There is a Heart, there is a Hand, we feel but cannot

see;

We've always been provided for, and we shall always

be!"

He kissed the calm and trustful face; gone was his restless pain;

She heard him, with a cheerful step, go whistling down the lane ;

And when about her household task, full of a glad content,

Singing to time her busy hands as to and fro she

went

"There is a Heart, there is a Hand, we feel but cannot

see;

We've always been provided for, and we shall always be!"

Days come and go-'twas Christmas-tide, and the great fire burned clear:

The farmer said, "Dear wife, it's been a good and

happy year;

The fruit was gain, the surplus corn has bought the hay, you know."

She lifted then a smiling face, and said, "I told you so; For there's a Heart and there's a Hand, we feel but

cannot see;

We've always been provided for, and we shall always

be!"

"FRIENDS' REVIEW."

LEAN HARD.

CHILD of My love, "Lean hard,”

And let Me feel the pressure of thy care.
I know thy burden, child—I shaped it,
Poised it in Mine own hand-

Made no proportion

Of its weight to thy unaided strength,

For even as I laid it on, I said,

“I shall be near, and while she leans on Me,

This burden shall be Mine, not hers;

So shall I keep My child within the circling arms
Of Mine own love." Here lay it down, nor fear
To impose it on a shoulder which upholds
Yet closer come;

The government of worlds.
Thou art not near enough;

I would embrace thy care,

So might I feel My child reposing on My breast. Thou lovest Me? I know it doubt not, then, By loving Me, “Lean hard."

TINY TOKENS.

The murmur of a waterfall

A mile away,

The rustle when a robin lights
Upon a spray,

The lapping of a lowland stream
On dipping boughs,

The sound of grazing from a herd

Of gentle cows,

The echo from a wooded hill

Of cuckoo's call,

The quiver through the meadow grass
At evening fall :—

Too subtle are these harmonies
For pen and rule;

Such music is not understood
By any school:

But when the brain is overwrought
It hath a spell,

Beyond all human skill and power,
To make it well.

The memory of a kindly word
For long gone by,

The fragrance of a fading flower
Sent lovingly,

The gleaming of a sudden smile
Or sudden tear,

The warmer pressure of the hand,
The tone of cheer,

The hush that means "I cannot speak,,
But I have heard !”

The note that only bears a verse,
As God's sent word :-

Such tiny things we hardly count
As ministry:

The givers deeming they have shown.
Scant sympathy;

But, when the heart is overwrought,.
Oh, who can tell

The power of such tiny things

To make it well!

F.R.H., of blessed memory.. (Slightly altered.)

MISCHIEF MAKING.

ONLY a tiny dropping

From a tiny, hidden leak ;
But the flow is never stopping,
And the flaw is far to seek.

Only some trickling water,
Nothing at all at first ;

But it grows to a valley-slaughter,
For the reservoir has burst!

The wild flood once in motion,
Who shall arrest its course?

As well restrain the ocean
As that ungoverned force!
Mourn for the desolations,
And help the ruined men !
Till next spring's fair creations
Make the valley smile again.

Help with a free, pure pity,

For your hands in this are clean,
You dwelt in the far-off city
With many a mile between.

You did not watch the flowing
Of the treacherous, trickling rill;
You did not aid the growing
Of the tiny rifts in the hill.

What if you had? I leave it,
It is too dark a thought;
How could the heart conceive it?
How came it, all unsought?

A look of great affliction,

As you tell what one told you,
With a feeble contradiction,
Or a "hope it is not true!"

A story quite too meagre
For naming any more,
Only your friend seems eager
To know a little more.

No doubt of explanation,

If all was known, you see ;
One might get information.

From Mrs. A. or B.

Only some simple queries

Passed on from tongue to tongue,
Though the ever growing series
Has out of nothing sprung.

Only a faint suggestion,

Only a doubtful hint,

Only a leading question,

With a special tone or tint.

Only a low "I wonder!"
Nothing unfair at all:

But the whisper grows to thunder,
And a scathing bolt may fall.
And a good ship is dismasted,
And hearts are like to break,

And a Christian life is blasted,

For a scarcely guessed mistake!

F.R.H.

THE SPLENDOUR OF GOD'S WILL.

IN the freshness of the springtime,

In the beauty of the May,

When the swift-winged breezes carolled,

And the lambs were all at play,

And the birds were blithe and busy,

Upon her couch she lay,