And if there be a weight upon my breast,
Some vague impression of the day foregone,
Scarce knowing what it is, I fly to Thee,
And lay it down.

Or if it be the heaviness that comes
In token of anticipated ill,

My bosom takes no heed of what it is,
Since 'tis Thy will.

For oh, in spite of past and present care,
Or any thing beside, how joyfully

Passes that silent, solitary hour,

My God, with Thee.

More tranquil than the stillness of the night,
More peaceful than the silence of that hour,
More blest than anything, my spirit lies
Beneath Thy power.

For what is there on earth that I desire
Of all that it can give or take from me,
Or whom in heaven doth my spirit seek,
O God, but Thee.

XVII.

The Fashioning Hand.

ANON.

The fining pot is for silver and the furnace for gold, even so the Lord purifieth the heart.—Psalms

xvii. 3.

N opal lay in the case, cold and lustreless. It was held a few moments in a warm hand, when it gleamed and glowed with all the beauty of the rainbow. All about us are human lives of children or of older persons, which seem cold and unbeautiful, without spiritual radiance or the gleams of indwelling light which tell of immortality. Yet they need only the touch of a warm human hand, the pressure of love, to bring out in them the brightness of the spiritual beauty that is hidden in them. J. R. MILLER.

In the still air the music lies unheard;
In the rough marble beauty hides unseen;
To make the music and the beauty needs

The master's touch, the sculptor's chisel keen.
Great Master, touch us with Thy skillful hand;
Let not the music that is in us die;

Great Sculptor, hew and polish us; nor let,
Hidden and lost, Thy form within us lie!

HORATIUS BONAR.

XVIII.

At the Unknown Gate.

(Arab term for Grave.)

Though I walk into the valley of the shadow of death I fear no evil, for Thou art with me: Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.-Psalms xxiii. 4.

O live, that when Thy summons come to join
The innumerable caravan wnich moves

To that mysterious realm where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,

Thou go not as the quarry-slave at night,

Scourged to his dungeon; but sustained and soothed.
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dream

Alas for him who never sees

BRYANT.

The stars shine through his cypress trees!
Who, hopeless, lays his dead away,
Nor looks to see the breaking day
Across the mournful marbles play!
Who hath not learned, in hours of faith,
The truth, to flesh and sense unknown:
That life is ever Lord of death
And love can never lose its own.

WHITTIER.

XIX.

At the time of Old Age.

Remember not the sins of my youth and my transgression; according to Thy mercy remember me, for Thy goodness sake.-Psalms xxv. 7.

Cast me not away in the time of old age, when my strength waneth, forsake me not.—Psalms lxxi. 9.

(F, gracious God! in life's green ardent year,

JF,

A thousand times Thy patient love I tried,

With reckless heart, with conscience hard and sear,
Thy gifts perverted and Thy power defied,-
Oh! grant me now, that winter snows appear
Around my brow and youth's bright promise hide,
Grant me, with reverential awe to hear

Thy holy voice and in Thy words confide!
Blot from my book of life its early stain!
Since days misspent will never more return,
My future path do Thou in mercy trace;
So cause my soul with pious zeal to burn,
That all the trust which in Thy name I place,
Frail, as I am, may not prove wholly vain!
(Tr.) PIETRO BOMBO.

Before the hoary head thou shalt rise up and honor
the face of the aged; and thou shalt reverence thy God;
I am the Lord.
Leviticus xix. 32.

A Spartan predicted the downfall of Athens when he observed in the theatre that the young men kept their seats while old citizens were obliged to stand.

XX.

The Crowning of a Good Life.

A crown of glory is a hoary head if it be found on the path of righteousness aud mercy.-Proverbs xiv. 31.

JT

T is a beautiful thing, standing here, children of Israel and children of the Christian faith, to remember that this grand old Hebrew (Moses Montefiore) did all these good and noble things because he was loyal to his convictions. He was, to the very backbone, a religious man. He was conscious of the fact that he was a son of the Highest, enclosed in the ancient covenant between God and His chosen race; and that he was assured of His blessing, if he went forth into the world to comfort the oppressed and bring good tidings to the down-trodden. Can those be right who tell us that in these days religious conviction has become a minus quantity? That we have nothing of the old chivalry, nothing of the old heroism, nothing of the daring spirit, which will, forgetful of all smaller motives, go forth to do valiantly for God and His suffering children? Moses Montefiore at his hundreth birthday, is a complete refutation of this pessimistic idea.

STEPHEN H. CAMP.

HOU who so high hast raised me by Thy love,

My eyes look upward to Thy realms above,

Thou art my strength, on Thee will I rely
And serve Thee till the moment that I die,
Thy service I have made my chosen part,
O God! instill Thy grace into my heart.

XXI.

In the Home for Incurables.

I am silent, I open not my mouth-for Thou, O God, hast done it.—Psalms xxxix. 9.