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The men on business all intent,

And many hours I spent in weary toil, The dames lugubrious as they're able ;

Mid burning suns and storms of childish tears,

To root the weed from out my garden's soil,
The sterner souls would get more stern,

Which to the tiller's eye so vile appears.
Unfeeling natures more inhuman,
And man to stoic coldness turn,

Yet day by day my care seem'd all for nought ;
And woman would be less than woman.

In despite of my toil still grew the weeds;

And the free soil for which my hand had sought Life's song, indeed, would lose its charm,

Nowhere I found to plant the goodly seeds. Were there no babies to begin it;

A kindly neighbour saw me o'er the wall, A doleful place this world would be,

And ask'd me why I toild so long for nought ; Were there no little people in it.

'For thus,' he said, 'thou wilt not work their fall,

Nor gain the end for which thou long hast wrought. 439. CHILDREN. Death and the

• Put in thy plough, then plant the clover seeds, THERE is a Reaper, whose name is Death,

And mark me if I speak thee not the truth : And, with his sickle keen,

The seeds will grow and choke the hateful weeds He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,

To which thy tireless hand hath shown no ruth.' And the flowers that grow between.

Ah, kindly neighbour, o'er the garden wall, Shall I have nought that is fair?' saith he; Thou'st taught me what I had much need to • Have nought but the bearded grain ?

know, Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, | To fret not at the weeds which grow so tall, I will give them all back again.'

But haste with liberal hand my seed to sow. He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes,

I sought the heart-soil of my little child, He kiss'd their drooping leaves;

No longer now to rudely pull the weeds ; It was for the Lord of Paradise

With God's own truth I plough'd the fruitless wild, He bound them in his sheaves.

In faith and love I thickly sow'd the seeds.

And now my garden yields me fragrance sweet ; My Lord hath need of these flowrets gay,'

From laden boughs I pluck the golden fruit ; The Reaper said, and smiled;

My sickle now may find a harvest meet, ‘Dear tokens of the earth are they, Where He was once a child.

There scattering weeds find scarcely space for root.

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*They shall all bloom in fields of light,

Transplanted by my care ;
And saints upon their garments white

These sacred blossoms wear.'

And the mother gave, in tears and pain,

The flowers she most did love ;
She knew she should find them all again

In the fields of light above.

Oh, not in cruelty, not in wrath,

The Reaper came that day ; 'Twas an angel visited the green earth,

And took the flowers away.-- Longfellow.

"God lent him and takes him,' you sigh ;

Nay, there let me break with your pain :
God's gen'rous in giving, say I,
And the thing which He gives, I deny

That He ever can take back again.
He is ours and for ever! Believe,

O father! O mother! look back
To the first love's assurance! To give
Means with God, not to tempt or deceive

With a cup thrust in Benjamin's sack.
He gives what He gives. Be content !

He resumes nothing given, be sure !
God lend? Where the usurers lent.
In His temple, indignant He went

And scourged away all those impure.
He lends not, but gives to the end,

As He loves to the end! If it seem
That He draws back a gift, comprehend
'Tis to add to it rather, amend,

And finish it up to your dream,

440. CHILDREN : how they are to be trained. When the father is too fondly kind, Such seed he sows, such harvest shall he find.

Dryden. I had a garden and a little child,

And in them both there grew so many weeds, So very rank and tall they grew, and wild,

I saw no place to plant the goodly seeds.

444. CHILDREN. Thankless

How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is,
To have a thankless child.-Shakespeare.

Or keep, as a mother will toys

Too costly, though given by herself, Till the room shall be stiller from noise, And the children more fit for such joys,

Kept over their heads on the shelf. So look up, friends! You, who indeed

Have possess'd in your house a sweet piece Of the heaven which men strive for, must need Be more earnest than others are: speed

Where they loiter, persist when they cease.

You know how one angel smiles there :

Then weep not. 'Tis easy for you
To be drawn by a single gold hair
Of that curl, from earth's storm and despair,
To the safe place above us. Adieu !

E. B. Browning.

445. CHILDREN: their death not to be deplored. A BUTTERFLY bask'd on an infant's grave

Where a lily had chanced to grow; • Why art thou here with thy gaudy dye? Where she of the bright and sparkling eye

Must sleep in the church-yard low.' Then it lightly soar'd through the sunny air,

And spoke from its shining track : 'I was a worm till I won my wings, And she whom thou mourn'st, like a seraph sings ; Wouldst thou call the blest one back?'

Mrs Sigourney. 446. CHILDREN : their griefs.

The tear down childhood's cheek that flows
Is like the dew-drop on the rose ;
When next the summer breeze comes by,
And waves the bush, the flower is dry.--Scott.

442. CHILDREN. Pleasure of

AH! what would the world be to us

If the children were no more? We should dread the desert behind us

Worse than the dark before.

What the leaves are to the forest,

With light and air for food, Ere their sweet and tender juices

Have been harden'd into wood, That to the world are children;

Through them it feels the glow Of a brighter and sunnier climate

Than reaches the trunks below. Come to me, O ye children !

And whisper in my ear What the birds and the winds are singing

In your sunny atmosphere.

For what are all our contrivings,

And the wisdom of our books, When compared with your caresses,

And the gladness of your looks?

447. CHILDREN : their hopes. SELF-FLATTER’D, unexperienced, high in hope, When young, with sanguine cheer, and streamers gay, We cut our cable, launch into the world, And fondly dream each wind and star our friend.

Young 448. CHILDREN. Trust of Now I lay me'-say it, darling;

Lay me,' lisp'd the tiny lips
Of my daughter, kneeling, bending

O'er her folded finger-tips.
*Down to sleep '--'to sleep,' she murmur'd,

And the curly head droop'd low ;
'I pray the Lord,' I gently added,

You can say it all, I know.'
• Pray the Lord'—the words came faintly,

Fainter still-My soul to keep,'
Then the tired head fairly nodded,

And the child was fast asleep.
But the dewy eyes half open'd

When I clasp'd her to my breast,
And the dear voice softly whisper'd,

Mamma, God knows all the rest.'
Oh, the trusting, sweet confiding

Of the child-heart! Would that I
Thus might trust my Heavenly Father,

He who hears my feeblest cry.

Ye are better than all the ballads

That ever were sung or said; For ye are living poems,

And all the rest are dead.- Longfellow.

443. CHILDREN. Teaching

DELIGHTFUL task! to rear the tender thought,
To teach the young idea how to shoot,
To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind,
To breathe the enlivening spirit, and to fix
The generous purpose in the glowing breast.


449. CHILDREN : why Christ takes them. The flock stood waiting by the rapid river,

And would not cross,
Although the shepherd kindly call’d them thither,

And banks of moss,
And fields of green, and verdant hills surrounded

The further shore ;
The danger still their narrow vision bounded

Of crossing o'er.
He stretch'd his kindly arms, and gently call'd them-

They would not heed ;
The deep, broad river's rapid stream appall'd them,

Though pleasant mead
And mountain fair beyond the darkling river

Rose to their view,
And in the distance, bright, unfading ever,

Were pastures new
The shepherd took a lamb, and safely bore it,

Within his arms
To where the pastures brightly gleam'd before it,

And all alarms
Were hush'd. The mother heard its voice of pleading,

And, crossing o'er,
The flock behind her follow'd in her leading,

Unto the shore.
O stricken hearts, all torn with grief and bleeding,

A Saviour's voice
Ye would not hear, nor follow in His leading

Of your own choice.

And young souls meekly striving

To walk in holy ways.
And the e shall be the treasures

We offer to the King;
And these are gifts that even

The poorest child may bring.
We'll brirg the little duties

We have to do each day ; We'll try our best to please Him

At home, at school, at play.
And better are these treasures

To offer to our King
Than richest gifts without them;

Yet these a child may bring.
Now glory to the Father,

And glory ever be
To Christ, the loving Saviour,

Who lived, a child, like me ;
And glory to the Spirit :

O Three in One-our KingAccept, 'mid angels' praises,

The praise a child may bring.-C. A.

So He takes your lambs into His safe keeping,

'That eyes all dim And dark with sorrow's clouds, and sad with weeping,

May look to Him,
And see beyond the darkly rolling river,

Those gone before,
And to the fields with verdure green for ever

Cross safely o'er.-E. N. Gunniron.

451. CHIVALRY. 'Tis said “The age of chivalry is past, That man's nobility is waning fast, That hearts have colder grown, and much more tame, That they regard not love, nor noble fame.' But these are puny critics ! vain and weak! Who think not, care not, only that they speak And the world hear them, and that shallow men Shall echo their weak sentiments again. For 'tis not so ! with each revolving age Man's custom changes, and on history's page 'Tis so recorded, and if man not now Go cased in steel with helmet on his brow, And wear a ribbon from his lady fair, And joust in tournament at court and fair, 'Tis not that he is weaker, or less brave, Less of the courtier, or more of the knave, Less true in love, less noble in his mind, Less strong of will, less of the man, mankind, Less warlike when aroused by taunt or wrong. Still the same creature ; noble, true, and strong; Temper'd by wisdom he has milder grownLearn'd of control what was to them unknown. They strove with others on the bloody field, Bravely and well--at death alone would yield ; We with ourselves must struggle, and the strife Long is and bitter, ending but with life; But if we win, ours is the nobler fame, Better than earthly titles, land, or nameRest, peace, and happiness with God above, In that fair land where all is light and love.


The wise may bring their learning,

The rich may bring their wealth,
And some may bring their greatness,

And some bring strength and health.
We, too, would bring our treasures

To offer to the King;
We have no wealth or learning-

What shall we children bring?
We'll bring Him hearts that love Him;

We'll bring Him thankful praise,

452. CHOICE.

To make my earthly bliss complete,
Than oft my Lord unseen to meet ;
For sight I wait till tread my feet

Yon glistering shore.
Alone with Thee! alone with Thee !

There not alone, But with all saints, the mighty throng, My soul unfetter'd, pure, and strong, Her high communings shall prolong

Before Thy throne. -Ray Palmer.

454. CHRIST. Clinging to

A WISE man likes that best, that is itself ;
Not that which only seems, though it look fairer.

So much to win, so much to lose,
No marvel that I fear to choose.—Miss Landon.
Think not too meanly of thy low estate ;
Thou hast a choice; to choose is to create !
Remember whose the sacred lips that tell,
Angels approve thee, when thy choice is well ;
Remember, One, a judge of righteous men,
Swore to spare Sodom, if she held but ten!
Use well the freedom which thy Master gave,
(Think'st thou that Heaven can tolerate a slave ?)
And He who made thee to be just and true
Will bless thee, love thee,-ay, respect thee too !

Holmes. 453. CHRIST. Alone with ALONE with Thee! alone with Thee !

O Friend Divine !
Thou Friend of friends, to me most dear,
Though all unseen, I feel Thee near; .
And, with the love that knows no fear,

I call Thee mine.
Alone with Thee ! alone with Thee !

Now through my breast
There steals a breath like breath of balm
That healing brings and holy calm,
That soothes like chanted song or psalm,

And makes me blest.

O Holy Saviour, Friend unseen,
Since on Thine arm Thou bid'st me lean,
Help me throughout life's varying scene

By faith to cling to Thee.
Blest with this fellowship Divine,
Take what Thou wilt, I'll ne'er repine ;
E'en as the branches to the vine,

My soul would cling to Thee.

Far from her home, fatigued, oppressid, Here she has found her place of rest; An exile still, yet not unbless'd,

While she can cling to Thee.

Without a murmur I dismiss
My former dreams of earthly bliss;
My joy, my consolation this,

Each hour to cling to Thee.

Alone with Thee! alone with thee!

Thy grace more sweet Than music in the twilight still, Than airs that groves of spices fill, More fresh than dews on Hermon's hill,

My soul doth greet.

What though the world unfaithful prove, And earthly friends and joys remove; With sure and certain hope of love,

Still would I cling to Thee.

Oft when I seem to tread alone
Some barren waste, with thorns o'ergrown,
Thy voice of love, in gentle tone,

Whispers 'Still cling to Me.'
Though faith and hope may oft be tried,
I ask not, need not aught beside :
How safe, how calm, how satisfied,

The soul that clings to Thee !

Alone with Thee ! alone with Thee !

In Thy pure light
The splendid pomps and shows of time,
The tempting steeps that pride would climb,
The peaks where glory rests sublime,

Pale on my sight.
Alone with Thee ! alone with Thee!

My soften'd heart
Floats on the flood of love Divine,
Feels all its wishes drown'd in Thine,
Content that every good is mine

Thou canst impart.
Alone with Thee! alone with Thee !

I want no more

They fear not Satan, nor the grave, They feel Thee near and strong to save ; Nor dread to cross e'en Jordan's wave,

Because they cling to Thee. Bless'd is my lot, whate'er befall ; What can disturb me, who appal, While as my Strength, my Rock, my All,

Saviour, I cling to Thee.-Elliott.

455. CHRIST. Confessing
To tell the Saviour all my wants,

How pleasing is the task !
Nor less to praise Him when He grants

Beyond what I can ask.
My labouring spirit vainly seeks

To tell but half the joy ;
With how much tenderness He speaks,

And helps me to reply.
Nor were it wise, nor should I choose,

Such secrets to declare :
Like precious wines, their tastes they lose,

Exposed to open air.
But this with boldness I proclaim,

Nor care if thousands hear,—
Sweet is the ointment of His name ;

Nor life is half so dear.
And can you frown, my former friends,

Who knew what once I was,
And blame the song that thus commends

The Man who bore the cross ?
Trust me, I draw the likeness true,

And not as fancy paints ;
Such honour may He give to you !

For such have all His saints. -Cowper.

And for whom hath He contended

In a strife so strange and new ? And for whom to hell descended ?

Brothers ! 'twas for me and you !
Now you see that He was reaping

Punishment for us alone;
And we have great cause for weeping,

Not for His guilt, but our own.
If we then make full confession

Join'd with penitence and prayer,
If we see our own transgression

In the punishment He bare,
If we mourn with true repentance,

We shall hear the Saviour say,
'Fear not : I have borne your sentence;
Wipe your bitter tears away.'

Spitta, tr. by Massie.

456. CHRIST: for whom He suffered.

WHEREFORE weep we over Jesus,

O'er His death and bitter smart? Weep we rather that He sees us

Unconvinced and hard of heart; For His soul was never tainted

With the smallest spot or stain : 'Twas for us He was acquainted

With such depths of grief and pain. Oh! what profits it with groaning

Underneath His cross to stand ? Oh! what profits our bemoaning

His pale brow and bleeding hand ? Wherefore gaze on Him expiring,

Rail'd at, pierced, and crucified, Whilst we think not of inquiring,

Wherefore, and for whom He died ?

457. CHRIST : for whom He suffered.

O HEAD, so full of bruises !
Brow, that its life-blood loses !

O great humility !
Across His face are flying
The shadows of the dying :

'Twas suffer'd all for me!
O back, by scourges ploughèd !
O soul, by sorrow bowed

Upon the accursed tree !
He hears the bitter scorning;
'Tis night, without a dawning :

'Twas suffer'd all for me!
Eye, that in darkness sinketh ?
Lip, that the red cup drinketh !

Hands, bound to misery !
See, from His feet forth streameth
The fountain that redeemeth !

'Twas suffer'd all for me!
And now He speaks : oh hearken,
While clouds all nature darken !

*Lama Sabacthani !'
His head is bent, and droopeth,
To such a death He stoopeth !

'Twas suffer'd all for me!-Stammers.

If no sin could be discover'd

In the pure and spotless Lord, If the cruel death He suffer'd

Is sin's just and meet reward : Then it must have been for others

That the Lord on Calvary bled, And the guilt have been a brother's,

Which was laid upon His head.

458. CHRIST: His death.

O'ERWHELM'd in depths of woe,

Upon the tree of scorn,
Hangs the Redeemer of mankind,

With racking anguish torn.
See! how the nails those hands

And feet so tender rend!
See ! down His face, and neck, and breast,

His sacred blood descend.

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