But let it bring a thought of peace and rest;
Shed for me no sad tear,
Remember, mother dear!
That I am with the perfect and the blest.

Yes, let my memory still
With joy thy bosom fill;
For, though thou dost along life's desert roam,
My spirit, like a star,
Bright burning and afar,
Shall guide thee, through the darkness, to thy home




HOPE.

BY REV. H.B. NYE.

Expectation is not desire, nor desire hope. We may _expect_ misfortune,
sickness, poverty, while from these evils we would fain escape. Bending
over the couches of the sick and suffering, we may _desire_ their
restoration to health, while the hectic flush and the rapid beating of
the heart assure us that no effort of kindness or skill can prolong
their days upon the earth. _Hope_ is directed to some future good, and
it implies not only an ardent desire that our future may be fair and
unclouded, but an expectation that our wishes will, at length, be
granted, and our plans be crowned with large success. Hence hope
animates us to exertion and diligence, and always imparts pleasure and
gladness, while our fondest wishes cost us anxiety and tears.