The Two Rivers.

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of the River of Life and live, a hundred shall drink of the River of Death and die! Could all the lost ones that have perished in that river re-visit earth, they would form an army vaster than the world has ever seen. And the river is flowing still, and men and women, and boys and and girls, are sipping its dark, delusive waters now!

The river has many naines, but one shall speak its true nature: "Delusive!" for they who drink of this river seldom realise that it may prove to them the River of Death; but ever and anon some daring one, maddened by drinking of the river, rushes in and is lost, and men wonder that their fellows cannot take in moderation of this poisonous riverunconscious of the fact that he who begins to sip can never say, with any degree of certainty, that he shall not be borne upon the bosom of the river, its velocity increasing as it nears the rapids, until he, too, topples over and is lost in the abyss below.

But enough of this river. Who has not marked its murky tide? Who has not suffered from its poisonous qualities? Is there no remedy, no healing for those who once have sinned? Yes, there is another river-the river giving natural life-the Heaven-given donation to man that he may drink, and wash, and live-physically. The children cluster in the Bands of Hope; they pledge to the pure, sweet river, and grow up strong to do battle against the alcoholic stream. Young men and maidens quaff of the life-giving cup, and find no sting, no poison there. Mirthfully they sing the praises of pure water in strains the drinkers of the alcoholic flood can never reach. The aged find this river abundant to supply the purposes for which the wise Creator gave it. It leaves no palsied hand, no gouty foot, no aching head, no muddled brain! No marred domestic bliss, no infant's early grave, no orphan's piteous wail, no broken-hearted widow's tears, tell its triumphs! Bounteous and health-giving, like the Eden River, it is a blessed type of the sweet pure river of life which springs hard by the throne of God, of which whoever drinks shall live, and live eternally.

CAM

REV. G. T. COSTER.

AME a gentle, gentle knocking,
Knocking at the latchèd door,

And my boy's heart heard the knocking,
And it pierced me to the core
Like a sweet persuasive music,

Once heard, ne'er forgotten more:
Then I raised the latch and whispered,
Whispered sad as ne'er before,
(As 'twere sin to whisper,) "Stranger,
Kind, kind Stranger, leave the door!"

Came again the Stranger knocking,
Knocking loudlier than of yore,
And my man's heart heard the knocking
As I bent my dear dead o'er;
From her silent lip I vainly

Sued for one, but one word more ;
Turned I then the key and opened,
Weeping, for awhile the door ;-
But drew back with, "Patient Stranger,
Come when this great grief is o'er!"

Came again the Stranger knocking,
Knocking when my grief was o'er;
When into the luring ledger

Eagerly my eyes did pore,

When the silence of the midnight

Searched me, searched me to the core:

Not a day but heard the knocking,

Knocking at the bolted door :

Till I moaned in anger, 66

Stranger,
Leave me and return no more!"

Came, still came again the Stranger.
Thro' what night of sinful roar
Heard the last last feeble knocking
When to morn the night on-wore!
Fast unbolting and unbarring
Furious flung I wide the door,
Tears sprang in His eyes so yearning
As I cursed Him o'er and o'er.
Turned He from me: in a blessing

Died His voice,-I heard no more!

Never Yield!

Comes no more that Stranger knocking
As was wont in years of yore ;-
He persisted, I persisted

Till He, weary, coines no more.
Fire is out upon the hearthstone,
Winter strikes up from the floor.
Comes He not: this silence, silence,
And this desolation sore!

O to hear that gentle Stranger
Once, but once more at the door!

Never yield!

Pelted though you be with scorn,
In toil's galling harness worn!
Not for ease were good men born!

Never yield, never yield!

Never yield!

Let conviction forth from you
Flash like lightning into view,

Cleaving all obstructions through!

Never yield, never yield!

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Firmly utter what you know,

Truth can bear the hardest blow;
Strokes but make the metal glow!

Never yield, never yield!

TH

HEY call me "Little Chatterbox,"
My name is little May;

I have to talk so much, because

I have so much to say.

And oh! I have so many friends-
So many! and you see
I can't help loving them, because
They every one love me.

I love papa and my mamma,
I love my sisters, too;
And if you're very, very good,
I guess that I'll love you.

But I love God the best of all:

He keeps me all the night;

And when the morning comes again,
He wakes me with the light.

I think it is so nice to live;

And yet, if I should die,

The Lord would send his angels down
To take me to the sky.

The Voice of the Tempter.

THE VOICE OF THE TEMPTER.

A. L. WESTCOMBE.

RINK this ;-'tis the cup of pleasure,

D1

It will quicken thy spirit's flow,

And the festive scene around thee

With a brighter light will glow. Unto the weak and the foolish,

Too tempting the draught may be; But thou art strong in thy wisdom, There is no danger for thee.

"Not so, O beguiling Spirit,

That dwell'st in the sparkling wine;
Thou canst give me no true pleasure,
I will trust no promise of thine.
In thy cup there lurks a poison-
Poison for body and soul-
Should I weave a snare for others,
Out of my self-control?

The way where thou would'st lead me,
Is one in which thousands fall;
But wisdom chooses the pathway
Which is safest and best for all."

Drink this;-'tis the cup of cheering;
Thou art weary and sore depress'd;
Drink, and forget thy sorrow,

And be for a moment blest.

"No; I will wait with patience;

The clouds are about me to-day,
But I know through my Father's goodness,
That sunshine is on its way.

Thy light would be only a marsh-fire,
Cheating the traveller's sight,

Or a lightning flash through the darkness,

Leaving a tenfold night.

Thou would'st lift me up for a moment,

To plunge me in greater woe:

The higher the crest of the billow,

The deeper the gulf below."

Drink this;-thou art worn with watching

By the bed of sickness and pain;

This shall nerve thy hand for its duty,
And give thee new life again.

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