THE SILENT TOWER.

TINTADGEL bells ring o'er the tide!
The boy leans on his vessel side,-

He hears that sound, and dreams of home
Soothe the wild orphan of the foam.

"Come to thy God in time!"
Thus saith their pealing chime:
"Youth, manhood, old age, past,
Come to thy God at last!"

But why are Bottreaux' echoes still?

Her tower stands proudly on the hill:

Yet the strange chough that home hath found, The lamb lies sleeping on the ground.

Come to thy God in time!

Should be her answering chime,

Come to thy God at last!

Should echo on the blast.

The ship rode down with courses free,

The daughter of a distant sea;

Her sheet was loose, her anchor stored,

The merry Bottreaux bells on board.

THE SILENT TOWER.

"Come to thy God in time!"
Rung out Tintadgel chime:
"Youth, manhood, old age, past,
Come to thy God at last!"

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66

"Thank God!" with reverent brow, he cried, We make the shore with evening's tide!" Come to thy God in time!

It was his marriage chime :-
Youth, manhood, old age, past,
His bell must ring at last!

Thank God, thou whining knave, on land!
But thank, at sea, the steersman's hand,
The captain's voice above the gale,—
Thank the good ship and ready sail!
Come to thy God in time!
Sad grew the boding chime:
Come to thy God at last,—
Boomed heavy on the blast!

Uprose that sea, as if it heard
The mighty Master's signal word!
What thrills the captain's whitening lip?
The death-groans of his sinking ship.
Come to thy God in time!
Swung deep the funeral chime:
Grace, mercy, kindness, past,
Come to thy God at last!

Long did the rescued pilot tell,

When gray hairs o'er his forehead fell,

While those around would hear and weep,

That fearful judgment of the deep!

Come to thy God in time!

He read his native chime:

Youth, manhood, old age, past,

His bell rung out at last!

THE SILENT TOWER.

Still, when the storm of Bottreaux' waves
Is wakening in his weedy caves,

Those bells that sullen surges hide

Peal their deep notes beneath the tide.
Come to thy God in time!

Thus saith the ocean chime:
Storm, billow, whirlwind, past,
Come to thy God at last.

R. S. HAWKER.

BOHMOLZE

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STRIVE.

STRIVE, when thou art called of God,
When He draws thee by His grace,
Strive to cast away the load

That would clog thee in the race!

Fight, though it may cost thy life,
Storm the kingdom, but prevail;

Let not Satan's fiercest strife

Make thee, warrior, faint or quail.

Wrestle, till through every vein

Love and strength are glowing warm,— Love that can the world disdain:

Half-love will not bide the storm.

Wrestle, with strong prayers and cries,
Think no time too much to spend,
Though the night be passed in sighs.
Though all day thy voice ascend.

Hast thou won the pearl of price?

Think not thou hast reached the goal,

Conquered every sin and vice

That had power to harm thy soul.