I think of New England, my fair native land, The friends of my childhood, that dear faithful band, Who're waiting to greet me with hearts full of love, Not knowing my bark will cast anchor above.

To see me, my kindred impatiently wait,-- I think of those dear ones,--my soul's in a strait,-- My father, my mother, my dear orphan son,-- Oh Lord, decide for me, let thy will be done'

JUDSON'S GRAVE.

Dear shepherd of the Burman sheep, Where have they laid thee down to sleep?

Beside thy long lamented Ann, Or 'midst thy charge at Aracan?

Or does that palm tree o'er thee wave, Which shadows thy dear Sarah's grave?

I pause, and drop the silent tear,-- In mournful tones, a voice I hear, Exclaiming, "Earth affords no s.p.a.ce For Judson's last calm resting place."

Ye spicy groves, perfume each breeze That steals along the Indian seas,-- For we have felt a pang of woe, Since, plunged in awful depths below, Our much lamented Judson's clay, Must 'neath its rolling billows lay, Where monsters of the ocean creep, 'Round him o'er whom the nations weep.

No stone directs the stranger's eye To where his sacred relics lie, Nor can the weeping Burmans come To shed their tears around his tomb.

And when their work on earth is done, No mourning daughter, wife, or son Can rest from toil the weary head, Beside him in his ocean bed.

But while we shrink from such a grave, He rests as sweetly 'neath the wave As though in Auburn's bowers he lay, Where sunbeams through green branches play, And roses, wet with tear drops, bloom Around th' unconscious sleeper's tomb.

Let no rude wind, no angry storm, The ocean's heaving breast deform,-- 'Tis hallowed as dear Judson's bed, Until the sea gives up its dead.

Though mortals weep with fond regret, The Lord that spot will ne'er forget; He will a faithful record keep,-- He knows where all his children sleep.

Though monsters should that form devour, 'Twill rise in beauty, strength and power; That voice, which rends the tombs and graves, Will sound through all the ocean caves; Then 'roused by heaven's eternal King, He'll tune his golden harp and sing; While, quick as thought, to join the song, Will Burman converts round him throng, And on that bright auspicious morn, Like jewels his rich crown adorn.

LINES

SUGGESTED BY A REMARK MADE BY THE REV. WINTHROP MORSE, WHILE ADDRESSING A CONGREGATION a.s.sEMBLED ON THE BANKS OF THE SANDY RIVER, UPON A BAPTISMAL OCCASION.

The writer of the following, though but a child, was present, and, for the first time, witnessed the administration of that solemn ordinance.

"We're trav'ling to eternity,"

G.o.d's faithful servant cried, As he addressed the mult.i.tude That thronged the water's side.

"We're trav'ling to eternity,"

He said with tearful eye,-- Then come, dear friends, and choose the path That leads to joys on high.

"We're trav'ling to eternity,"

The convert seemed to say,-- I'll trace the path my Savior marked, Though through these waves it lay.

"We're trav'ling to eternity,"

Was echoed from the stream, Like me your days will swiftly glide, Or like a fleeting dream.

"We're trav'ling to eternity,"

The Holy Spirit said,-- And sweetly whispered to the soul, "I'll be thy heavenly guide."

"We're trav'ling to eternity,"

That sentence reached my heart, I trembled lest I there should hear That awful word, "depart."

Yes, trav'ling to eternity, While overwhelmed with guilt,-- Afraid that Jesus' pard'ning love, By me would ne'er be felt.

"We're trav'ling to eternity,"-- It rings upon my ear; The hills which echoed back that sound, Still to my heart are dear.

"We're traveling to eternity,"

Said that dear faithful friend, Whose image in my mem'ry lives, And will, till life shall end.

"We're traveling to eternity,"

Soon, soon we there shall meet, And is my deathless soul prepared, That friend in heaven to greet?

THE INQUIRY.

Am I a Christian far astray, And slumb'ring on enchanted ground; Or did my feet ne'er find the way, Which Bunyan's humble pilgrim found?

Whence was that strange delight I felt?

Why did the gospel charm my ear?

What caused this stubborn heart to melt?

Why was the Savior's name so dear?

Why was the fountain of his blood, So precious in my mental eye?

Why did such deep sensations crowd Around the scene on Calvary?

Why did the G.o.dhead shine so bright?

Why did I love the garb he wore, Alike, when justice claimed his right, And when sweet mercy's name he bore?

Did airy phantoms fill my brain?-- Did vain delusions cheat my soul?-- Must those bright hopes prove false and vain?

And must I miss the heavenly goal?

"There is joy in Heaven, in the presence of the angels, over one sinner that repenteth."--_Scripture_.

What's this that breaks upon my ear?

Music sweet; From golden harps, methinks I hear Glorious strains!

"There's joy in Heaven," the angels sing, "A soul repents and owns our King;"

From Heaven to earth the echoes ring, Pard'ning love!

JEPHTHAH'S VOW.

The warrior left the battle field,-- Jehovah there had been his shield,-- He heard his solemn vow.

The foe had in confusion fled, While thousands on the field lay dead, All, all were vanquish'd now.