What's true and good demands no decoration; It, in and through itself, is great and fair: All ornament is supererogation,

Giving false coloring and fictitious air.

KINKER, Trans. Anon.

CAN

Glorying in the Cross.

AN nothing settle my uncertain breast,
And fix my rambling love?

Can my affections find out nothing best,
But still and still remove?

Has earth no mercy? Will no ark of rest
Receive my restless dove?

Is there no good than which there's nothing higher

To bless my full desire,

With joys that never change; with joys that ne'er expire ?

I wanted wealth, and at my dear request,
Earth lent a quick supply;

I wanted mirth to charm my sullen breast;
And who more brisk than I?

I wanted fame to glorify the rest;

My fame flew eagle-high:

My joy not fully ripe, but all decayed,

Wealth vanished like a shade;

My mirth began to flag, my fame began to fade.

My trust is in the Cross; there lies my rest,
My fast, my sole delight.

Let cold-mouthed Boreas, or the hot-mouthed east,
Blow till they burst with spite:

Let earth and hell conspire their worst, their best, And join their twisted might;

Let showers of thunderbolts dart round and wound me:

And troops of fiends surround me:

All this may well confront; all this shall ne'er confound me.

FRANCIS QUARLES.

Give our Poor Hearts this Spirit
Strong and Holy.

HERE was a little lowly upper room

THERE

Within the walls of proud Jerusalem,

Where met a few poor men in grief and gloom Talking of Him who once had walked with them. There came a sound as of a rushing wind,

And filled up all the place where they were met, And flaming figures of unwonted kind,

Like tongues of fire, upon each brow were set.

That was the promise of the Father, come

To those who waited, mourning for their Lord; And the closed lips, that were so dead and dumb,

Are loosed at once to speak His precious Word.

Then all the strangers from afar, who came From Asian shores, from Europe's fairer strands,

From Afric's deserts, wondering heard His name
In the dear language of their native lands.
Not now in form distinct of flaming light
Comes that great Spirit on our earth to dwell;
But, like the strong wind whispering at night,
Its mighty impulse is invisible.

Yet, to the lowly and obedient heart,

In gentleness and might its breath shall come, Bidding the Christian choose the better part, Stirring with thought of his eternal home.

O Lord, ascended! from Thy glory's throne,
On Thy baptized children kneeling lowly,
Look down in mercy! we were made Thine own;
Give our poor hearts Thy Spirit strong and holy.
ANON.

Grace Drops from Above. MY stock lies dead, and no increase Doth my dull husbandry improve: O let thy graces without cease

Drop from above.

If still the sun should hide his face,
Thy house would but a dungeon prove;
Thy works, night's captives: O let grace
Drop from above.

The dew doth ev'ry morning fall:

And shall the dew out-strip thy Dove?
The dew, for which grass cannot call,
Drop from above.

Death is still working like a mole,
And digs my grave at each remove:
Let grace work too, and on my soul
Drop from above.

Sin is still hammering my heart,
Unto a hardness void of love:

Let suppling grace to cross his art,
Drop from above.

O come; for thou dost know the way:
Or if to me thou wilt not move,

Remove me where I need not say,

'Drop from above.'

GEORGE HERBERT.

God's Providence o'er us.

OD of my life, how good, how wise,

GOD

Thy judgments to my soul have been!

They were but mercies in disguise,

The painful remedies of sin :
How different now Thy ways appear,-
Most merciful, when most severe !

Since first the maze of life I trod,

Hast Thou not hedged about my way;

My worldly, vain designs withstood,

And robbed my passions of their prey,

Withheld the fuel from the fire,
And crossed each foolish, fond desire?

How oft didst Thou my soul withhold,
And baffle my pursuit of fame,
And mortify my lust of gold,

And blast me in my surest aim;
Withdraw my animal delight,
And starve my grovelling appetite!
Thou wouldst not let Thy captive go,
Ce leave me to my carnal will;
Thy lore forbad my rest below,
Thy patient love pursued me still;
And Ruced me thom my sin to part,
Aut were the sdol them my heart.
ttur pet sow the ess 'sment,

(rust the trendly blow ? My Tomy Now my hours hach rent