Shouldst thou not, parent, weep o'er him? Thou hast a darling boy! O, what if that pure ray were dim, O, what if thou shouldst deem her blest, And he at that tribunal now, Aye, on that early-troubled brow, And those bent eyes, in happiness, Is't fit that one so fair and young, As though he ne'er had been? well warned, he would not sip The sweets where danger lay. O, save him!-yea, I know thou wilt, Thou canst not bid him dwell Where the cursed air breathes only guilt, Within the felon's cell: THE REFUGE! angels bless the plan, That, while it holds the rod, Restores a fallen man to man, A wanderer to God. When the British army was advancing upon Plattsburg in solid column, a small detachment of the American artillery with a single field-piece, kept up an incessant retreating fire upon their enemy. These discharges made dreadful havoc; but the voice of the British commander was distinctly heard, saying, Fill up ! fill up! fill up!" and the column closed, as if regardless of the effect, and were not retarded by the loss of a number killed and wounded. The case is applicable to the Christian cause. When some fall in one station and some in another, methinks I hear the great Captain of our salvation saying to his faithful soldiers," Fill up! fill up! fill up !" And I rejoice to know that their places are filling up with heroic ardour; and that the progress of the gospel will by no means be retarded because death makes his inroads ; but rather that the whole Christian army will be excited to double their efforts, till the last victory is achieved.-Chr. Watch. A THOUSAND Warriors to the charge, In thunders of the cannon's voice Fill up! Fill up!-like those they come— Like those to slumber low. They fall, and 'tis a fading leaf Earth gives unto her slain; They die, 'tis in Fame's trumpet song Her heroes live again. And such her glory!—who has not, Mused on the mighty, now forgot, Not such is your triumphant gain, Your leader is the Crucified, Whose death was Death's defeat; And with him battling at your side, Your victory's complete. Not such your banner-folds that wave That float above the soldier's grave, Where Christ's brave legions lie, Is rising other monument Of names that cannot die. Then see, where press the vigorous siege, Yon gallant, glorious few; They give their heart's-blood for their liege, And straight are wrapt from view: In Afric, China and Bengal Their bones in waiting lie; "Fill up our ranks!" to us they call, Yea, from the nurseries of the church, And deeper joy that mother knows When, strong in faith, that first-born goes HAPPINESS WHERE IS IT? Is it in wealth? Go, probe the breast Is it in fame? Its empty breath, Will blast, ere long, the laurel wreath Is it in friendship, or in love? Alas! they soon decay: The tears of disappointment prove How feeble is their stay. "Tis not in all that here excels, 'Tis not in Folly's round; Look upward, mortal, there it dwells, I HAVE NEVER SEEN THE RIGHTEOUS FORSAKEN. I've seen the heir of guilt and wo, I've seen the victim of despair, I've looked upon his brow when there I've seen the lordling roll in state, I've seen when at the poor man's gate, I've seen the youth, whom pleasure's round And those that by intemperance found The flowery, fatal way. These I have seen, but never yet Have seen the child of prayer Abandoned by his God, to eat |