How hearts, whose echoes silent long, no words of terror move,

May answer from their inmost depths to the soft call of love.

O mighty love of Jesus! what wonders thou hast wrought!

What victories thou yet shalt gain, surpassing human

thought!

Let Faith and Hope speed forward unto earth's remotest bound,

Till every tribe and nation shall have heard the joyful sound!-H. L. L.

2361. LOVE. Offering of

SHE brought her box of alabaster;

The precious spikenard fill'd the room With honour worthy of the Master,

A costly, rare, and rich perfume.

Her tears for sin fell hot and thickly

On His dear feet, outstretch'd and bare; Unconscious how, she wiped them quickly With the long ringlets of her hair.

And richly fall those raven tresses

Adown her cheek, like willow-leaves,

As stooping still, with fond caresses,
She plies her task of love, and grieves.

Oh may we thus, like loving Mary,

Ever our choicest offerings bring, Nor grudging of our toil, nor chary Of costly service to our King! Methinks I hear from Christian lowly

Some hallow'd voice at evening rise, Or quiet morn, or in the holy,

Unclouded calm of Sabbath skies,—

I bring my box of alabaster,

Of earthly loves I break the shrine, And pour affections, purer, vaster,

On that dear head, those feet of Thine.

The joys I prized, the hopes I cherish'd,
The fairest flowers my fancy wove,
Behold my fondest idols perish'd;
Receive the incense of my love!
What though the scornful world, deriding
Such waste of love, of service, fears?
Still let me pour, through taunt and chiding,
The rich libation of my tears.

I bring my box of alabaster ;

Accepted let the offering rise!

So grateful tears shall flow the faster,

In founts of gladness from mine eyes!

C. L. Ford.

2362. LOVE. Prayer for

HAST Thou not bid us love Thee, God and King? All, all Thine own, soul, heart, and strength, and mind;

I see Thy cross,-there teach my heart to cling! Oh let me seek Thee, and oh let me find!

Teach me to feel that Thou art always nigh;
Teach me the struggles of the soul to bear,
To check the rising doubt, the rebel sigh;
Teach me the patience of unanswer'd prayer.
Teach me to love Thee as Thine angels love,
One holy passion filling all my frame;
The baptism of the heaven-descended Dove,
My heart an altar, and Thy love the flame!
Croly.

Oh, love me, Lord! The way is hard,
The shadows gather fast;

To right and left the landmarks lean, —
I cry to Thee at last!

Oh, love me, Lord! If love Thou wilt,-
Ah me! why must I doubt?

I feel Thy mighty tenderness
Enfold the world about.

I read Thy Word, with eager sense

See Thee around, above,

Yet dare not think so poor a thing

As I can have Thy love.

Oh, take me, Lord! Teach me to be Thy child in simple trust,

In daily walk to serve Thee well

Till dust return to dust.

Till dust return to dust, dear Lord,
Till soul shall speed to Thee, -
Oh, love me, love me, love me, Lord!
Now and eternally.-Mary Mapes Dodge.

2363. LOVE. Redeeming

LOVE strong as death, nay stronger,
Love mightier than the grave;
Broad as the earth, and longer

Than ocean's widest wave.
This is the love that sought us,
This is the love that bought us,
This is the love that brought us
To gladdest day from saddest night,
From deepest shame to glory bright,
From depths of death to life's fair height,
From darkness to the joy of light.-Bonar.

TRUE Love is but a humble, low-born thing,
And hath its food served up in earthenware;
It is a thing to walk with hand in hand,
Through the every-dayness of this work-day world,
Baring its tender feet to every roughness,
Yet letting not one heart-beat go astray
From Beauty's law of plainness and content;
A simple, fireside thing, whose quiet smile
Can warm earth's poorest hovel to a home :
Which, when our autumn cometh, as it must,
And life in the chill wind shivers bare and leafless,
Shall still be blest with Indian summer youth
In bleak November, and, with thankful heart,
Smile on its ample stores of garner'd fruit,
As full of sunshine to our aged eyes

As when it nursed the blossoms of our spring.
Such is true love, which steals into the heart
With feet as silent as the lightsome dawn
That kisses smooth the rough brows of the dark,
And hath its will through blissful gentleness-
Not like a rocket, which, with savage glare,
Whirrs suddenly up, then bursts, and leaves the night
Painfully quivering on the dazed eyes;
A love that gives and takes, that seeth faults,
Not with flaw-seeking eyes like needle points,
But loving-kindly ever looks them down
With the o'ercoming faith of meek forgiveness;
A love that shall be new and fresh each hour,

As is the golden mystery of sunset,
Or the sweet coming of the evening star,
Alike, and yet most unlike, every day,
And seeming ever best and fairest now;
A love that doth not kneel for what it seeks,
But faces Truth and Beauty as their peer,
Showing its worthiness of noble thoughts
By a clear sense of inward nobleness;
A love that in its object findeth not
All grace and beauty, and enough to sate
Its thirst of blessing, but, in all of good
Found there, it sees but Heaven-granted types
Of good and beauty in the soul of men,

And traces, in the simplest heart that beats,

A family likeness to its chosen one,

That claims of it the rights of brotherhood.-Lowell.

One and the same, proceedeth first from weighing,
And well examining what is fair and good:
Then what is like in reason, fit in manners;
That breeds good will; and good will desire of union:

So knowledge first begets benevolence,

Benevolence breeds friendship; friendship love;
And where it starts, or steps aside from this,

It is a mere degenerate appetite,

A lost oblique, depraved affection;

And bears no mark, or character of love.-Jonson.

She that would raise a noble love must find
Ways to beget a passion for her mind;

She must be that which she to the world would seem,
For all true love is grounded on esteem:
Plainness and truth gain more a generous heart
Than all the crooked subtleties of art.

Duke of Buckingham.

These outward beauties are but the props and scaffolds

On which we build our love, which, now made perfect,

Stands without those supports.-Denham.

Ill-grounded passions quickly wear away;

What's built upon esteem can ne'er decay.-Walsh.

For gold his sword the hireling ruffian draws,
For gold the hireling judge distorts the laws;
Wealth, heap'd on wealth, nor truth nor safety buys,
The dangers gather as the treasures rise. -Johnson,

2374. MAMMON. Enslavement of

NOR riches boast superior worth,
Their charms at best superior Earth :
These oft the heaven-born mind enslave,
And make an honest man a knave.
'Wealth cures my wants,' the miser cries.
Be not deceived, the miser lies:

One want he has, with all his store,

That worst of wants, the want of more.-Cotton.

2375. MAN. Bliss of

THE bliss of man (could pride that blessing find)
Is not to act or think beyond mankind;
No powers of body or of soul to share,
But what his nature and his state can bear.-Pope.

2376. MAN: Contrasts of his nature.

CHAOS of thought and passion, all confused;
Still by himself abused or disabused;
Created half to rise, and half to fall;
Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all;
Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurl'd;
The glory, jest, and riddle of the world.-Pope.

How poor, how rich, how abject, how august,
How complicate, how wonderful, is man!
How passing wonder He who made him such!
Who centred in our make such strange extremes,
From different natures marvellously mix'd,
Connection exquisite of distant worlds!
Distinguish'd link in being's endless chain!
Midway from nothing to the Deity!
A beam ethereal, sullied, and absorpt!
Though sullied and dishonour'd, still divine!
Dim miniature of greatness absolute !
An heir of glory! a frail child of dust!
Helpless immortal! insect infinite!

A worm! a God !---I tremble at myself,
And in myself am lost. At home, a stranger,
Thought wanders up and down, surprised, aghast,
And wondering at her own. How reason reels!
Oh, what a miracle to man is man!
Triumphantly distress'd! What joy! what dread!
Alternately transported and alarm'd !
What can preserve my life? or what destroy?
An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave;
Legions of angels can't confine me there.-Young.