If his children were wild, as children will prove, His temper ne'er lost its warm aspect of love; "My dear wife," he'd say, don't worry nor fret ; 'Twill be all right with the wayward ones yet; 'Tis the folly of youth, that must have its way; They'll penitent turn from their evil some day.”

If a name were assailed, he would cheerily say,
"Well, well; we'll not join in the cry, anyway;
There are always two sides to every tale―
And the true one at last is sure to prevail.
There is an old rule that I learned when a lad-
'Deem every one good till he's proved to be bad.'”

And when in the meshes of sin tightly bound,
The reckless and luckless mortal was found,
Proscribed by every woman and man,
And put under rigid and merciless ban,

Old Reuben would say, with sympathy fraught,
"We none of us do half as well as we ought."

I wish you'd heard that singin'-it had the old time ring;

The preacher said, with trumpet voice, "Let all the people sing!"

The tune was Coronation, and the music upward rolled,

Till I thought I heard the angels all striking harps of gold.

My deafness seemed to melt away; my spirit caught the fire;

I joined my feeble, trembling voice, with that melodious choir,

And sang as in my youthful days, "Let angels prostrate fall,

Bring forth the royal diadem, and crown Him Lord of all."

I tell you, wife, it did me good to sing that hymn once more;

I felt like some wrecked mariner who gets a glimpse of shore;

We walked a sweet path till the crossing ways met,
And though we have parted, I'll cherish them yet;
They'll go by their way and I ll go by mine
Perhaps in the city ahead we shall join."

There were sickness and death at last in his cot,
But still Reuben Fisher in sorrow blenched not:
"Tis the Father afflicts: let Him do what He will;
What comes from His hand can mean us no ill;
I cheerfully give back the blessing He lent,
And through faith in the future find present content."

Then he lay on his death-bed at last undismayed;
No terror had death at which he was afraid;
"Living or dying, 'tis all well with me,
For God's will is my will," submissive said he.
And so Reuben died, with his breast full of grace,
That beamed in a smile on his time-furrowed face.
B. P. SHILLABER.

form,

And anchor in the blessed port forever from the

storm.

| The preachin' ? Well, I can't just tell all the preacher said;

I know it wasn't written; I know it wasn't read;
He hadn't time to read it, for the lightnin' of his eye
Went flashin' along from pew to pew, nor passed a
sinner by.

The sermon wasn't flowery, 'twas simple Gospel truth; It fitted poor old men like me, it fitted hopeful youth. 'Twas full of consolation for weary hearts that bleed; 'Twas full of invitations to Christ, and to His creed.

The preacher made sin hideous in Gentiles and in Jews;

He shot the golden sentences down in the finest pews,

And though I can't see very well-I saw the falling tear

That told me hell was some ways off, and heaven very

near.

How swift the golden moments fled within that holy place!

Ye shall join the loved and just ones
In that land of perfect day.
Harp-strings, touched by angel fingers,
Murmured in my rapturous ear;—
F.vermore their sweet song lingers-
"We shall know each other there."

meet with friend,

"Where congregations ne'er break up, and Sabbaths have no end."

I hope to meet that minister-that congregation, too— In that dear home beyond the stars that shine from heaven's blue.

I doubt not I'll remember, beyond life's evening gray, That happy hour of worship in that model church today.

Dear wife, the fight will soon be fought, the victory be won;

The shining goal is just ahead, the race is nearly run. O'er the river we are nearin', they are throngin' to the shore,

To shout our safe arrival where the weary weep no

When the holy angels meet us,

As we go to join their band,
Shall we know the friends that greet us
In that glorious spirit land?
Shall we see the same eyes shining
On us as in days of yore?
Shall we feel the dear arms twining
Fondly round us as before?

Yes, my earth-worn soul rejoices,
And my weary heart grows light,
For the thrilling angels' voices
And the angel faces bright,
That shall welcome us in heaven,
Are the loved ones long ago;
And to them 'tis kindly given
Thus their mortal friends to know.

Oh ye weary, sad, and tossed ones,
Droop not faint not by the way!

a

POOR little girl in a tattered gown,

Wandering alone through the crowded town
All weary and worn, on the curb sat down,
By the side of the way to rest;

Bedimmed with tears were her eyes of brown,
Her hands on her bosom pressed.

The night was approaching—the winter's chill blast
That fell on the child as he hurried past,
Concealed the tears that were falling fast
From the poor little maiden's eye-
The blinding snow on her pale cheek cast,
Unheeded her plaintive cry.

Now hurriedly passing along the street,
She catches the sound of approaching feet;
And wearily rises, as if to entreat
Some aid from the passer by;

But slowly and sadly resumes her seat,
Repelled by the glance of his eye.

He saw the wind tempest resistlessly hurl
The gathering snow-flakes, with many a whirl,
Upon her bare head, where each soft-shining curl
Was swept by the breath of the storm;
But what did he care for the little girl-
His raiment was ample and warm!

He went to a charity meeting that night
And spoke, to the listeners' great delight,
Of how 'twas the duty of all to unite,
The suffering poor to relieve;
And held up his check for a thousand at sight,
So all of the crowd could perceive.

He handed the check to the treasurer, when
The audience applauded again and again,
But the angel who holds the recording pen
This sentence methinks did record :
"He doeth his alms to be seen of men,

Their praise is his only reward."

The paper next morning had much to say
Of how the "good gentleman" did display
His generous spirit, in giving away

So much for the poor man's cause.
He smiled as he read his own praise that day
And thought of the night's applause.

Near by, the same paper went on to repeat
A story they'd heard, of how, out on the street,
A watchman at dawning of morn on his beat,

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.

લ

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,

WI 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.