And stand with glory wrapt around

On the hills he never trod,

And speak of the strife that won our life,
With the Incarnate Son of God.

"O lonely tomb in Moab's land!

O dark Beth-peor's hill!

Speak to these curious hearts of our,
And teach them to be still.

God hath His mysteries of grace,
Ways that we cannot tell ;

He hides them deep, like the secret sleep
Of him He loved so well."

C. F. ALEXANDER.

One verse of this grand poem has, to me, a very tender association. A personal friend, -the late John Whitworth, Esq., of Halifax, who was elected by his fellow-townsmen as mayor of that ancient borough, was greatly delighted with the beauty and sublimity of the composition, for I had called his attention to it when he was expressing a presentiment of his approaching end, although at the time in apparently excellent health. Soon after our conversation he was taken suddenly ill, but rallied, and sought convalescence amid the bracing air and magnificent scenery of North Wales.

One day, as the sun was pouring his gorgeous splendour over the hills and flooding the valley of the river Mauddack, near Barmouth, Mr. Whitworth pointed to one of the high peaks as it rose in its glory, and with much emotion repeated the words :

"And had he not high honour,—

The hill-side for a pali,

To lie in state while the angels wait
With stars for tapers tall,

And the dark rock-pines like tossing plumes,
Over his bier to wave,

And God's own hand in that lonely land

To lay him in his grave."

Up that hill he climbed the same evening, alone (except his pony), that he might in solitude enjoy the vision, and exult in the consciousness of the power and goodness of the Infinite Creator; and as he gazed on the wide-spreading sea and the lofty hills, he felt, no doubt, another premonition of death, alighted from his pony, stepped aside from the path, and there alone lay down to die. Torches flashed amid the mountain shadows, for the living sought the dead; but the spirit had passed along the "path of life." It was his Nebo! a prelude to the New Jerusalem above: a sudden and irreparable loss to his family, but almost a translation to him.

Young men, struggle through all your difficulties. Be truthful; be brotherly; be diligent; be manly. Dare to be good, and you will rise to greatness. You may not rise from a mill to be a consul, like Dr. Livingstone; but you may to be a missionary as he was; and a noble missionary is one of the highest types of humanity. You may not rise from industrial life to be the instrument of negotiating a commercial treaty between England and France, like Richard Cobden, of great memory, but it is a possibility; nor may you rise from the literary circle to the British Peerage like Lord Macaulay, although that is not impossible. But there is great comfort in

the thought that although you may not be ambassadors, ministers of state, or peers of the realm, you may most certainly be of the blood royal of heaven, the sons of God,—the truest and grandest aristocracy.

Cultivate your powers: be not discouraged because your educational advantages were not greater, but improve the facilities within your reach. Look around, and you will see young men similar to yourselves pursuing knowledge under difficulties, who have long hours and but little money; whose circumstances are analogous to your own, but they are climbing the rugged steep on which stands the temple of wisdom. They manifest an ardour which nothing can damp; which pain and poverty can scarcely retard, and they succeed. The medal of merit is awarded, and the laurel of a peaceful victory encircles their brow. Emulate their zeal and diligence, and be ever ready to aid your fellow-workers in the glorious toil. Guard against the snares of infidelity and the blandishments of vice; look upward for help and counsel, that your genius may be lighted from the skies. As an eagle, borne on strong pinion, pierces the mists and gains the dizzy heights where the sun is shining, so you may pass the doubts and shadows, and reach the pure sunlight of heavenly truth, and brighten in the beams of celestial wisdom. Yes, you may reach the summit of the hill, enter the temple, and dwell amid the memorials of genius, the monuments of learning, and the sacred trophies of moral achievements. And as you climb that rugged steep, you will be

cheered by the promptings of virtue, by the inspirations of truth, by the aids of the Divine Spirit, and by the voice of eternal wisdom calling from her radiant throne, "Unto you, O men, I call; and my voice is to the sons of man. I love them that love me; and those that seek me early shall find me. Riches and honour are with me; yea, durable riches and righteousness. My fruit is better than gold, yea, than fine gold; and my revenue than choice silver. I lead in the way of righteousness, in the midst of the paths of judgment: that I may cause those that love me to inherit substance; and I will fill their treasures."—Prov. viii. 4, 17—21.

Follow this voice of inspiration, and you will be led into personal reconciliation with God; and, as a blessed sequence, to a high and noble manhood. Let there be the happy union of moral excellence with mental greatness, and you will add to the roll of your country's patriots and benefactors, and be the true pillars of the Church and State. And then, after the career of an unselfish and Christian life, you will have a peaceful death, a hallowed grave, an embalmed memory, a glorious resurrection, and ascend beyond pain and poverty-beyond the strife of party and the power of prejudice-beyond distorting mist and clouding mystery, to the pure and peerless glories of immortal beauty, liberty, and joy!

HAYMAN BROTHERS AND LILLY, PRINTERS, LONDON.

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