from the wave's destruction!

THE WITHERED LEAF.

BY REV. JOHN BLACKWELL, B.A.

Dry the leaf above the stubble,
Soon 'twill fall into the bramble,
But the mind receives a lesson
From the leaf when it has fallen.

Once it flourished in deep verdure,
Bright its aspect in the arbour,
Beside myriad of companions,
Once it danc'd in gay rotations.

Now its bloom is gone for ever,
'Neath the morning dew doth totter,
Sun or moon, or breezes balmy
Can't restore its verdant beauty.

* * * * *

Short its glory! soon it faded,
One day's joy, and then it ended;
Heaven declared its task was over,
It then fell, and that for ever.

SAD DIED THE MAIDEN.

Sad died the Maiden! and heaven only knew
The anguish she felt in expiring,
The moonbeams were weeping the evening dew
When the life of the Maiden was sinking.

Sad died the Maiden! beside the fast door,
With her head resting low on the flagging,
And the raindrops froze as they fell in store
On a bosom that lately was bleeding.

She died on the sill of her father's dear home,
From which he had forc'd her to wander,
While her clear white hands were trying to roam
In search of the latch and warm shelter.

* * * * *

She died! and her end will for ever reveal
A father devoid of affection,
While her green grave will always testify well
To the strength of love and devotion.

THE WORLD AND THE SEA: A COMPARISON.

Like the world and its dread changes
Is the ocean when it rages,
Sometimes full and sometimes shallow,
Sometimes green and sometimes yellow.

Salt the sea to all who drink it,
Bitter is the world in spirit,
Deep the sea to all who fathom,
Deep the world and without bottom.

Unsupporting in his danger
Is the sea unto the sailor,
Less sustaining to the traveller
Is the world through which he'll wander.

Full the sea of rocky places,
Shoals and quicksands in its mazes,
Full the world of sore temptation
Charged with sorrow and destruction.

THE POOR MAN'S GRAVE.

BY THE REV. J. EMLYM JONES, M.A., LL.D.

'Neath the yew tree's gloomy branches,
Rears a mound its verdant head,
As if to receive the riches
Which the dew of heaven doth spread;
Many a foot doth inconsiderate
Tread upon the humble pile,
And doth crush the turf so ornate:--
That's the Poor Man's Grave the while.

The paid servants of the Union
Followed mute his last remains,
Piling the earth in fast confusion,
Wit