Thou art responsible for the state of their souls. On thee, master, will be visited their blood if thou see not to this matter. The ruin of their souls will only drag thee down deeper into hell if thou dismiss the matter in this way. Hast thou done all thou canst to set Christ before them? Hast thou spoken to them about their never-dying souls? Hast thou set "the truth" before them, and set them in the way of the truth, as well as thou art able to do it? Master, thou art responsible, and one day thou wilt see it. See that thou "refuse not Him that speaketh!"

O reader, ponder these things, I earnestly beseech thee. Live not on without Christ in thy guestchamber! Make room for Him and His, though everything else be shut out! Let not the world or the flesh or the devil make a fool of thee by shutting out thy nearest and dearest Friend. The world shuts Him out: oh take thou Him in. The world will have none of Him: do thou make Him thy All. It is but for " a little while!" Oh to meet Him with His brand upon our brow and His right glad welcome in our hearts! "Heir of glory," may this be "for thee and me!”

Jesus, we heard Thee say it,

That deep, unfathomed word,
And we told Thee we were willing
To call Thee Master and Lord.
We gave Thee our allegiance,
With true and loyal mind,

We essayed to follow after,

But no footsteps could we find.

The desert dust is shifting,

The storms are wild and rude,
Where men once saw Thee walking,
The sand-drifts may be strewed;
Or is it that life's surgings

Have worn those prints away?
Or are these eyes too misty
To trace them day by day?

My disciples, My servants, My friends!
Ye who listened and heard that word:
Oh! where, in what foreign country,
Have ye thought to find your Lord?
The footprints are marked as ever,
The steps of the Son of God,
No lapse of years can erase them,
Deep set in tears and blood.

But the road was too rough and rugged,
And some coward hearts drew back,
Ye found one more smooth and sunny,
But ye lost the Master's track.

Ye have been amid wealth and pleasure,
But no traces could ye see;

Ye have walked in earth's proudest dwellings,
They had no room for Me.

The world with its choicest pictures,

Its jewels rich and rare,

Has found you a place and a portion,
But I was a stranger there.

Ye sleep on its downy pillows,
Its couches of sloth and ease,
But I was a homeless pilgrim,
I had nothing to do with these.

Ye bask in its smiles of welcome,
It had only a frown for Me-

A rejected Man of Sorrows,

I was nailed to the cursèd tree.

Ah! surely 'twere hard to follow,
Where the Master was never seen,
"Twere hard to trace the waymarks
Where His feet have never been.

Have ye looked for sheep in the desert,
For those who have missed their way?
Have ye been in the wild waste places,
Where the lost and the wandering stray ?
Have ye trodden the lonely highway,
The foul and darksome street?
It may be ye'd see in the gloaming
The print of My wounded feet.

Have ye folded home to your bosom
The trembling, neglected lamb?
And taught to the little lost one,

The sound of the Shepherd's name? Have ye searched for the poor and needy, With no clothing, no home, no bread?

The Son of Man was among them,

He had nowhere to lay His head!

Have ye carried the living water

To the parched and thirsty soul? Have ye said to the sick and wounded "Christ Jesus makes thee whole?" Have ye told My fainting children

Of the strength of the Father's hand?
Have ye guided the tottering footsteps
To the shores of the "Golden Land?"

Have ye stood by the sad and weary,
To smooth the pillow of death;
To comfort the sorrow-stricken,
And strengthen the feeble faith? A
And have ye felt when the glory

Has streamed through the open door,

And flitted across the shadows,

That I had been there before?

Have ye wept with the broken-hearted
In their agony of woe?

Ye might hear Me whispering beside you, 'Tis a pathway I often go!

My disciples, My brethren, My friends,

Can ye dare to follow Me?

Then, wherever the Master dwelleth,

There shall the servant be!

C. P.

THE WASTE HOUSE.

HAGGAI i. I–II.

MARK, the sin of the people here. "The time is not come that the Lord's house should be built." It was not a denial of God's claim upon them, it was a putting God off-" the time is not come. It implies that they acknowledged the justice of God's claim, but that the present was not the moment for it. God's claims ought to be met, but not yet.

Is not this the sin of the present day? God asks for His place in the heart of the sinnerthat in that heart He may now find a dwellingplace; but the answer is, 'Not yet." God asks the Christian for a dwelling-place in his heart. He asks that His house may be built there. The Christian feels that God's house in his soul is waste. God sends His prophet to that man's conscience, many a secret warning, many a solemn message. Still he goes on in spiritual slumber, and the only answer to God is "Not yet, not yet; "the time is not come that the Lord's house should be built."

There is many a duty which conscience has again and again urged him to, many a plain command