THE

EVENING OF LIFE.

THE HOARY HEAD A CROWN OF GLORY.

WHILE We call old age the winter of our life, we must beware lest we derogate from the bounty of our Maker, and disparage those blessings which He accounts precious; amongst which old age is none of the meanest.

Had He not put that value upon it, would He have honored it with His own style, calling himself the "Ancient of Days?" Would He have set out this mercy as a reward of obedience to himself, "I will fulfil the number of thy days?" and of obedience to our parents, "To live long in the land?" Would He have promised it as a marvelous savor to restored Jerusalem, now become a city of Truth, that "there shall yet old men and old women dwell in the streets of Jerusalem, and every man with his staff in his

hand for very age ?” Would He else have denounced it as a judgment to over-indulgent Eli, "There shall not be an old man in thy house for ever?" Far be it from us to despise that which God doth honor; and to turn His blessing into a curse.

Yea, the same God who knows best the price of His own favors, as He makes no small estimation of age Himself, so He hath thought fit to call for a high respect to be given to it, out of a holy awe to himself: "Thou shalt rise up before the hoary head, and honor the face of the old man, and fear thy God: I am the Lord." Hence it is that He hath pleased to put together the "ancient" and the "honorable," and has told us that a "hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of righteousness;" and lastly, makes it an argument of the deplored estate of Jerusalem that "they favored not the elders."Bishop Hall.

Even to your old age I am He; and even to hoar hairs will I carry you: I have made and I will bear. Isaiah xlvi. 4.

SONNET ON HIS BLINDNESS.

When I consider how my life is spent

Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide,
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present

My true account, lest he returning chide;
"Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?"
I fondly ask: But Patience, to prevent

That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need
Either man's work, or His own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best; His state
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed,

And post o'er land and ocean without rest;

They also serve who only stand and wait."-Milton.

THE OLD MAN'S SOLILOQUY AT THE DIFFERENT SEASONS OF THE YEAR.

SPRING.

THE winter is over, and I am glad to feel the warm sun once more, and the soft south wind that breathes such a balmy fragrance. As it floats over the land, it whispers gladness and hope to man. The birds follow its course, warbling their wild-wood notes, and seeking their deserted nests. How sweet the music of the brook that glides noisily down the hill-side, rejoicing to be free

again. The children, gay and happy, are running to find the earliest flowers, and manhood, catching the inspiration of the season. seems to resume the freshness of youth. All is life and Joy.

now!

The

But here am I, an old man, in the winter of my days, leaning upon my staff and bending under a load of infirmity. My steps are slow and trembling. Yet I was young once. memory of those early days is as fresh as ever, and it warms my heart to think of them. Then my spirits were wild and joyous. How changed But I would not be young again, nor would I murmur at my decay. A better youth is before me, free from the folly that has stained the past. And somehow I feel now the glow of spring within my heart. Old age has not laid his frosty hand on that. There sings a free, gladsome spirit—there blooms the flower of hope. As the south wind now blows softly upon my cheek, so my heart feels the warm breathings that come from the land of everlasting spring There I shall dwell, and be young again. This poor, frail body shall know the vigor and elasticity of youth, fashioned like unto the glorious body

of my Saviour.

Powerful as a seraph, I shall then rove amid the beauties of that heavenly Paradise. I shall walk with white-robed saints and angels on the banks of the river that flows from the throne, taste the fruit of the tree of life that grows there, and converse upon the high themes of providence and redemption; or else sweep through space to do the will of my Redeemer. No scorching summer shall be there, nor chilling winter, but an eternal spring; ever unfolding new beauty, new fragrance, new melody. No night shall be there, for the Lamb shall be the light thereof. The soft splendor of his glory shall be reflected from every face and every object.

Blessed Spring! I would that thy breeze were now fanning me. But I bow before my Creator's will, cheerfully waiting for my change to come. A few more days in the desert, and then farewell earth, welcome heaven!

SUMMER.

The high sun sends down his hot rays upon the earth. The buds of spring have burst into flowers and fruit, and are fast ripening amid sun