THE BARREN FIG-TREE.

BARREN fig-tree sure am I,
Every branch is bare and dry,
Hew and burn ;-it merits all ;—
Justly would the sentence fall.
Yet one other year, oh, spare!
Dig it, dung it, it may bear;
If not, then the fire, ah me!
Must consume the fruitless tree.

From the Latin, translated by Bonar.

"YEA, LET HIM TAKE ALL.”

2 SAM, xix, 30.

TAKE my life, and let it be
Consecrated, Lord, to Thee.

Take my hands, and let them move
At the impulse of Thy love.

Take my feet, and let them be
Swift and beautiful for Thee.

Take my voice, and let me sing
Always, only, for my King.

Take my lips, and let them be
Filled with messages from Thee.

Take my silver, and my gold;
Not a mite would I withhold.

Take my moments, and my days,
Let them flow in ceaseless praise.

Take my intellect, and use
Every power as Thou shalt choose.

Take my will, and make it Thine;
It shall be no longer mine.

Take my heart; it is Thine own;
It shall be Thy royal throne.

Take my love; my Lord, I pour
At Thy feet its treasure-store.

Take myself, and I will be

Ever, only, all for Thee.

FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL.

PEACE.

I HAVE found peace in the bright earth,

And in the sunny sky,

By the low voice of summer seas,
And where streams murmur by.

I find it in the quiet tone
Of voices that I love;
By the flickering of a twilight fire,
And in the leafless grove.

I find it in the silent flow

Of solitary thought;

In calm, half-meditated dreams,
And reasonings self-taught.

But seldom have I found such peace
As in the soul's deep joy,

Of passing onward, free from harm,
Through every day's employ.

If gems we seek, we only tire,
And lift our hopes too high;
The constant flowers that line our way
Alone can satisfy.

ALFORD.

GOD'S TAKING.

O THOU ! who never tak'st from Thy beloved, Except to give them more,

When most is gone from our sweet earthly good, Then most Thou hast in store.

We are too blind with tears, dear Lord, to count
Thy garnered treasure true;

Our weary hearts are all too weak to mount
To such a heavenly view.

Our eyes rest on the empty places here—

We stand by open tombs

And, gathering round our footsteps year by year, Are ever-deepening glooms.

But Thou can'st raise the weariest eye to Thee--
Ease the most troubled heart-

Teach the most faithless and perverse to see,
By thy divinest art.

How true thy reckoning is—“ a little while,"
"These light afflictions" borne-

And then-the hidden rapture of Thy smile
In heaven's celestial morn!

The open treasure-house, our own domain,
Rich in all goodly store,-

All sad hours turned to joy-all loss to gain,
And rest for evermore.

No aching heart, nor empty arms again,
For thro' these passing hours,

Safe in thy home and free from every stain
Are Thy beloved, and ours.

E. A. KILPIN.

COMMUNION WITH GOD.

LORD, what a change within us one short hour,
Spent in Thy presence, will prevail to make;
What heavy burdens from our bosoms take;
What parched ground refresh, as with a shower!
We kneel, and all around us seems to tower;
We rise, and all, the distant and the near,
Stands forth in sunny outline, brave and clear;
We kneel how weak, we rise how full of power;
Why, therefore, should we do ourselves the wrong,
Or others that we are not always strong,
That we are ever overborne with care,
That we should ever weak or heartless be,
Anxious or troubled, when with us is prayer,
And joy and strength and courage are with Thee.
ARCHBISHOP TRENCH.

“WAIT ON THE LORD.”

ST JOHN xi. 3.

ONE touch from Thee-the Healer of diseases,
One little touch would make our brother whole ;
And yet Thou comest not: O blessed Jesus,

Send a swift answer to our waiting soul!

Full many a message have we sent and pleaded
That Thou wouldst haste Thy coming, gracious Lord;
Each message was received, and heard, and heeded,
And yet we welcome no responsive word!

We know that Thou art blessing, whilst withholding ;
We know that Thou art near us, though apart;
And though we list no answer, Thou art folding
Our poor petitions to Thy smitten heart.

A bright and glorious answer is preparing,

Hid in the heights of love-the depths of grace; We know that Thou, the Risen, still art bearing Our cause as Thine, within the holy place.

And so we trust our pleadings to Thy keeping;
So at Thy feet we lay our burdens down,
Content to bear the earthly cross, with weeping,
Till at Thy feet we cast the heavenly crown.

T. C.