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To show the world unfaltering faith
Repent, believe, have faith, and then Be saved, and praise the Lord, Amen! Salvation's free, we tell! we tell!”. Shouted the Methodistic bell. “Farewell! farewell ! base world, farewell!" In touching tones exclaimed a bell; “ Life is a boon, to mortals given, To fit the soul for bliss in heaven; De not invoke the avenging rod, Come here and learn the way to God; Say to the world, farewell! farewell !” Pealed forth the Presbyterian bell. “In after life there is no hell !” In raptures rang a cheerful bell ; “Look up to heaven this holy day, Where angels wait to lead the way; There are no fires, no fiends to blight The future life; be just and right. No hell! no hell! no hell! no hell!” Rang out the Universalist bell. “ The Pilgrim Fathers heeded well My cheerful voice," pealed forth a bell; “No fetters here to clog the soul; No arbitrary creeds control The free heart and progressive mind, That leave the dusty past behind. Speed well, speed well, speed well, speed well!" Pealed out the Independent bell. “No pope, no pope, to doom to hell !" The Protestant rang out a bell; “Great Luther left his fiery zeal, Within the hearts that truly feel
That loyalty to God will be
Neatly attired, in manner plain,
GEORGE W. BUNGAY.
- OVER THE RIVER.
OVER the river they beckon to me,
Loved ones who crossed to the other side, The gleam of their snowy robes I see,
But their voices are drowned by the rushing tide. There's one with ringlets of sunny gold,
And eyes the reflection of heaven's own blue, He crossed in the twilight gray and cold,
And the pale mist hid him from mortal view. We saw not the angels that met him there—
The gate of the city we could not see; Over the river, over the river,
My brother stands, waiting to welcome me. Over the river the boatman pale
Carried another, the household pet ;
Darling Minniel I see her yet!
She closed on her bosom her dimpled hands,
And fearlessly entered the phantom bark ; We watched it glide from the silver sands,
And all our sunshine grew strangely dark. We know she is safe on the further side,
Where all the ransomed and angels be; Over the river, the mystic river,
My childhood's idol is waiting for me.
For none return from those quiet shores,
Who cross with the boatman cold and pale; We hear the dip of the golden oars,
And catch a glimpse of the snowy sail ; And lo! they have passed from our yearning hearts,
They cross the stream and are gone for aye. We may not sunder the vail apart
That hides from our vision the gates of day;
Sail with us o'er life's stormy sea ;
They watch and beckon and wait for me.
And I sit and think when the sunset's gold
Is flushing the river and hill and shore, I shall one day stand by the waters cold
And list to the sound of the boatman's oar. I shall watch for a gleam of the flapping sail ;
I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand;
To the better shore of the spirit-land.
And joyfully sweet will the meeting be,
NANCY A. W. PRIEST.
KATIE LEE AND WILLIE GRAY
1 Red lips shutting over pearls,