I weep thy lost friendship-but vain is my sorrow— Time's dream is advancing-God speed the glad morrow, CONFIDENCE IN GOD. O why art thou cast down my soul ! Let faith suppress each rising fear, He to thy every trial knows Though griefs unnumber'd throng thee round, Whose finger marks the seas their bound, And curbs the headlong tide. And why art thou cast down my soul! Or why, with vain impatience, roll SPRING. Pleasing spring again is here, 'S their Gat nan dée, "Mo ghaisgich féin thug buaidh; A's Israel ghéill—biodh ainm a Dhé gun luaidh ;" Ach Iudah ait gu'n seinn, 'n uair 's frasaich'deòir, "'Se Triath nan speur mo Thaice threun 's mo Threòir." MUINGHINN ANN AN DIA. C'ar son, Om' anam, tha thu trom! 'S do smuaintean 'ruith neo-fhaighidneach Deanadh do chreideamh tosd a chur Air t'uile smuaintean bras; A's cuiridh Esan crìoch 'na thrà, Ged bhitheas do thrioblaidean mòr, 'Si 'làmh a chuireas crìoch roi 'n mhuir. 'S c'ar son a tha thu, anaim, trom, A's an-earbsach do ghnà, 'S do smuaintean 'ruith neo-fhaighidneach, Air uile tha fad o làimh ? AN T-EARRACH. Thainig a rìs an t-earrach àigh, Tha 'choill 's na lòin a' fàs fo bhlàth; Cluinn! na h-eoin le 'n ceileir sèimh 'Seinn cliù d'an Cruith'ear a th'air nèamh, Tha 'n t-àit' bha 'n sneachd' sa gheamhradh 'còmh Nis air fàs fo strachd do nedinein ; [dach What a change has taken place! Lord, afford a spring to me, Speak, and by thy gracious voice Tell me all the storms are past: Lord, I long to be at home, There the flowers unwithering blow; *The above, as well as the "Covenanter's Dream," "Field Flowers," and "Verses supposed to have been written by Alexander Selkirk," have been translated by the late James Clerk, Blacksmith, from Kilbrandon, Argyleshire. Mr Clerk was a young man of superior literary attainments, and from the taste and ability he displayed in translating both prose and poetry, he gave great pro Nach 'eil an caochladh th'ann an tràs' Labhair a nis gu bàigheil rium, Tha fadal orm gu bhi san àit' Air nach bi caochladh tigh'nn gu bràch! mise of future usefulness. He died in Glasgow, after a short illness, on the 20th November, 1845; and, considering his christian walk and conversation, there is cause to hope that he is one of the blessed inhabitants of that glorious cuuntry,— "Where the saints no winter fear, Where 'tis spring throughout the year." AFRICAN HOSPITALITY.* The loud wind roared, the rain fell fast, The storm is o'er, the tempest past, CHORUS. The white man shall our pity share, THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. When, marshall'd on the nightly plain, Can fix the sinner's wandering eye. Hark! hark! to God the chorus breaks, From every host, from every gem; Mungo Park, the African Traveller, says :-" About sunset, a woman, returning from the labours of the field observed me sitting under the shade of a tree where I intended to have passed the night, and perceiving that I was weary and dejected, inquired into my situation; which being explained she told me to follow her. Having conducted me to her hut she lighted a lamp, spread a mat on the floor, and then presented me with a fine fish, half broiled. She then called the female part of her family to resume their task of spinning cotton, in which they were employed during a great part of the night. They soothed their labour by songs; one of which was extempore, and myself the subject of it." The above |