as ever to reach forward to the things that are before; and, instead of grieving over the sundry and manifold changes of the world, have our hearts surely fixed where true joys are to be found.

Nor by the way-side ruins let us mourn,

Who have th' eternal towers for our appointed bourn.'

We change our volume, and find ourselves called to think over the frightful force of those sad words of the Rich Man of to-day's Gospel, respecting the five brethren, towards whom his soul turned with helpless dread and longing, in the place of torment.

'Five loving souls, each one as mine,

And each for evermore to be

Each deed of each to thrill,

For good or ill,

Along thine awful line,
Eternity!'

For verily it is so! One careless word-one insolent look, one scornful tone-may lead astray and taint a young soul, so that it bars itself from Paradise. We have heard of St. Augustine's sorrow for the companion whom his example had injured. What must such remorse be in the dreadful world, where there is horrible certainty and no place for repentance? And yet

It is literal truth. It can be proved by almost any minute biography, or by merely listening to the recollections of our elders. Everyone remembers some word or action of another, that has either helped to form his habits or else sunk into his mind, and fixed some opinion. Nor can anyone tell which seeds will be caught up and assimilated by the wonderful minds of the young.

Our deeds and words seem gone, but there is no end to them. At the judgment day we shall not only answer for them on our own part, but we shall see their effects on others. We may see hundreds, the worse for some foolish selfish encouragement we have given to some bad habit of finery or self-indulgence. Or we may see our own nearest and dearest lost, through our worldliness or irreverence, or the obstacles we have selfishly raised to their acting conscientiously. Alas! Alas! What can we do? Only while we live among others,

'Keep thou the one true way

In work and play,

Lest in that world their cry
Of woe thou hear!'

(To be continued.)

ASCENSION HYMN.

LUIS PONCE DE LEON.*

(BORN 1528, DIED 1591.)

AND dost Thou, Holy Shepherd, leave
Thine unprotected flock alone,
Here in this darksome vale to grieve,

While Thou ascend'st Thy glorious throne?

Oh, where can they their hopes now turn,
Who never lived but on Thy love?
Where rest the hearts that for Thee burn,
When Thou art lost in light above?

How shall those eyes now find repose,
That turn, in vain, Thy smile to see?
What can they hear save mortal woes,
Who lose Thy voice's melody?

And who shall lay his tranquil hand
Upon the troubled ocean's might?
Who hush the winds by his command?
Who guide us thro' this starless night?

For Thou art gone!-that cloud so bright,
That bears Thee from our love away,
Springs upward thro' the dazzling light,

And leaves us here to weep and pray.

[This poem, beginning 'Y detas, pastor santo,' is supposed to be sung by the disciples as they saw their Lord's Ascension.]

JUSTUS.

'And they appointed two, Joseph called Barsabas, who was surnamed Justus, and Matthias. And they prayed, and said, Thou, Lord, which knowest the hearts of all men, shew whether of these two Thou hast chosen.... And they gave forth their lots; and the lot fell upon Matthias; and he was numbered with the eleven Apostles.'

DEEP was the hush ere yet 'twas known

Acts, i. 23, 24, 26.

Which of the twain the Lord should choose,

Ere yet the voice from out the Throne

Had said, 'This take, and this refuse.'

* Translated by George Ticknor, Author of 'History of Spanish Literature.'

But when the lot came forth, and fell
To good Matthias' thankful share,
Then surely-oh, believe it well-
Grand hymns of praise succeeded prayer.

New life was his, a martyr's doom
Foreshadowed glory round him shed,
Elected in the traitor's room,

And with Apostles numbered!

But the un-chosen one! Ah, pause,
And think a moment of his lot!
No leader of the Church's cause,
And with Apostles numbered not.

Ah, brought so near, yet left so far,
Ah, losing what another gained!

Say, did the loss devotion mar,

Or drew he balm from what remained?

Not his a Bishop's staff and crown,

But his sweet memories of the time
When, journeying on from town to town,
Beside him walked a Form Divine.

Ah, in this moment swift there sped
Back to his thoughts, we may believe
His Lord's own teaching, how He said,
'More blest to give than to receive.'

And so he raised ungrudging eyes
Unto his brother's face, and gave

His voice to swell the melodies

That rose rejoicing, wave on wave.

Calm and unmoved, content to wait

Humbly for death, his name unknown,—
Another's shrined in heavenly state, *
Another on the judgment throne! †

Thus may we trust, though Holy Writ
Is silent on his after fate,

Though blessed Luke has deemed not fit

For record such as this to wait.

*And the wall of the city had twelve foundations, and in them the names of the twelve apostles of the Lamb.'-Rev. xxi. 14.

'Ye also shall sit upon twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel.'-St. Matt. xix. 28.

VOL. 7.

The Church's work was done, and well;

The Church's Lord exalted high;
Why stay the Church's pen to tell
Of one poor sinner's destiny?
Yet from his memory we may learn
A lesson for these lives of ours,
Calm for these hearts, that ache and burn
At thought of undeveloped powers.

'The vantage-ground to thee denied,
The crown that lights another's brow-
Forget them! safe at Jesus' side,

Ah, leave to Him the why and how!

'He knows, He only, why on thee
No lot has fallen; no consent
Has met the "Here am I, send me,"
Of one on service fully bent.

'He knows, He only, how 'tis best
That one life should in silence glide,
And one be dowered with high behest,
His name to blazon far and wide.

'Sufficient be it that He knows,

He knows with whom is wisdom's key-
That He Matthias' crown bestows,

Denied to Justus and to thee.

'Hadst thou been given His vineyards fair,
To tend and train, to dress and keep,

It may be thine own vineyard bare,

Had made the Heavenly Planter weep.

'So, patient tend thine own soul's plot,
And, oh! forget thou not to pray

For that one on whom fell the lot,

When from thy grasp it passed away.

'Uphold thou well his hands by prayer,
Give thanks for his God-given power;
It may be thou shalt have a share

In his praise at the Judgment hour.

'What if th' Unerring Voice proclaim,

"Matthias laboured, Justus prayed; Both spread the Glory of My Name, On both My Benison be laid!"'

PSALM XXIV.

PROPER PSALM FOR ASCENSION DAY.

(Domini est terra.)

THE earth and all its fullness dwells
Safe in the hand of God,

Who raised it from the ocean swells,
And fixed it on the flood.

But who unto that holier place
With dauntless foot shall climb,
Where God unveils His glorious face,
Beyond the mists of time?

The clean of hands, the pure in heart,
May reach that upper air;

Christ keeps for them this better part,
Which no deceivers share.

When on the mountain side He stood,
New pity, boundless grace,
Inspired each fresh beatitude
Dropped on His chosen race.

Drawn by the shining of His eyes,
As dew-drops by the sun,
After Him, to His native skies,
They follow, one by one.

Lift up your heads, eternal gates!
Eternal doors, unfold!

The King of Glory stands and waits
Before your portals old.

Who is the King of Glory, thus

Ascending to His home?

The Lord, who was so strong for us,

In battle and in doom.

Lift up your heads, eternal gates!
Eternal doors, unfold!

The King of Glory stands and waits
Before your portals old.

O Christ, the King of Glory, thus
Exalted to the sky,

Thou Lord of Armies, be to us

Both strength and victory.

M. C.