HOU must be true thyself,

If thou the truth wouldst teach;
Thy soul must overflow, if thou
Another's soul wouldst reach!
It needs the overflow of heart
To give the lips full speech.

Think truly, and thy thoughts.

Shall the world's famine feed; Speak truly, and each word of thine

Shall be a fruitful seed.

Live truly, and thy life shall be
A great and noble creed.

A

BONAR.

WORDS.

Он, never say a careless word

Hath not the power to pain !
The shaft may ope some hidden wound,
That closes not again.

Weigh well those light-winged messengers,
God marked thy heedless word,
And with it, too, the falling tear,
The heart pang that it stirred.

Words! what are words? an idle breath,
That floateth lightly by,

Smiles on the lip that uttered them

In tones of melody.

Yet have they strength to wound or bless,

Lightly as they are flung;

Still writ upon some human heart
Told by an angel's tongue.

Words! what are words? a single word

Hath spells to call the tears,

That long have lain a sealèd fount
Unclosed through mournful years,
Back from the unseen sepulchre.

A word hath summoned forth
A form that hath its place no more
Among the things of earth.

Words! heed them well; some whispered one

Hath yet a power to fling

A shadow on the brow, the soul

In agony to wring;

A name forbidden, or forgot,

That sometimes, unawares, Murmurs upon our wakening lips, And mingles in our prayers.

O words! sweet words! a blessing comes
Softly from kindly lips ;

Tender, endearing tones that break
The spirit's drear eclipse.

Oh! are there not some cherished tones
In the deep heart enshrined?

Uttered but once, they passed, and left
A track of light behind.

Words! what are words? ah, knowest thou not

The household names of love?

The thousand tender memories

That float their graves above!

Long buried by the world's cold tread,
Yet 'mid the crowd they rise,
And smile, as angel-guests would smile,
With gentle, earnest eyes.

Thou hast been blest, if never bent
Thine head in anguish low,

To hide the trembling lip, the tear

That harsh words caused to flow.
Striving in vain to mask the pain
Veiled by thy silent pride,
The faint smile of the blanching lip
That strove the pang to hide.

But oh! more blest if memory brings
No record of the past,

Where angry glance and cruel word
Their withering shadow cast;
Where no dead eye fell mournfully,
When on the quivering soul,
Thy bitter words went echoing
Like the loud thunder roll.

By God's eternal dwelling-place
Those words went floating by,
And still the echo thunders on,
Throughout eternity;

And whispering yet within thine heart,
The still small voice is heard,
And thou shalt cry, "O God, forgive
My heedless, bitter word."

Are there no words that from the fount
Of life and blessing come,

Cheering the sorrowing soul with love,
And leading wanderers home?

O Christ! write Thou Thy words of peace
Upon our hearts, and be

The guard of each winged messenger

That upward flies to Thee.

A. SHIPTON.