ALL THINGS NEW.

NEW Heavens!-for the stars grow pale
With the midnight scenes of time!
And the sun is weary of the wail

That meets him in every clime;

And the sky grows dim with the mist of tears—
Bring back the blue of its first bright years!

New Earth!-for the land and waves
With a weight of evil groan;

And its dwellings stand on a soil of graves,
Which fearful things hath known :-
From the touch of fire, from the battle-stain,
Give us its Eden green again!

New Law!-for 'tis the arm of wrong,

And great hath been the cry,

When oppressors' hands in their might grew strong,
And their deeds have pierced the sky-
But the powers are shaken-oh! requite
With the free, unchanging law of right!

New Faith!-for a voice of blood

Hath been heard from every shrine,
And the world hath worshipped many a god
With rites it deemed divine:

But the creeds grow old, and the fanes decay-
Show us, at last, some better way!

New Hope!-for it rose among

The thorns of a barren spot,

Where the bloom is brief and the labour long,
And the harvest cometh not-

And hearts grow weary that watch and wait

Give them a rainbow that fears not fate!

New Love!-for it hath been cast

On the troubled waters long,

And hoped in visions vain, that passed
Away like a night-bird's song:

It

may not be severed from the lost,

But give us the young world's love uncrossed!

New Life-give the summers back
Whose glory passed in vain-

Redeem our days from the shadow black,
Of clouds without the rain;

And the wastes which bitter waters were-
And our canker-eaten years restore!

New Light!-for the lamps decay

Which shone on the old-world's youth,

And the wise man watches for a ray

Of the undiscovered truth

Long hath he looked through the midnight dimLet the glorious day-spring visit him!

Must the earth's last hope like a shadow flee?

Was the dream of ages vain?

Oh! when will the bright restoring be,

And the glory come again

Of the promised spring, with its blessed dew-
And His word, that maketh all things new!

R. C. TRENCH.

HE author of various philosophical and theological works of high repute, Richard Chevenix Trench was born in 1807. Educated at Harrow and Cambridge, he was ordained to the ministry in 1832. In 1845, he was appointed vicar of Itchercetoke; and in 1856, was promoted to the Deanery of Westminster. Dean Trench has published several poetical works, these being respectively entitled Justin Martyr; Poems from Eastern Sources; Elegiac Poems; and Alma.

SUFFERING.

O LIFE! O death! O world! O time!
O grave! where all things flow,
'Tis yours to make our lot sublime,
With your great weight of woe.
Though sharpest anguish hearts may wring,
Though bosoms torn may be,

Yet suffering is a holy thing,
Without it, what were we ?

MORAVIAN HYMN.

WHERE is this infant? it is gone-
To whom? to Christ its Saviour true.
What does He for it? He goes on

As He has ever done, to do.

He blesses, He embraces, without end,

And to all children proves the tenderest friend.

He loves to have the little ones

Upon His lap, quite close and near;
And thus their glass so swiftly runs,
And they so little while are here;

He gave He takes them when He thinks it best
For them to come to Him and take their rest.

However, 'tis a great delight

Awhile to see such little princes,
All dressed in linen fine and white,
A beauty which escapes the senses;

The pure Lamb dwells in them-His majesty
Makes their sweet eyes to sparkle gloriously.

Be therefore thanked, thou dearest Lamb,
That we this precious child have seen,
And that thy blood and Jesus' name

To it a glittering robe have been;

We thank Thee, too, that Thou hast brought it home, That it so soon all dangers hath o'ercome.

Dear child, so live thou happily

In Christ, who was thy faith's beginner; Rejoice in Him eternally,

With each redeemed and happy sinner; We bury thee in hope-the Lamb once slain Will raise, and we shall see thee yet again.

DEATH.

WHERE thou hast touched, O wondrous death!

Where thou hast come between,

Lo! there for ever perisheth

The common and the mean.

No little flaw, or trivial speck,
Doth any more appear;

And cannot, from this time, to fleck
Love's perfect image clear.

Clear stands love's perfect image now,

And shall do evermore;
And we, in awe and wonder, bow
The glorified before.

ELIZA COOK.

LIZA COOK, the daughter of a tradesman in the borough of Southwark, near London, was born in the year 1817. Having gained considerable reputation, so early as her twentieth year, as a contributor to some of the London periodicals of the higher class, she was induced, in 1840, to publish a volume of verse, under the title of Melaia, and other Poems, which, four years later, was republished in New York. In September 1849 appeared the first number of Eliza Cook's Journal, which stood deservedly high among cheap periodicals, and did much for the mental improvement of the people both of this country and America. She is also the author of many beautiful sacred pieces.