Oh, ’tis enough! Let earthly sorrow cease,

While Jesus says in him we shall have peace.

That God in us may his designs fulfill,

We’ll meekly suffer all his holy will.

To My Mother.

BY ANNIE R. SMITH.

My lot has been to roam

Far from the cheering light of home,

Mid scenes of commotion, turmoil and strife,

Temptation and snares that beset this life.

Oh! yonder I see a beacon light gleaming,

O’er the dark wave its lustre is beaming,

Dear mother! as the light to the mariner lost,

So thou to the bark on the billow tossed.

My lot has been to meet

The bitter mixed with transient sweet;

To struggle on, in toil and care,

The tide of adverse fate to bear.

Oh! yonder I see a tender vine, twining

Around a tree, its tendrils are shining;

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