A poor little child had found

With only the snow for a winding sheet

Frozen to death on the ground!

Ah! who can declare that when God shall unfold Eternity's records, he will not hold

Him guilty of murder, who seeks with his gold,
In charity's name to buy

The praises of men, while out in the cold
He leaves a poor child to die.

THE WEARY SOUL.

CAME, but they had passed away,

The fair in form, the pure in mind; And, like a stricken deer, I stray,

Where all are strange, and none are kind;

Kind to a worn and wearied soul,

That pants, that struggles for repose:
Oh, that my steps had reached the goal
Where earthly sighs and sorrows close!
Years have passed o'er me like a dream,
That leaves no trace on memory's page,
I look around me, and I seem
Some relic of a former age;
Alone, and in a stranger clime,
Where stranger voices mock mine ear-
In all the lagging course of time,
Without a wish—a hope-a fear!
Yet I had hopes-but they have fled;
And fears-and they were all too true;
And wishes too-but they are dead,
And what have I with life to do?
'Tis but to bear a weary load

I may not, dare not, cast away,
To sigh for one small, still abode,
Where I may sleep as sweet as they-

As they, the loveliest of their race,

Whose grassy tombs my sorrows steep,
Whose worth my soul delights to trace,
Whose very loss 'tis sweet to weep:
To weep, forgotten and unknown,

With none to smile, to hear, to see
Earth can bestow no dearer boon

On one whom death disdains to free.

I leave a world that knows me not,
To hold communion with the dead,
And fancy consecrates the spot,
Where fancy's earliest dreams were shed.
I see each shade, all silvery white,
I hear each spirit's melting sigh;

I turn to clasp those forms of light,
And the pale morning chills mine eye!
But soon the last dim morn shall rise-
My lamp of life burns feebly now-

Where stranger hands shall close mine eyes,

And smooth my cold and dewy brow; Unknown I lived-so let me die;

No stone, nor monumental cross, Tell where his mouldering ashes lie, Who sought for gold, and found it dross. THE MESSIAH.

E nymphs of Solyma! begin the song:
To heavenly themes sublimer strains belong.
The mossy fountains, and the sylvan shades,
The dreams of Pindus and the Aonian maids,
Delight no more-O Thou my voice inspire
Who touched Isaiah's hallowed lips with fire!
Rapt into future times, the bard begun :

A Virgin shall conceive, a Virgin bear a Son!
From Jesse's root behold a branch arise,
Whose sacred flower with fragrance fills the skies:
The ethereal spirit o'er its leaves shall move,
And on its top descends the mystic dove.
Ye heavens! from high the dewy nectar pour,
And in soft silence shed the kindly shower!
The sick and weak the healing plant shall aid,
From storms a shelter, and from heat a shade.
All crimes shall cease, and ancient fraud shall fail;
Returning justice lift aloft her scale;

Peace o'er the world her olive wand extend,
And white-robed innocence from heaven descend.
Swift fly the years, and rise the expected morn!
Oh spring of light, auspicious Babe, be born!
See nature hastes her earliest wreathes to bring.
With all the incense of the breathing spring:
See lofty Lebanon his head advance,
See nodding forests on the mountains dance:
See spicy clouds from lowly Saron rise,
And Carmel's flowery top perfumes the skies!
Hark! a glad voice the lonely desert cheers;
Prepare the way! a God, a God appears:
A God, a God! the vocal hills reply,
The rocks proclaim the approaching Deity.
Lo, earth receives him from the bending skies!
Sink down, ye mountains, and, ye valleys, rise
With heads declined, ye cedars, homage pay;
Be smooth, ye rocks; ye rapid floods, give way
The Saviour comes! by ancient bards foretold
Hear him, ye deaf, and all ye blind, behold!
He from thick films shall purge the visual ray,
And on the sightless eyeball pour the day:
'Tis he the obstructed paths of sound shall clear,
And bid new music charm the unfolding ear:
The dumb shall sing, the lame his crutch forego,
And leap exulting like the bounding roe.
No sigh, no murmur the wide world shall hear,
From every face he wipes off every tear.
In adamantine chains shall death be bound,
And hell's grim tyrant feel the eternal wound.
As the good shepherd tends his fleecy care,
Seeks freshest pasture and the purest air,

Explores the lost, the wandering sheep directs,
By day o'ersees them, and by night protects,
The tender lambs he raises in his arms,
Feeds from his hand, and in his bosom warms;
Thus shall mankind his guardian care engage,
The promised Father of the future age.
No more shall nation against nation rise,
Nor ardent warriors meet with hateful eyes,
Nor fields with gleaming steel be covered o'er,
The brazen trumpets kindle rage no more;
But useless lances into scythes shall bend,
And the broad falchion in a ploughshare end.
Then palaces shall rise; the joyful son
Shall finish what his short-lived sire begun;
Their vines a shadow to their race shall yield,

And the same hand that sowed, shall reap the field.

The swain, in barren deserts with surprise

See lilies spring, and sudden verdure rise;
And start, amidst the thirsty wilds, to hear
New falls of water murmuring in his ear.
On rifted rocks, the dragon's late abodes,
The green reed trembles, and the bulrush nods.
Waste sandy valleys, once perplexed with thorn,
The spiry fir and shapely box adorn;

To leafless shrub, the flowering palms succeed,
And odorous myrtle to the noisome weed.

The lambs with wolves shall graze the verdant mead,
And boys in flowery bands the tiger lead;
The steer and lion at one crib shall meet,
And harmless serpents lick the pilgrim's feet.
The smiling infant in his hand shall take
The crested basilisk and speckled snake,
Pleased the green lustre of the scales survey,
And with their forky tongue shall innocently play.
Rise, crowned with light, imperial Salem, rise!
Exalt thy towery head, and lift thy eyes!
See, a long race thy spacious courts adorn;
See future sons, and daughters yet unborn,
In crowding ranks on every side arise,
Demanding life, impatient for the skies!
See barbarous nations at thy gates attend,
Walk in thy light, and in thy temple bend;
See thy bright altars thronged with prostrate kings,
And heaped with products of Sabean springs,
For thee Idume's spicy forests blow,
And seeds of gold in Ophir's mountains glow.
See heaven its sparkling portals wide display,
And break upon thee in a flood of day.
No more the rising sun shall gild the morn,
Nor evening Cynthia fill her silver horn;
But lost, dissolved in thy superior rays,
One tide of glory, one unclouded blaze
O'erflow thy courts; the Light himself shall shine
Revealed, and God's eternal day be thine!
The seas shall waste, the skies in smoke decay,
Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away;
But fixed his word, his saving power remains;
Thy realm forever lasts, thy own MESSIAH reigns!
ALEXANDER POPE.

I WILL FEAR NO EVIL.

'HY way, not mine, Oh Lord,
However dark it be;
Lead me by Thine own hand;
Choose out the path for me.
Smooth let it be or rough,

It will be still the best;

Winding or straight, it matters not,
It leads me to Thy rest.

I dare not choose my lot,
I would not, if I might ;
Choose Thou for me, my God,
So shall I walk aright.

The kingdom that I seek

Is Thine, so let the way
That leads to it be Thine,
Else I must surely stray.
Take Thou my cup, and it
With joy or sorrow fill,

As best to Thee may seem:

Choose Thou my good and ill.

Choose Thou for me, my friend,
My sickness and my health;
Choose Thou my cares for me,
My poverty or wealth.

Not mine, not mine, the choice,
In things or great or small;
Be Thou my guide, my strength,
My wisdom, and my all.

HORATIUS BONAR.

'TWILL NOT BE LONG.

WILL not be long-this wearying commotion
That marks its passage in the human breast,
And, like the billows on the heaving ocean,
That ever rock the cradle of unrest,
Will soon subside; the happy time is nearing,
When bliss, not pain, shall have its rich increase;
E'en unto thee the dove may now be steering
With gracious message. Wait, and hold thy peace;
'Twill not be long !

The lamps go out; the stars give up their shining;
The world is lost in darkness for awhile;
And foolish hearts give way to sad repining,

And feel as though they ne'er again could smile.
Why murmur thus, the needful lesson scorning?
Oh, read thy Teacher and His word aright!
The world would have no greeting for the morning,
If 'twere not for the darkness of the night;
'Twill not be long!

'Twill not be long; the strife will soon be ended; The doubts, the fears, the agony, the pain,

Will seem but as the clouds that low descended

To yield their pleasure to the parchèd plain.
The times of weakness and of sore temptations,
Of bitter grief and agonizing cry;
These earthly cares and ceaseless tribulations
Will bring a blissful harvest by-and-by—
'Twill not be long!

'Twill not be long; the eye of faith, discerning
The wondrous glory that shall be revealed,
Instructs the soul, that every day is learning

The better wisdom which the world concealed. And soon, aye, soon, there'll be an end of teaching, When mortal vision finds immortal sight, And her true place the soul in gladness reaching, Beholds the glory of the Infinite

'Twill not be long !

""Twill not be long!" the heart goes on repeating;
It is the burden of the mourner's song;
The work of grace in us He is completing,

Who thus assures us-"It will not be long;"
His rod and staff our fainting steps sustaining,
Our hope and comfort every day will be ;
And we may bear our cross as uncomplaining
As He who leads us unto Calvary;
'Twill not be long !

LORD HELP ME.

'HE way seems dark about me-overhead
The clouds have long since met in gloomy
spread,

And when I looked to see the day break
through,

Cloud after cloud came up with volume new.

And in that shadow I have passed along,
Feeling myself grow weak as it grew strong,
Walking in doubt, and searching for the way,
And often at a stand-as now, to-day.

And if before me on the path there lies
A spot of brightness from imagined skies,
Imagined shadows fall across it too,

And the far future takes the present's hue.

Perplexities do throng upon my sight,

Like scudding fog banks, and obscure the light;

Some new dilemma rises every day,

And I can only shut my eyes and pray.

Lord, I am not sufficient for these things,

Give me the light that Thy sweet presence brings;
Give me Thy grace, give me Thy constant strength—
Lord, for my comfort now appear at length.

It may be that my way doth seem confused,
Because my heart of Thy way is afraid;
Because my eyes have constantly refused
To see the only opening Thou hast made;

Because my will would cross some flowery plain, Where Thou hast thrown a hedge from side to side; And turneth from the stony walk of pain.

Its trouble and its ease not even tried.

If thus I try to force my way along,

The smoothest road encumbered is for me;
For were I as an angel swift and strong,

I could not go unless allowed by Thee.

And now, I pray Thee, Lord, to lead the child-
Poor wretched wanderer from Thy grace and love--
Whatever way Thou pleasest through the wild,
So it but take me to Thy home above.

PEACE I LEAVE WITH YOU."

OURCE of my life's refreshing springs,
Whose presence in my heart sustains me,
Thy love appoints my pleasant things,
Thy mercy orders all that pains me;

If loving hearts were never lonely,
If all they wish might ever be,
Accepting what they looked for only,
They might be glad, but not in Thee.
Well may 'Thy own beloved who see

In all their lot their Father's pleasure,
Bear loss of all they love, save Thee,

Their living everlasting treasure.

Well may Thy happy children cease

From restless wishes, born of sin,
And, in Thy own exceeding peace,
Yield to Thy daily discipline.

We need as much the cross we bear,
As air we breathe-as light we see ;
It draws us to Thy side in prayer,
It binds us to our strength in Thee.
MRS. WARING.

AS THOU WILT.

Y Jesus, as Thou wilt,

Oh, may Thy will be mine,
Into Thy hand of love

I would my all resign.
Through sorrow, or through joy,
Conduct me as Thine own,
And help me still to say,
My Lord, Thy will be done.

My Jesus, as Thou wilt,

If needy here and poor,
Give me Thy people's bread,
Their portion rich and sure.
The manna of Thy word

Let my soul feed upon ;
And if all else should fail,
My Lord, Thy will be done.

My Jesus, as Thou wilt,

If among thorns I go, Still sometimes here and there Let a few roses blow. But Thou on earth along

A thorny path hast gone, Then lead me after Thee,

My Lord, Thy will be done.

Mv Jesus, as Thou wilt,

Though seen through many a tear, Let not my star of hope

Grow dim and disappear.
Since Thou on earth hast wept,

And sorrowed oft alone,
If I must weep with Thee,
My Lord, Thy will be done.

My Jesus, as Thou wilt,

If loved ones must depart,
Suffer not sorrow's flood

To overwhelm my heart.
For they are blessed with Thee,
Their race and conflict won;
Let me but follow them,

My Lord, Thy will be done.

My Jesus, as thou wilt,

When death itself draws nigh,
To Thy dear wounded side
I would for refuge fly.
Leaning on Thee, to go

Where Thou before hast gone;
And rest as Thou shalt please,
My Lord, Thy will be done.

My Jesus, as Thou wilt,

All shall be well for me:
Each changing future scene
I gladly trust with Thee.
Straight to my home above
I travel calmly on,
And sing in life or death,
My Lord, Thy will be done.

BENJAMIN SCHMOLKE.

OVER THE RIVER.

VER the river they beckon to me,

Loved ones who crossed to the other side; The gleam of their snowy robes I see,

But their voices are drowned by the rush-
ing tide.

There's one with ringlets of sunny gold,
And eyes the reflection of heaven's own blue;
He crossed in the twilight gray and cold,

And the pale mist hid him from mortal view.
We saw not the angels that met him there-
The gate of the city we could not see;
Over the river, over the river,

My brother stands, waiting to welcome me.

Over the river the boatman pale

Carried another, the household pet;
Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale-
Darling Minnie! I see her yet!

She closed on her bosom her dimpled hands,
And fearlessly entered the phantom bark;
We watched it glide from the silver sands,
And all our sunshine grew strangely dark,
We know she is safe on the further side,
Where all the ransomed and angels be;
Over the river, the mystic river,

My childhood's idol is waiting for me.
For none return from those quiet shores,
Who cross with the boatman cold and pale,
We hear the dip of the golden oars,

And catch a glimpse of the snowy sail;
And lo! they have passed from our yearning hearts-
They cross the stream and are gone for aye.
We may not sunder the vail apart

That hides from our vision the gates of day;
We only know that their barks no more
Sail with us o'er life's stormy sea;
Yet somewhere, I know, on the unseen shore,
They watch, and beckon, and wait for me.
And I sit and think when the sunset's gold

Is flashing on river, and hill, and shore,

I shall one day stand by the waters cold
And list to the sound of the boatman's oar.
I shall watch for a gleam of the flapping sail;
I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand;

I shall pass from sight with the boatman pale
To the better shore of the spirit-land.

I shall know the loved who have gone before,
And joyfully sweet will the meeting be,
When over the river, the peaceful river,
The angel of death shall carry me.

NANCY WOODBURY PRIES

THE FATHER'S LOVE.

GOD! though sorrow be my fate,
And the world's hate

For my heart's faith pursue me, My peace they cannot take away; From day to day

Thou dost anew imbue me; Thou art not far; a little while Thou hidest thy face, with brighter smile Thy father-love to show me.

Lord, not my will, but Thine, be done; If I sink down

When men to terrors leave me, Thy father-love still warms my breast; All's for the best;

Shall man have power to grieve me, When bliss eternal is my goal, And Thou the keeper of my soul,

Who never will deceive me?

Thou art my shield, as saith the Word.

Christ Jesus, Lord,

Thou standest pitying by me, And lookest on each grief of mine As if 'twere Thine:

What, then, though foes may try me, Though thorns be in my path concealed? World, do thy worst! God is my shield! And will be ever nigh me.

MARY, QUEEN OF HUNGARY.

THE MARTYR'S HYMN

LUNG to the heedless winds,

Or on the waters cast,
The martyrs' ashes, watched,
Shall gathered be at last;
And from that scattered dust,
Around us and abroad,
Shall spring a plenteous seed
Of witnesses for God.

The Father hath received

Their latest living breath;
And vain is satan's boast

Of victory in their death;

Still, still, though dead, they speak
And, trumpet tongued, proclaim
To many a wakening land

The one availing name.

MARTIN LUTHER,

ROCK OF AGES.

OCK of ages, cleft for me,"

R

Thoughtlessly the maiden sung;
Fell the words unconsciously
From her girlish, gleeful tongue :

Sang as little children sing;

Sang as sing the birds in June;
Fell the words like light leaves down

On the current of the tune

"Rock of ages, cleft for me, Let me hide myself in Thee.

"Let me hide myself in Thee "—

Felt her soul no need to hide-
Sweet the song as song could be,
And she had no thought beside;
All the words unheedingly

Fell from lips untouched by care,
Dreaming not that they might be
On some other lips a prayer-
"Rock of ages, cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in Thee."

'Rock of ages, cleft for me❞—
'Twas a woman sung them now,
Pleadingly and prayerfully,

Every word her heart did know.

Rose the song as storm-tossed bird
Beats with weary wing the air;
Every note with sorrow stirred,
Every syllable a prayer-
"Rock of ages cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in Thee."

Rock of ages, cleft for me "—

Lips grown aged sung the hymn Trustingly and tenderly,

Voice grown weak and eyes grown dim-"Let me hide myself in Thee."

Trembling though the voice and low, Ran the sweet strain peacefully,

Like a river in its flow;

Sung as only they can sing

Who life's thorny paths have pressed;

Sung as only they can sing

Who behold a promised rest"Rock of ages, cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in Thee.” "Rock of ages, cleft for me "Sung above a coffin lid; Underneath, all restfully,

Let her leave thee with no strife, Tender, mournful, murmuring life. She hath seen her happy day,

She hath had her bud and blossom
Now she pales and shrinks away,
Earth, into thy gentle bosom.

She hath done her bidding here,
Angels dear!

Bear her perfect soul above.

Seraph of the skies, sweet love Good she was and fair in youth;

And her mind was seen to soar, And her heart was wed to truth; Take her, then, forevermore, Forever-evermore.

BRYAN WALLEr Procter (Barry Cornwali).