Turn not this human heart to stone,
But once again with magic tone

Thrill through its chambers dark and lone,
Bidding it live.

If I have made a mortal eye

The star of my idolatry,

In whose dear light I hoped to die,

Or longed to live

If one loved image ever seen

Thy glory and my soul between,

Forbade my trust on Thee to lean—
Jesus, forgive!

For Thou for man didst bend the knee,
Anguished in dark Gethsemane,
Nor scorned, in Thine extremity,
A servant's aid;

And on our dreariest wastes below
Thy human footprints left, to show
That every storm of mortal woe

Broke o'er Thy head.

Touched with our infirmity,
Rich in all human sympathy,

Brother of our humanity,

O Royal Priest!

This heart I on Thine altar lay,

A bleeding sacrifice to-day,

And from its quivering depths, I pray,

Be Thou my rest.

H

Sustain the trembling soul that dies,
Raise to Thyself these dreaming eyes,
And to its home within the skies

Call back my love.

Anchor my hope within the vail,

That when this heart and flesh shall fail,
I may with joy Thy summons hail,

To Heaven above.

ISABELLA BIRD.

SACRED SPOTS.

WHICH are the spots on earth most truly dear?
Not where the conquering chief his heroes led,
Not where the victims of oppression bled,
Nor where charmed accents yet salute the ear
From lips of genius, nor where kings appear
Still to imagination, and was spread

Of old their pomp, nor where the lovely head
Of woman bowed in sorrow and in fear,

But where strong hearts repressed themselves and grew
Upward and outward for the good of men,
Forsaking ease and pleasure-courting pain,
Contempt and penury, and where they slew
The devil of self: upon these spots anew

We hate our wretched selves, and not in vain.
WADE ROBINSON.

JERUSALEM ABOVE.

REVELATIONS xxi.

IN Jerusalem above,

In my Father's Home of Love,
In radiance bright,

I shine in light,

And angel voices round me sing, While heaven's walls with music ring.

I have changed the things of earth,
For scenes of nobler birth;

For empty toys,

Eternal joys,

Which nought hath power to take away, Where rust and moth cannot decay.

Gates of pearl I now behold,
And shining streets of purest gold;
A sea of glass,

Where crystals flash

Like diamonds in the golden sand,
So glorious is this heavenly land.

Our city ne'er is wrapped in night,
The Lamb is our refulgent light;
His glorious ray

Makes our bright day

One cloudless, radiant, endless, scene,
Where sunshine ever is serene.

No death can ever enter here,
No crushing grief, no bitter tear ;
No agonising pain

Can e'er assail again;

Our Father dwells in this blest place,
And we behold Him face to face.

EMMA MOODY.

JUDGE NOT.

JUDGE not! the working of his brain
And of his heart thou canst not see;
What looks to thy dim eye a stain,
In God's pure light may only be

A scar, brought from some well-known field,
Where thou wouldst only pain and yield.

The look, the air that frets thy sight,
May be a token that below

The soul has closed in deadly fight,

With some infernal, fiery foe,

Whose glance would scorch thy smiling grace, And cast thee shuddering on thy face!

The fall thou darest to despise,

May be the angel's slackened hand
Hath suffered it, that he may rise
And take a firmer, surer stand;
Or trusting less to earthly things,
May henceforth learn to use his wings.

And judge none lost, but wait and see
With hopeful pity, not disdain;
The depth of the abyss may be

The measure of the height of pain,
And love, and glory, that may raise
His soul to God in after days.

A. A. PROCTOR.

A "BRUISEd reed sHALL HE NOT
BREAK"

I WILL accept thy will to do and be,

Thy hatred and intolerance of sin,

Thy will at least to love, that burns within
And thirsteth after Me:

So will I render fruitful, blessing still,
The germs and small beginnings in thy heart,
Because thy will cleaves to the better part.-
Alas! I cannot will.

Dost not thou will, poor soul?-yet I receive
The inner unseen longings of the soul,
I guide them turning towards ME; I control
And charm hearts till they grieve.
If thou desire, it yet shall come to pass,

Though thou but wish indeed to choose My love;
For I have power in earth and heaven above.--
I cannot wish, alas!

What! neither choose, nor wish to choose?—and yet I still must strive to win thee, and constrain ; For thee I hung upon the cross in pain,

How then can I forget?