The change requisite for this exaltation shall pass upon the body without destroying its sameness-as flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God. It is sown in corruption, it is raised in glory; it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power; it is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body "-fit for the occupations and enjoyments of the heavenly world.

But how are these transformations to be effected? How? By that same power which calleth things that be not as though they were. God shall bring his risen ones with Jesus Christ. This is our short answer. I cannot open my ears to the objections of unbelief. We are upon too high ground to stoop o the caviller who marshals his ignorance and imbecility against the knowledge and the might of God. Let him puzzle himself with his theories about ersonal identity; let him talk about one part of he body being interred in Asia, another in Africa, nd a third in Europe; let him ask as many questions s he can devise about limbs devoured by ravenous nimals, and become, by nutrition, part of their bolies; which bodies again have passed, by the same rocess, into the flesh of other animals; and these, in their turn, consumed by man, and incorporated with the substance of a human body: let him ask uch questions, and ten thousand like them. Has he done?" Dost thou not therefore err, not knowing the Scriptures, nor the power of God?"

It will be time enough to plead thy difficulties when God shall commit to thee the raising of the lead. For it is sufficient that he who rears up the living blade from the rotten grain, will be at no loss to rear up an incorruptible from a corruptible body, through what forms and varieties soever it may have passed.

The main question, however, is not what Omnipotence can, but what it will perform. That God should raise the dead, if it so please him, will not appear incredible to any sober man. But what proof have we that our faith on this head is not fancy, and that our hope shall not perish? The best of all possible proof. We have, in the first place, the Divine promise. God has engaged to raise his people up by Jesus, and to present them together with him. Je sus himself has said, "I am the resurrection and the life: he that believeth on me, though he were dead, yet shall be live: and he that liveth and believeth on me, shall never die."

A thousand scientific demonstrations are not equivalent, as the ground of our confidence, to one word of Him who cannot lie. And so shall we find it in our last extremity.

CONVERSION BY A SHIPWRECK. CAPTAIN B. possessed all the attributes of a man of the world. He was admirably fitted by nature to participate in its scenes, and to contribute to its enjoyments. He danced gracefully, retained his box at the opera, and was the attraction and the soul of every gay party in the regiment. At the time that most momentous event of his life took place, which we are now recording, his regiment was quartered at Aubege de Castle, Malta, commanding a beautiful view of the harbour. Standing one day at his window he beheld a ship sailing out of the harbour, and stretching for the ocean. As he gazed upon the beautiful object, he observed her suddenly tremble, the masts went overboard, and she sunk! She had struck upon a rock; and so severe was the concussion, she instantly went down. This solemn spectacle was

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the voice of God to his conscience. Such was the arousing, convincing effect upon his feelings, he instantly fell upon his knees, and exclaimed.—" Such will be the shipwreck of my soul, O Lord, if thou dost not undertake for me!" From that moment he

became an earnest seeker of the Lord Jesus. Seeking, he found the Saviour, and finding the Saviour he found the chief good, the satisfying good, and he was happy! To the surprise and regret of his companions, he withdrew from the world, and attached himself to the little band of Christians assembling together for the worship of God in the island. His friends mourned that he had imbibed "Methodistical opinions," which had so "spoiled him for the world;" but he had found an all-satisfying, sanctifying good in Christ, and from the moment that this precious treasure obtained a lodgement in his heart, in the face of scorn, obloquy, and reproach, he "forsook all and followed Jesus in the way." Reader, are you not afraid of the shipwreck of your sunken rocks, many and treacherous, in your way. soul? You are voyaging to eternity. There are The most concealed and fatal of all is self-righteousness.-O. Winslow.

THE PSALMS.

WHEN We come to the book of Psalms, we seem to leave the world, and to enter the temple of the Most High God. Hitherto we have been in patriarchs tents, in royal courts, and in the camp of the warrior. But now the gates of the tabernacle swing open before us, and we hear the solemn voices issuing forth-"How amiable are thy tabernacles, O Lord O come, let us worship and bow down; let us kneel of Hosts! Blessed are they that dwell in thy house.

before the Lord, our Maker!"

As we enter the sublime house of prayer, we feel our minds drawn away from outward things. The paltry vanities of earth pass from our sight. Our souls are tranquillized into repose; and something of the feeling which overawed the disciples on Tabor's summit steals over our spirits. Every thing around us is calculated to subdue and to solemnize, and yet to elevate and to purify. Before our spiritual eye are unfolded things the most majestic, the most tender, the most enlivening. At one time we are lifted into adoring rapture as we hear the voice of inspiration chanting forth-" The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament showeth his handiwork. Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth knowledge."

Then the mighty roll of triumphant anthems shakes the arches "O sing unto the Lord a new song, for he has done marvellous things! His right hand and his holy arm have gotten him the victory. Let the sea roar, and the fulness thereof; the world, and they that dwell therein."

And then again, a low and plaintive sound steals upon the ear, like a lamentation for the dead. It comes from a smitten and anguished spirit. And as we listen, we hear a voice, as the voice of the mourner, wailing forth-" Have mercy upon me, O God! according to thy loving-kindness; according to thy tender mercies blot out my trangressions. Create in The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken me a clean heart, and renew a right spirit within me. and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise!"

Thus every utterance of devotion, from the loftiest praise to the lowest penitence, finds here a place.

In this "Epitome of the Scriptures," every thing we can conceive of as belonging to the Divine glory, or to the Christian's experience, is embodied. Eloquently has it been said, that "the outer universe of God, and the inner heart of man, are alike unfolded." All that can alarm the wicked, revive the penitent, console the afflicted, and confirm and elevate the saint, is found in this comprehensive book of Psalms. -T. L. Cuyler.

FORETASTES OF HEAVEN.

DR PAYSON of Portland, speaking of the work of the Spirit on the hearts of believers, says:

"He sheds abroad his love in their hearts, makes them know the great love wherewith he has loved them, shines in upon their souls with the pure, dazzing, transforming beams of celestial mercy, truth, nd grace; displays to their enraptured view the inffable beauties and glories of Him who is the chief unong ten thousand, and enables them in some meaure to comprehend the lengths and breadths, and eights and depths of that love of Christ which asseth knowledge. While the happy Christian, in hese bright, enraptured moments, sinks lower and ower in self-abasement and humility, the Spirit of God, stooping from his blessed abode, raises him, as t were, on his celestial wings, and places him before he open door of heaven, and enables him to look in nd contemplate the great I AM, the Ancient of Days, enthroned with the Son of his love, the brightless of his glory. He contemplates, he wonders, he admires, he loves, he adores! Absorbed in the ravshing, the ecstatic contemplation of uncreated loveiness, glory, and beauty, he forgets himself-he alost forgets that he exists. His whole soul goes orth in one intense flame of admiration, love, and tesire; and he longs to plunge into the boundless cean of perfection which opens to his view, and to e wholly swallowed up and lost in God. With an nergy and activity of soul unknown before, he roams nd ranges through this infinite ocean of existence nd happiness, of perfection and glory, of power and visdom, of light and love, where he can find neither bottom nor shore. His soul dilates itself beyond its rdinary capacity, and expands to receive the tide of elicity which fills and overwhelms it. No language can do justice to his feelings, for his joys are unspeakble; but with an emphasis, a meaning, an energy, which God only can excite, and which God alone can comprehend, he exclaims, in broken accents, My Father, and my God!''

TRUST IN PROVIDENCE.

FROM THE FRENCH.

THERE were two neighbours, who had each a wife and several little children, and their wages as common labourers were their only support. One of these men was fretful and disquieted, saying, "If I die, or even if I fall sick, what will become of my family?" This thought never left him, but gnawed his heart as a worm the fruit in which it is hidden. Now, although the same thought was presented to the mind of the other father, yet he was not fretted by it, for he said,-" God, who knows all his creatures and watches over them, shall also watch over me and mine." Thus he lived tranquil whilst the other never tasted either repose or joy. One day, as the latter was labouring in the field, sad and cast down because of his fear, he saw some birds go in

and out of a plantation. Having approached, he found two nests placed side by side, and in each several young ones, newly hatched and still unfledged. When he returned to his work he frequently looked at these birds as they went out and returned, carrying nourishment to their young ones. But, behold! at the moment when one of the mothers is returning with her bill full, a vulture seizes her, carries her off, and the poor mother, vainly struggling beneath his grasp, utters a piercing cry. At this sight the man who was working felt his soul more troubled than before; for, thought he, the death of the mother is the death of her young ones. Mine have only me-no other!-What will become of them if I fail them? All the day he was gloomy. and sad, and at night he slept not. On the morrow, as he returned to the field, he said, "I should like to see the little ones of that poor mother-several, without doubt, have already perished." He set off towards the plantation, and looking into the nests, he saw the young ones alive and well-not one seemed to have suffered. Astonished at this, he hid himself. in order to see the cause. After a little while he heard a light cry, and perceived the other mother bringing back in haste the food she had gathered, which she distributed to all the young ones without distinction. There was some for each, and the orphans were not abandoned in their misery. In the evening, the father who had distrusted Providence, related to the other father what he had seen, who observed, "Why fret yourself? God never abandons his children; his love has some secrets which we do not know; let us believe, hope, love, labour, and pursue our course in peace; if I die before you, you may be able to be a father to my children, and if you die before me, I will be a father to yours; and if we both die before they are of age to provide for their own necessities, they will have for father 'Our Father who is in heaven.' "

THE SABBATH-SCHOOL.

how vast a disproportion often exists, in respect of IT is wonderful to observe throughout God's system, visible importance and power, between the effect which is produced and the cause which produces it. The light comes to the earth so silently each morning that no ear catches the rushing of its waves; and yet each day, and week, and season, it new-creates the world. The acorn seems perishable and insignificant, yet folds within itself the planks and ribs of the world-famous ship. The spring is little and unnoticed-a stone will obstruct its waters; yet in it and in its equally tiny neighbours lie the head waters of mightiest currents that shall, if need be, bear navies upon their bosom, and shall sweep to the sea through broad estuaries.

In the spiritual world-the world of feeling and thought and sensitive mind-this fact becomes more obvious still, and more impressive. An influence there exerted partakes of the immortality of the soul which feels it. It changes or quickens the states of feeling. It implants or eradicates the germs of principle. It sends the currents of desire and hope in one course or another. And so it affects for ever the history of the soul. Invisibly though it enters, it exists there as a guiding or modifying

power. It may not be itself distinctly perceptible thereafter; but if not, it will certainly combine with other elements of character and activity, and shape them differently, and through them shape the life. So it is that a chance word has sometimes decided the course of a soul that was wavering and undecided. So it is that whole systems of belief have grown up in some minds, from a single remark, or text of Scripture, heard and pondered. So it is that revolutions which have shaken the earth, as though a falling planet had dashed its bulk against it, have had their origin, under God's providence, at moments and in agencies the least to be suspected; in some advice of parental piety; in some well-considered precept of a revered instructor; or, on the other hand, in some rash and exciting appeal of the misguided and discontented.

We almost never enter a Sabbath-school without thinking of this, or without feeling that we are standing in the midst of a spiritual seed-field, under a silent shower of influences, the fruits from which are to be reaped hereafter-in public engagements faithfully or carelessly performed-in domestic scenes of enjoyment or of bitterness-in characters of beauty or characters of shame-in heaven or in hell. And it certainly seems to us, that if Christians felt this as they ought, they would oftener remember such schools in their prayers, would oftener be in them themselves to work effectually for the Church; and that if teachers felt it, they would prepare sedulously for their vocation, and count it among the noblest to be found on earth.

SAYINGS OF LUTHER.
FAITH.

THE first, the noblest, the most sublime of all good works, is faith in Jesus Christ. From this all others ought to proceed: they are all the vassals of faith, and receive their efficacy from it alone. A Christian who has faith in God does all with a free and joyful spirit; whereas, the man who is not one with God is full of anxieties and still in bondage; he asks himself in his anguish how many good deeds are required of him-he runs hither and thither-he questions this man and that man-he nowhere finds peace, and does every thing under the influence of fear.

Where is this faith to be found, say you, and how can a man receive it? This, in fact, is what it is of the utmost importance to know. Faith comes from Jesus Christ alone, freely promised and bestowed.

O man! place Christ before thee, and contemplate he display which God makes of his mercy to him without being anticipated by any merit on thy part. From this display of his grace draw forth the belief and assurance that all thy sins are forgiven thee. Works cannot produce it. It flows from the blood, from the wounds, from the death of Christ: from these it gushes forth in the hearts of believers. Christ is the rock whence flow milk and honey, (Deut. xxxii).

God values all things by the standard of faith.

SUGGESTIONS ON DRESS. DRESS is intended for warmth, decency, and comfort; not for gaudy show, nor to excite vanity and pride. Be careful, then, never sacrifice health, decency or comfort, to a love of finery.

Bestow but a small portion of your time, money, or thoughts, upon dress; there are things of far greater moment which demand the larger part.

Always have something better to recommend you than the garments that cover your person. If these

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are your chief recommendation, it is a proof that they occupy the chief place in your heart; in other words, that you are a vain and frivolous character.

Guard against the love of dress, lest it should lead you to self-flattery, extravagance, dissipation, and ruin. Remember that neither fine dress nor personal beauty will last long. In a very few years, at most, we shall have nothing to wear but a shroud and a coffin, and instead of being admired we shall be loathed.

On the other hand, do not rush into the extreme of rigid simplicity and singularity. The medium of propriety in dress may be expressed by the terms plain, becoming, and dignified.

Let your dress be neat, modest, appropriate to times and seasons, and, as far as is consistent with the foregoing cautions, agreeable to those with whom you associate.

CLOUD OR SUN.

HE sendeth sun, he sendeth shower,
Alike they're needful to the flower;
And joys and tears alike are sent
To give the soul fit nourishment.
As comes to me or cloud or sun,
Father! thy will, not mine, be done.

Can loving children e'er reprove
With murmurs whom they trust and love?
Creator, I would ever be

A trusting, loving child to thee;
As comes to me or cloud or sun,
Father thy will, not mine, be done.

Oh, ne'er will I at life repineEnough that thou hast made it mine. Where falls the shadow cold of death, I yet will sing with parting breathAs comes to me or shade or sun, Father thy will, not mine, be done.

"I WISHED MYSELF AMONG THEM." So said the dreamer of Bedford jail, when he had looked into the celestial city, as the gates had opened to receive Christian and Hopeful, and had closed again, leaving him still a pilgrim. I do not wonder at his wish. He saw things there which might make any one who loves what is holy and blessed, desire to be there. "Now I saw in my dream, that these two men went in at the gate, and lo! as they entered, they were transfigured; and they had raiment put on that shone like gold. There were also that met them with harps and crowns, and gave them to them; the harps to praise withal, and the crowns in token of honour. Oh, those harps of praise!-that crown which the Lord the righteous Judge will give to all who love his appearing! That shining raiment ! Shall the time come when my soul shall be as one of those shining ones?" Shall I be clothed in the spotless robe of a Saviour's righteousness? Shall I yet be near him, and like him, and praise him as I ought? Shall I, through his infinite grace, have the crown of victory over sin? Why do I not think of these things more? Why am I not daily, and hourly, praying for them, and seeking to be prepared for them? What is there in the world that should keep my heart from Christ, and hold me back from heaven? The world has riches. Suppose it should

give them all to me. How long could I enjoy them? Would they satisfy the soul's desires? If I had not Christ, those riches might be unsparing tormentors. Besides, heaven has riches. "I looked in after them, and behold, the city shone like the sun; the streets were paved with gold." They who have treasures laid up in heaven need not linger here to enjoy the uncertain riches of this world. In heaven are things 66 more precious than silver and gold," and which secure bliss and glory, which gold cannot purchase, and which they whose hearts are set on the world's riches can never have.

The world has honours. Well, let those covet them who will. My prayer shall be that I may not desire them. They are exceedingly dangerous. How few who have them are not elated by them, and made to lespise the humility which is before honour. One who is infinite in wisdom has asked, "How can ye believe, which receive honour one of another, and seek not the honour that cometh from God only ?" How can ye" seems here to have the force of "ye cannot." And nothing more true. They who supremely love the honours of men cannot love Jesus Christ.

The world has pleasures. Oh yes! I know it. And its pleasures have been my greatest enemies. How seductive, how sure to turn the heart away from the Saviour! How true is it, that "she that iveth in pleasure is dead while she liveth." I suppose it is as true of one sex as the other. No, ye pleasure-seekers, I desire not your joys. Would that I had never known them! The remembrance of them is anguish to my soul. I long to be purified from all their stains, and freed from all their power to defile the heart.

There are pleasures which I desire. But they are not the pleasures of the world. They are such as the world see not, neither have known. They are discerned only by the eye of faith. Much of them may be seen, many of them may be enjoyed even here, by those who are on pilgrimage, who are going to the celestial city." But if you would know their perfection and their fulness, you must look into those gates-you must enter there. Yes, let me be a stranger and sojourner, unhonoured and unknown of men, so that I may at last, through grace abounding to the chief of sinners, reach those celestial gates, and be one of the least among those shining ones. "In thy presence is fulness of joy; at thy right hand there are pleasures for ever more."

THE MEMORY OF THE CHILDREN.

Ir is noteworthy that children, who are taken away by death, always remain in the memory of the parent as children. Other children grow old; but the one we lost continues in youth. It looks as we last saw it in health. The imagination hears its sweet voice and light step, and sees its silken hair and clear bright eyes-all just as they were. Ten or twenty years may go by-the child remains in the memory as at first, a bright happy child. Its young and beautiful form moves before us; and what is such a memory but an angel-presence? Certainly, next to seeing an angel, is seeing, with a parent's heart, such a cherished form. Amidst this world of ambition and show, who shall say that this is not a means, under Providence, of subduing and spiritualizing the mind? Thus, in order to cherish such a remembrance, we are at times willing to turn even from the charms of the living. The sigh becomes sweeter than the

song. Sorrow subdued becomes a friend, and sacred joy is mingled with tears of holy recollection. Thus as grief ascends the mount of time, she seems to pass through a sort of transformation. The convulsive agony changes to passive sorrow; and querulous misgivings to quiet meditation. There must be distress: let, then, the gushing tears flow, for it is the course of nature; but, even with this, let there be the victory of Christian faith, the glorious hope of our holy religion. For

"Such a hope, like the raiubow, a being of light,
May be born, like the rainbow, in tears."

SONG OF MAULMAIN.

DR JUDSON, writing to the editor of an American periodical, says :-Having just met with the following lines in Mrs Judson's portfolio, I lay hold on them, and send you a copy for your periodical, agreeably to the direction in the last line of the first

stanza.

Ply the lever, pioneers!

Many a waiting angel cheers;
Christ above is interceding;
Here the Holy Ghost is pleading,
And the promise of Jehovah
Stands upon his blessed book,
Cheerly, cheerly ply the lever!
Pause not-faint not-falter never!
Course the river, thread the alley,
From the hill-top to the valley,
Go this barren desert over,
Scattering seed in every nook.

Gifted with a little wing,

Far the seed shall float and spring.
Trim your lamps; dark Burmah's centre,
Shrouded, sealed, their light must enter,

Even the sacred groves of Boodha,
And the monarch's golden hall.
Cheerly, cheerly ply the lever!
Pause not-faint not-falter never!
With a trusting heart and humble,
Toil till Boodha's throne shall crumble!
Monastery and pagoda

Reel before the cross and fall.

Fragments.

"ALL things to all men," in any sense but the right one, signifies nothing to any body.--Tupper.

ONE who has been at the gates of death, brings back rich clusters of grapes to the wilderness for fellow travellers.-Miss Plumptre.

FEAR.-Ills that never happened, have chiefly made thee wretched.-Tupper.

ANGER is like a ruin; it breaks itself upon what it falls.

EARTH hath its bubbles as the water has.-Shakespeare.

THE cross of Christ is the sweetest burden I ever bare; it is such a burden as wings are to a bird, or sails to a ship.-Rutherfurd.

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UPON THE SIGHT OF A LARK FLYING UP.

How nimbly doth that little lark mount up singing towards heaven in a right line! whereas the hawk, which is stronger of body and swifter of wing, towers up by many gradual compasses to his highest pitch. That bulk of body and length of wing hinders a direct ascent, and requires the help both of air and scope to advance his flight; while that small bird cuts the air without resistance, and needs no outward furtherance of her motion. It is no otherwise with the souls of men in flying up to their heaven; some are hindered by those powers which would seem helps to their soaring up thither; great wit, deep judgment, quick apprehension, send men about with no small labour for the recovery of their own incumbrance, while the good affections of plain, simple souls raises them up immediately to the fruition of God. Why should we be proud of that which may slacken our way to glory? why should we be disheartened with the small measure of that, the very want whereof may (as the heart may be affected) facilitate our way to happiness?

UPON THE LENGTH OF THE WAY.

How far off is yonder great mountain! My very eye is weary with the foresight of so great a distance; yet time and patience shall overcome it; this night we shall hope to lodge beyond it. Some things are more tedious in their expectation than in their performance. The comfort is, that every step I take sets me nearer to my end: when I once come there, I shall both forget how long it now seems, and please myself to look back upon the way that I have measured.

It is thus in our passage to heaven; my weak nature is ready to faint under the very conceit of the length and difficulty of this journey; my eye doth not more guide than discourage me. Many steps of grace and true obedience shall bring me insensibly thither; only let me move, and hope, and God's good leisure shall perfect my salvation. O Lord! give me to possess my soul with patience, and not so much to regard speed, as certainty. When I come to the top of thine holy hill, all these weary paces, and deep sloughs, shall either be forgotten, or contribute to my happiness in their remembrance.

UPON THE SINGING OF THE BIRDS IN A SPRING
MORNING.

How cheerfully do these little birds chirp and sing, out of the natural joy they conceive at the approach of the sun and entrance of spring, as if their life had departed and returned with those glorious and comfortable beams! No otherwise is the penitent and faithful soul affected to the true Sun of Righteousness, the Father of Lights: when he hides his face, it is troubled, and silently mourns away that sad winter of affliction; when he returns, in his presence is the fulness of joy; no song is cheerful enough to welcome him. O thou who art the God of all consolation, make my heart sensible of the sweet comforts of thy gracious presence, and let my mouth ever show forth thy praise !

UPON THE SIGHT OF RAIN IN THE SUNSHINE.

SUCH is my best condition in this life—if the sun of God's countenance shine upon me, I may well be content to be wet with some rain of

affliction. How oft have I seen the heaven overcast with clouds and tempest, no sun appearing to comfort me; yet even those gloomy and stormy seasons have I rid out patiently, only with the help of the common light of the day; at last, those beams have broken forth happily, and cheered my soul. It is well for my ordinary state, if, through the mists of my own dulness and Satan's temptations, I can descry some glimpse of heavenly comfort. Let me never hope, while I am in this vale, to see the clear face of that sun without a shower: such happiness is reserved for above; that upper region of glory is free from these doubtful and miserable vicissitudes. There, O God! we shall see as we are seen. Light is sown for the righteous, and joy for the upright in heart.

UPON THE SIGHT OF a FLY BURNING ITSELF IN THE CANDLE.

WISE Solomon says, that the light is a pleasant thing; and so certainly it is: but there is no true outward light which proceeds not from fire; the light of that fire, then, is not more pleasing than the fire of that light is dangerous; and that pleasure doth not more draw on our sight, than that danger forbids our approach. How foolish is this fly, that, in a love