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It is not in the day

When Joy hath thrown an ever ambient hue,

And Hope hath whispered that our dreams are true;
It is not then we think.

It is not in the hour

When riches summon friends with magic spell;

Or, when upon the cheek the rose-tints dwell;

It is not then we think.

But in the silent room,

When voices fall not on the list'ning ear;
And none is present but the Always-near;
"Tis then we really think.

And when the world hath proved
Empty and mocking in its mazing glee,

The mind grows sane in lonely misery;
And then we really think.

And in the darkened day,

When Joy hath lost itself in Sorrow's gloom,
And Hope proves fleeting, tested at the tomb;
'Tis then we really think.

And in the saddened hour,

When friends have vanished like the early dew,
And weary vigils blanched the roseate hue;
'Tis then we really think.

Then

may the thoughts that rise

In lonely moments when the heart is riven,
Be thoughts of peace and joy in JESUS given,
That they may lift the heart in faith to heaven,
And bless us as we think.

Chester.

NOAH'S DOVE.

As when the patriarch's gentle dove
Borne o'er the restless sea,

Could find no spot of pleasant land,
But sought again her master's hand :
So, Father, so my filial love
Sends back my heart to Thee.

H. M. W.

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MIGHT I but call Him mine!

Assured that I am His,

I'd gladly all things else resign;

Nothing could shake my perfect happiness, Nothing would then annoy,

I should feel nought but rapture, love, and joy.

Might I but call Him mine!

I'd gladly all things leave, And leaning on my pilgrim-staff,

Would follow Him who never can deceive.

I should have nought to fear,

So trivial all things earthly would appear.

Where I might call Him mine,

Would be my fatherland,

And all the blessings round me strewn

Would come like gifts from a kind Father's hand. There should I find once more,

Brethren long wept, in those who Him adore.

L. N.

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THE

YOUTHS' MAGAZINE;

OR,

EVANGELICAL MISCELLANY.

APRIL, 1846.

HEATHEN TEMPLE.

OUR engraving represents a restored view of the Temple of Fortune at Pompeii, the remains of which are so considerable, as to afford a good idea of the original building. These ruins consist of a platform of about eight feet in height, approached by a double flight of steps, at one time railed in, as is evident from the remains of nine iron bars to the right and left of each entry, and fifteen in front of the pedestal in the centre. This pedestal is, with good reason, supposed to have been an altar, on which formerly blazed the incense and sacrifices of the votaries, as represented in our engraving; for it has been proved that in very few cases these oblations could have been made within the temple without producing suffocation. That considerable inconvenience would have been occasioned in this instance, is evident from the very limited dimensions of the cell, or temple itself, the walls of which, for a considerable height, remain perfect. The cast end of this building is recessed for the shrine and statue of the goddess to whose service it was dedicated.

In the Initiations of Orpheus," the seventy-first hymn. is addressed to Fortune, whose favorite fumigation appears to have been frankincense. To afford some idea of the

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