THOUGH LONG THE WANDERER MAY DEPART.

THOUGH long the wanderer may depart,

And far his footsteps roam,

He clasps the closer to his heart

The image of his home.

To that loved land, where'er he goes,
His tenderest thoughts are cast,
And dearer still, through absence, grows
The memory of the past.

Though Nature on another shore
Her softest smiles may wear,
The vales, the hills he loved before,
To him are far more fair.

The heavens that met his childhood's eye,
All clouded though they be,
Seem brighter than the sunniest sky
Of climes beyond the sea.

So Faith, a stranger on the earth,
Still turns its eye above;
The child of an immortal birth
Seeks more than mortal love.
The scenes of earth, though very fair,
Want home's endearing spell;
And all his heart and hope are where
His God and Saviour dwell.

He may behold them dimly here,
And see them as not nigh;
But all he loves will yet appear
Unclouded to his eye.

To that fair city, now so far,
Rejoicing he will come-

A better light than Bethlehem's star
Guides every wanderer home.

BID ME COME WITH THEE ON THE WATER.

O, in the dark and stormy night,

When far from land, I cry with fear;
Shine o'er the waves, Thou holy light,
Then, O my Saviour, be Thou near.
Though from afar, let me but see,

Dim through the dark, Thy gliding form;
And bright the gloomy hour will be
That brought Thy presence in the storm,

Then lift Thy hand and bid me come,
And higher though the tempest blow;
I, through the wind and through the gloom,.
To Thy loved side will gladly go.
The wind is fair that blows to Thee,
The wave is firm that bears me on;
And, stronger still, that love to me
Which many waters could not drown,

Or for Thy coming bid me wait,
My soul in patience shall abide ;
And though the storm may not abate,
I will not seek another guide.
With Thee I fear no angry blast;

With Thee my course points ever home;
And in good time, all perils past,

To the fair haven I shall come.

BAYARD TAYLOR.

POET and extensive American writer, Bayard Taylor was born in January 1825, in the state of Pennsylvania. In his eighteenth year, he produced a long poem on an incident in Spanish history. He has

since prosecuted a successful literary career. One of the most adventurous of modern travellers, his published works of travel have commanded well-merited attention. His poetical works, which had appeared at different periods, were, in 1856, collected into an octavo volume.

JERUSALEM,

FAIR shines the moon, Jerusalem,
Upon the hills that wore

Thy glory once, their diadem

E'er Judah's reign was o'er.

The stars on hallowed Olivet,
And over Sion burn,

But when shall rise thy splendours set!

Thy majesty return?

Thy strength, Jerusalem, is o'er,

And broken are thy walls;

The harp of Israel sounds no more

In thy deserted halls!

But where thy kings and prophets trod

Triumphant over death,

Behold the living soul of God-

The Christ of Nazareth!

Who shall rebuild Jerusalem ?-
Her scattered children bring
From earth's far ends, and gather them
Beneath her sheltering wing?
For Judah's sceptre, broken, lies,
And from his kingly stem

No new Messiah shall arise

For lost Jerusalem!

How long, O Christ, shall men obscure

Thy holy charity?—

How long the godless rites endure
Which they bestow on Thee?
Thou, in whose soul of tenderness
The Father's mercy shone;
Who came, the sons of men to bless
By truth and love alone.

The suns of eighteen hundred years
Have seen thy reign expand,
And morning, on her pathway, hears
Thy name in every land;

But where Thy sacred steps were sent
The Father's will to bide,

Thy garments yet are daily rent—
Thy soul is crucified!

JOHN ANDERSON.

HE only child of John Anderson, D.D., the subject of this notice was born in the manse of Newburgh, Fifeshire. Educated at the University of St Andrews, he was ordained minister of St John's Church, VVV Dundee, in 1844. He was subsequently translated to the East Church, Perth; and in 1852, was preferred to the church-living of Kinnoull, Perthshire. An extensive contributor to the leading periodicals, both in prose and verse, Mr Anderson has published two volumes of poems, entitled The Pleasures of Home, and The Legend of Glencoe.

SABBATH BELLS.

SWEET Sabbath bells! ye waft my soul
On your solemn chimes at even,
To the land where life's glad waters roll
Through the pastures green of heaven.

Sweet Sabbath bells! no temple there
Gathers a holy throng;

For every heart is a shrine of prayer,
And every voice is song.'

No weekly calm, in the world above,
Shall breathe upon scenes of care;

For the moments of heaven are bright with love,
And each is a Sabbath there..