"'T was something like the burst from death to life From the grave's cerements to the robes of heaven; From sin's dominion, and from passion's strife, To the pure freedom of a soul forgiven; Where all the bonds of death and hell are riven, And mortal puts on immortality, When Mercy's hand hath turned the golden key, And Mercy's voice hath said, Rejoice, thy soul is free."

The little party were soon guided, by Mrs Smyth, to the
hospitable abode of a good missionary, whom Christian
charity has placed here as a shepherd to the outcast and
wandering, who are constantly finding an asylum on this
shore.

Who can speak the blessedness of that first day of free-
dom? Is not the sense of liberty a higher and a finer one
than any of the five? To move, speak, and breathe, -- go
out and come in unwatched, and free from danger! Who
can speak the blessings of that rest which comes down on
the free man's pillow, under laws which insure to him the
rights that God has given to man? How fair and precious
to that mother was that sleeping child's face, endeared by
the memory of a thousand dangers! How impossible was
it to sleep, in the exuberant possession of such blessedness!
And yet, these two had not one acre of ground, -- not a
roof that they could call their own, -- they had spent their
all, to the last dollar. They had nothing more than the
birds of the air, or the flowers of the field, -- yet they could
not sleep for joy. "Oh, ye who take freedom from man,
with what words shall ye answer it to God?"

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