade thee to forget
Thy duty's still accumulating debt,

er, because

Put off the folly that so long has stood
Between thy erring spirit and its God.
With thoughts of seriousness and holy awe,
Near to his throne in meek devotion draw,
And while the parting season sounds farewell,
Alone with him in pensive accents tell

Thy deep contrition for each wasted hour-
Trace back the moments that are thine no more--
Each sinful word, each sinful thought retrace,
And ask for all his pardon and his grace:
That as the fleeting years receding move,
Thy soul may drink more deeply of his love-
More grateful in the sense of sins forgiven,
Of earth less mindful and more meet for heaven.
So the far-sounding of that midnight bell,

E'en though the last, shall whisper thee no ill;
And they who wait for thee in heaven, will share
Thy joyful welcome of each new-born year.

HYMN.

LORD, give me grace to do thy will,
In thought, in word, in deed,
Thy precepts in my heart instil,
And sow thy holy seed.

Give me, O Lord, indifference
To all things here below;

Ah! raise my mind to heaven, from whence
My greatest comforts flow.

The soul is yet confined on earth,
Within a house of clay,

Subject to sorrow, pain, and death,

Ah! who would wish to stay?

Lo spirito talora a se ridutto,

Ed al mar tempestoso e travgliato
Fuggito in porto tranquillo e pacato,
Pensando ha dubbio e vuolne trar costrutto,
S'egli è ver, che da Dio proceda tutto,
E senza lui nulla è, civé il peccato-
Per sua grazia se ci è concesso e dato
Seminar qui per corne eterno frutto-
Tal grazia in quel sel fa operazione
Ch'a riceverla è volto e ben disposto-
Dunque che cosa è quella ne dispone?
Qual prima sia, vorrei mi fosse esposto,
O tal grazia, o la buona inclinazione?
Rispondi or tu al dubbio ch'è proposto.

M. R.

TRANSLATION.

THE refug'd spirit, worn and tempest tost,
Serenely pausing o'er its dangers past,
Looks inward, as the troubled waters cease,
And, doubting, questions why it is at peace.
If all that is, must come of power divine—
If all is God's, except the creature's sin-
If by his grace it has indeed been given
To sow on earth, that we may reap in heaven-
And if that grace be wont to do its part
Upon the soften'd and the willing heart—
What is it makes it willing? Would I knew
Which first upon the alter'd bosom grew,
The inclination or the grace it sought-
Say, if thou knowest-and answer to the doubt.

ANSWER.

THE morning's icy bosom does not melt
Till the first sun-beam kindles in the east-
Yon orb opaque, that lights the midnight sky,
'Gan not to shine ere it received the beam.
Opaque, and cold, and lifeless more than they,
Ill could the bosom in itself enkindle

A spark of holiness where all was sin.
Springs the fresh grain, or e'er it has been sown?
God is the husbandman-he brake the ground,
He gave the culture, and he sow'd the seed-
And if it bear us e'en but one poor thought,
But one faint wish of goodness, one desire
For grace and holiness, it is from him.
Since it is good, of us it could not come,
For we are evil-Goodness does not come
Of evil-God alone is good. To him
Be all the glory, for the gift is his.

BAKER AND SON, PRINTERS, SOUTHAMPTON.