In the church, or the chamber, or closet,
The Master still meets with His own,
When gathered, the few or the many,
Or singly, apart and alone.

It seems to me, even in Heaven

These spots will not cease to be dear, Where Christ has held tryst with His people Along through their pilgrimage here.

For nothing in life is more real-
No fact upon history's page

More sure-than the "heavenly vision"
Men witness in every age.

Such seizures of souls on the highway,
As changed Saul of Tarsus to Paul;
Such a voice in the mount as sent Moses
A nation from bondage to call.

But the glory of every Shechinah

Is the presence,—it is not the place;
God dwelt in the Bush and the Temple,
He filleth all time and all space.

He is Light, and He floodeth the heavens ;
Is Love, and encompasseth all;

Revealed by the Son, the All-Father,
Who heareth the birds when they call.

He careth for sparrows and lilies,

Much more for His children He cares; Though little our faith and our knowledge, His mercy exceedeth our prayers.

This lesson-the need of the ages-
Can only of Jesus be learned;
Yet with blind unbelief and rejection,
The Gift and the Giver are spurned.

My soul, learn the truth and live in it,

The Father, my Father, is near ;
Though I tread "the back-side of the desert,"
The Father, my Father, is here.

The spirit that cries "Abba, Father,"
The spirit inbreathed of the Son,

In His heart and His house finds contentment,
And Heaven already begun.

Thus the whole earth is full of His glory,
The heavens His goodness proclaim ;
The ground that we stand on is holy,
The bush at our side is aflame.

JOEL BEAN.

In British Friend, 3rd mo., 1885.

THE QUAKER OF THE OLDEN TIME

THE Quaker of the olden time !—
How calm and firm and true,
Unspotted by its wrong and crime,

He walked the dark earth through.
The lust of power, the love of gain,
The thousand lures of sin

Around him, had no power to stain
The purity within.

With that deep insight which detects
All great things in the small,

And knows how each man's life affects
The spiritual life of all,

He walked by faith and not by sight,

By love and not by law;

The presence of the wrong or right
He rather felt than saw.

He felt that wrong with wrong partakes,
That nothing stands alone,

That whoso gives the motive, makes
His brother's sin his own.

And, pausing not for doubtful choice.
Of evils great or small,

He listened to that inward voice
Which called away from all.

O Spirit of that early day,

So pure, and strong and true,
Be with us in the narrow way
Our faithful fathers knew.
Give strength the evil to forsake,

The cross of Truth to bear,

And love and reverent fear to make

Our daily lives a prayer!

J. G. WHITTIER.

I HAVE CALLED THEE BY THY NAME.

ISAIAH xliii. 1.

NOT as a speck revolving through limitless realms of

space;

Not as an atom lying in some dim and darksome place; But as myself He knows me, and will keep me throughout

this year

My Guide when I grope in darkness, my Strength when I faint with fear.

Not as a pebble in ocean, tossed chancewise up by the tide

One moment bathed in sunlight, then a toy in its darkening pride;

No prey to a world's caprices, but undimmed amidst its night,

Girt round by the calm and blessing of perfect and Infinite Light.

Not as a something somewhere, hurrying on through

life,

With sometimes a cry heard faintly as it wearily sinks in the strife;

Though at times I have almost thought it, and fancied my God was afar,

He has risen above my darkness, and lit my night with His star.

As myself and not as another, knowing my voice so well;

Yea, knowing my inmost wishes and the thoughts that I could not tell;

So holy, I bow before Him; so good, that to none but

Him

I could tell my deepest longings, and the doubts that are strange and dim.

From the Rainbow throne of Glory I see Him bend to

me;

I know that the God of ages is working gloriously,
And I hear the great Creator, whose angels are a flame,
Say to a child of Adam,-"I have called thee by thy
name."

L.E.

THE FEVERISH HAND.

IT was a Monday morning, and a rainy one at that. "Mother" was busy from the moment she sprang out of bed at the first sound of the rising bell. Others besides children get out of bed "on the wrong side," as this mother can testify. She began by thinking over

all that lay before her. It made her "feel like flying! Bridget would be cross; as it was rainy there would be a chance of company for lunch, so the parlour must be tidied, as well as dining-room swept, dishes washed, lamps trimmed, beds made, and children started for school. Her hands grew hot as she buttered bread for luncheons, waited on those who had to start early, and tried to pacify the little ones and Bridget.

"My dear, you're feverish," said her husband, as he held her busy hands a moment. Let your work `go,

and rest yourself-you'll find it pays."

"Just like a man!" thought the mother. "Why, I haven't time even for my prayers! But the little woman had resolved that she would read a few verses before ten o'clock each day; so, standing by her bureau, she opened to the eighth chapter of Matthew, and read these words: "And He touched her hand and the fever left her and she arose and ministered unto them."

It seemed to that busy wife as if Jesus Himself stood ready to heal her-to take the fever out of her hands, that she might minister wisely to her dear ones. The beds could wait till later in the day-the parlour might be a little disordered-she must feel His touch! She knelt, and He whispered: "My strength (not yours, child) is sufficient." "As thy days so shall thy

strength be."

My yoke is easy" (this yoke you have been galled by is the world's yoke, the yoke of public opinion or house-wifely ambition), “take My yoke upon you and learn of Me. Ye shall find

rest."

The day was no brighter, the work had still to be done; but the fever had left her, and all day she sang, "This God is our God, my Lord and my God."

It is true that, when the friends came to lunch, no 'fancy dishes had been prepared for the table, but the hostess's heart was filled with love for them, as members,