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Who loves me best ? My brother young
My mother loves me, but she may
; My white dove loves me, but that may fly; My father loves me, he may be changed ; I have heard of brothers and sisters estranged ; If they should forsake me, what should I do, Where should I bear my sad heart to? Some one surely would be my stay, Some one must love me better than they..
Yes ! fair child, there is one above
MARY ANN BROWN.
AN EVENING HYMN.
How beautiful the setting sun !
The clouds, how bright and gay, The stars appearing one by one,
How beautiful are they!
And when the moon ascends the sky,
And sheds her gentle light,
How beautiful is night!
And can it be, I am possessed
Of something brighter far,
Out-shining every star ?
Yes !-should the sun and stars turn pale,
The mountains melt away,
But live an endless day.
This is my soul that God has given,
its lustre dim, Religion bears it up to heaven,
And leads it back to Him.
A STORY OF HEAVEN.
BEFORE a lowland cottage,
With climbing roses gay,
Two children at their play.
All round the garden walks they ran,
Filling the air with glee, Till they were tired, and sate them down
Beneath an old oak tree.
They were silent for a little space,
And then the boy began; “I wonder, sister dear, if I
Shall ever be a man.
I almost think I never shall,
For often in my sleep,
Nay, sister, do not weep.
It is a joyful thing to die,
For though this world is fair, I see a lovelier in my dreams,
And I fancy I am there.
I fancy I am taken there,
As soon as I have died; And I roam through all the pleasant place,
With an angel by my side.
To that bright world I long to go,
I would not linger here,
And yours, my sister dear.
And when I read my book to her,
Or when I play with you,
And the bless'd angel too.
But often when I'm weary
Of my books and of my play,
And I wish that you, sweet sister ?
And my mother dear, and I,
And, all together, die.”
Then spake his fair-haired sister,
In tones serene and low ; “Oh! if heaven is such a pleasant place,
Dear brother, let us go.
Our mother wept when our father died,
Till her bright eyes were dim ;
That she may be with him.”
“So let us all together go !"
The thoughtful boy replied-“Ah no! we cannot go to heaven,
Until that we have died.
And sister we must be content
Upon this earth to stay,
Shall call our souls away.
Before the next year's roses came,
That gentle call was given; And the mother and her two sweet babes, Were all of them in heaven.
J. R. TAYLOR.