Which God had lent him, and resumed anew.

—Richard Chenevix Trench.

ON THE DEATH OF A MISSIONARY.

How beautiful it is for man to die

Upon the walls of Zion! to be call'd,

Like a watch-worn and weary sentinel,

To put his armor off, and rest—in heaven!

The sun was setting on Jerusalem,

The deep blue sky had not a cloud, and light