As Saints around the Glory-Throne

To each faint sigh respond

And yearning fond

Of Penitents that inly moan.

O surely Love adoring there

Is quicken'd to intenser prayer,

When youthful hearts are fain to wear-
Unbidden wear-their penance-bond:

When stripling grave and maiden meek
Forego the bright hours of the week,

Nor at the board their place will seek :—

"Have we not sinn'd? and sin must be by pain aton'd."

Thrice happy, in Repentance' school

So early taught and tried!

At JESUS' side,

And by His dread Fore-runner's rule,

Train'd from the womb! nor they unblest,
Who underneath the world's bright vest
With sackcloth tame their aching breast,

The sharp-edged cross in jewels hide.

Who day by day and year by year

Survey the Past with deepening fear,

Yet hourly with more hopeful ear

To the dim Future turn, th' absolving voice abide.

Not as lost Esau mourn'd, they mourn;

No loud and bitter cry

They cast on high :—

But on through silent air is borne

The fragrance of their tearful love
To the Redeemer's feast above.
Fresher than steam of dewy grove,
When April showers are twinkling nigh,
To aged husbandman at eve,

ls the sweet breath the Heavens receive

When bosoms with confession heave

When lowly Magdalen hath won her Saviour's eye.

VI. Children's Sports.

1.

GARDENING.

"He that is faithful in that which is least is faithful also in much."

SEEST thou yon woodland child,

How amid flowerets wild,

Wilder himself, he plies his pleasure-task?

That ring of fragrant ground,

With its low woodbine bound

He claims: no more, as yet, his little heart need ask.

There learns he flower and weed

To sort with careful heed:

He waits not for the weary noontide hour.

There with the soft night air

Comes his refreshing care:

Each tiny leaf looks up, and thanks him for the

shower,

Thus faithful found awhile,

He wins the joyous smile

Of friend or parent; glad and bright is he,

When for his garland gay

He hears the kind voice say,

"Well hast thou wrought, dear boy: the garden thine

shall be."

And when long years are flown,

And the proud word, Mine Own,

Familiar sounds, what joy in field or bower

To view by Memory's aid

Again that garden glade,

And muse on all the lore there learned in each bright hour!

Is not a life well-spent

A child's play-garden, lent

For Heaven's high trust to train young heart and limb ?

When in yon field on high

Our hard-won powers we try,

Will no mild tones of earth blend with the adoring

hymn ?

O fragrant, sure, will prove

The breath of patient Love,

Even from these fading sweets by Memory cast,

As deepening evermore

To Him our song we pour,

Who lent us Earth, that he might give us Heaven at last.