Think well of this, My soul, and ere within the portal dark Of this unknown and silent future thou Dost float, remember that within thyself No power lies. Thou may’st have brilliant dreams, And aspirations grand and holy thou May’st cherish—aimless, futile all, without The aid and strength which God alone can give; Pray then to Him for faith, confiding, true, And strength to make thy resolutions firm— For all the good that in thy future thou Wouldst purpose to perform ask aid of Him. Then with this help divine thou need’st not dread Dark Sorrow’s form, nor Pleasure’s tempting smiles, And when the future years which God may give, Have each their changing cycles rolled around, Then floated off unto the solemn Past— When life’s last hour comes, with drooping wing, And thou art borne unto the judgment seat Of God! Eternity’s dread bar! o’er thee No shadows dark will hang, but Faith’s bright form, And heav’nly Love, will clasp thee round, and bear Thee up unto thy Father, God! * * * * * [Illustration: THE WIDOW OF NAIN.] * * * * * THE WIDOW OF NAIN. BY JOSEPH R. CHANDLER. [SEE ENGRAVING.] How little can we of this latitude, or rather of this country, for latitude seems not to rule in all cases with regard to temperature; on one side of a continent, that parallel which gives agreeable winters and dry, healthful summers, is marked on the other side with cold, snowy winters and most unhealthful summers; what the variant circumstances are which produce this difference it is not easy to tell; the difference _does_ exist, and ingenious theories have been constructed to suit those results; we say then again, how little can we of this latitude, or this country, judge of the enjoyments which others at a distance from us, but with the same shadows, have in the dry coolness of their evenings, or lassitude to which they are subject by the peculiar warmth which prevails during most of their summer days. The habits and customs among us are soon made conformable to the circumstances of our climate; though it must be confessed that people will always pertinaciously insist on a warm day on the first of May, and a stinging cold one on the 25th of December, while actual experience has shown that the thin floral garb adopted for the first has often led to consumption, and the winter furs and the great Yule-log that have distinguished the latter, have been considered rather _seasonable_ than pleasant. So much for a poetical conformity, but in the every-day business of life things are better disposed of; people do not think in this country of sitting under their own _vine_ till mid-summer, and then they look out for spiders; and as