THE YOUNG COMMUNICANT.

But Judah's land I'll ne'er forget,

Though far from it I roam;

And, though with ills on ills beset, I'll sweetly think of home,

And wand'ring near some lonely stream,

All weary and forlorn,

I'll ruminate, in pensive dream,

On many a long forgotten theme,

And sadly, sadly, mourn!

167

REV. R. TURNBULL.

THE YOUNG COMMUNICANT.

HAIL! young disciple- thou whose early feet

From the broad pathway of the world have fled, Who, listening to the Lord with reverence meet,

Hast to his ritual bow'd thy lowly head. How beautiful-to heed the heavenly call

Ere the full freshness of thy morning prime, Before the dark clouds threat, the mildews fall, Or o'er thy temples creep the frosts of time. So from each wile that lureth from the fold,

Still may thy chosen Shepherd hold thee free, And from all ill, till life's brief hour be told,

O sweet disciple! may he succour thee ,­Till to that radiant clime thy spirit soar Where storms shall shred the rose and toss the bark no more. SIGOURNEY.