Even so, with life's advancing years,
Returning birthdays come,
'Telling to man's unwilling ears
That this is not his home.

"Arise ye and depart," it cries,
That voice recurring still;
Joyful to those by heaven made wise,
Bright hopes their bosoms fill.

The waves were breaking all in foam, In the dark northern bay;

The south, between me and my home, Smooth as a mirror lay.

And sunset hues were gleaming bright
Over the rising sea; .

So days of age in heavenly light,
May sweet and placid be.

A little lass in wild attire,
In russet cloak and hood,
Came onward softly creeping nigher,
'Till by my side she stood.

And then she said, "it's time to go, The tide will soon be here." Homeward we traced our pathway slow, The sea still flowing near.

She had a basket on her arm,
To gather bait she went;

A little child she feared no harm,
There by her father sent.

Yet "once," she said, "too long I staid,
And high the waters grew."
"What then?""O! I was not afraid,
I thought my father knew."

"I thought my father saw me there,
Would send a boat from shore;

But it grew dark, I did not dare
To stay there any more.

"Look at that cliff, I often knew
Rabbits run up on high,

And sheep were climbing on it too,
And so I thought might I."

"Were you not frightened there to pass,

So steep a way to find ?"

"Oh, no," replied the little lass,

"I never looked behind."

And such, I thought, should Christians be,
In danger not afraid,
Trusting their Father's eye to see,
Their Father's hand to aid.

And when he bids them climb the hill
That leads them to their home,
Then let them say, obedient still,
"Father, to thee I come."

Nor look behind on evil, past,
But upward, onward, gaze:
And not a glance be downward cast
O'er earth's dark dreary ways.

There is a rock that safety gives
To all that seek its side;
The Lord of life, to all that lives,
Saviour, and Friend, and Guide.

O seek him, then, while storms arise,
And pathless wilds affright,

When evening darkens in the skies-
He is the way, the light.

THE subject of my story is a young man, of good family and interesting character, who some years since went to India to join the army, though originally desirous of en. tering the Church, but prevailed on, from the interest of his family lying in another direction, to enter the military profession. With the support of friends, he soon rose to be lieutenant, and having been ordered to the north of India, was present in the late campaign against the Sikhs. In the en gagement at Moodkee he escaped danger;

but at the subsequent tremendous engage ment and storming of the Sikh camps and entrenched batteries, he was struck by a grapeshot in the knee, and left on the field of battle, unobserved by his friends, when the night closed in and put an end to the fight. Here he lay all night in the extremity of suffering, from his broken limb and the severe thirst to which, with the multitudes around him, he was exposed. When the morning began to dawn, he lifted up his head, and, to his horror, observed himself in the line of advance of a party of Sikhs who were murdering and robbing the unfortunate wounded. Having, however, with the help of a sergeant of his own regiment, lying near him, contrived to crawl off a little distance, they got concealed amongst some brushwood, and for this time escaped the notice of the enemy. Soon, however, his fears revived, as on raising his head he observed, within a few paces of him, a Sikh officer, with his sword drawn. Concealment was impossible; so looking earnestly at the Sikh, and thinking that he saw in him not quite so ferocious a countenance as he would have expected, he begged of him a drop of water to quench his thirst. To this appeal the Sikh replied, by asking him, as he saw he was a British officer, how his men had not carried him from the field? and on being told that in the confusion and darkness he had been overlooked, to his astonishment said, "I will help you," and, suiting the