I HATE that drum's discordant sound,
Parading round, and round, and round:
To thoughtless youth it pleasure yields,
And lures from cities and from fields,
To sell their liberty for charms
Of tawdry lace and glittering arms,
And, when ambition's voice commands,

To march, and fight, and fall in foreign lands.

I hate that drum's discordant sound,
Parading round, and round, and round:
To me it talks of ravaged plains,
And burning towns, and ruin'd swains,
And mangled limbs, and dying groans,
And widows' tears, and orphans' moans,
And all that misery's hand bestows,
To fill the catalogue of human woes.

John Scott.

The tumult of each sack'd and burning village, The shout that every prayer for mercy drowns, The soldier's revels in the midst of pillage,

The wail of famine in beleaguer'd towns;

The bursting shell, the gateway wrench'd asunder,
The rattling musketry, the clashing blade,
And ever and anon, in tones of thunder,
The diapason of the cannonade.

Is it, O man, with such discordant noises,
With such accursed instruments as these,

SHALL we grow weary in our watch,

And murmur at the long delay, Impatient of our Father's time, And His appointed way?

Alas! a deeper test of faith,

Than prison cell or martyr's stake,

The self-abasing watchfulness

Of silent prayer may make ! We gird us bravely to rebuke

Our erring brother in the wrong; And in the ear of pride and power Our warning voice is strong.

Easier to smite with Peter's sword,

Than 'watch one hour' in humbling prayer: Life's 'great things,' like the Syrian lord,

Our hearts can do and dare.

But, oh! we shrink from Jordan's side-
From waters which alone can save,
And murmur for Abana's banks,
And Pharpar's brighter wave!

O Thou who in the garden's shade
Didst wake Thy weary ones again,
Who slumber'd at that fearful hour,
Forgetful of Thy pain-

Bend o'er us now, as over them,

And set our sleep-bound spirits free; Nor leave us slumbering in the watch

Our souls should keep with Thee !- Whittier.

O watch and pray! for thou hast foes to fight,

Foes which alone thou canst not overcome; Watching and prayer will keep thine armour bright, Soon will thy toils be o'er, thy victory won. O watch and pray! the Judge is at the door, Before His flaming bar thou soon must stand; O watch! and keep thy garments spotless pure, And thou shalt then be found at His right hand.

3481. WATCHFULNESS. Need of

WATCH, for the time is short;

Watch, while 'tis call'd to-day; Watch, lest temptations overcome; Watch, Christian, watch and pray! Watch, for the flesh is weak;

Watch, for the foe is strong;

Watch, lest the Bridegroom knock in vain ; Watch, though He tarry long!

Chase slumber from thine eyes;

Chase doubting from thy breast;

Thine is the promised prize

Of heaven's eternal rest.
Watch, Christian, watch and pray;

Thy Saviour watch'd for thee,

Till from His brow the blood-sweat pour'd, Great drops of agony.

Take Jesus for thy trust;

Watch, watch for evermore; Watch, for thou soon must sleep With thousands gone before. Now, when thy sun is up,

Now, while 'tis call'd to-day, O now, in thine accepted time,

Watch, Christian, watch and pray!

3482. WEAK. Comfort for the

AND sometimes in my house of grief
For moments, I have come to stand
Where, in the sorrows on me laid,

I felt the chastening of God's hand;
Then learn'd I that the weakest ones

Are kept securest from life's harms;
And that the tender lambs alone

Are carried in the shepherd's arms.
Phabe Carry.

3483. WEAKNESS: no excuse for idleness.
WHAT if the little rain should say,
So small a drop as I

Can ne'er refresh those thirsty fields;

I'll tarry in the sky'?

What if a shining beam of noon
Should in its fountain stay,
Because its feeble light alone
Cannot create a day?

Doth not each raindrop help to form
The cool, refreshing shower;
And every ray of light to warm
And beautify the flower?

UNTO a singer at the city gates

An angel from the courts of Heaven sped. 'Long hast thou quarrell'd with the cruel fates,' With winning voice the pitying angel said.

'Go prove thy heart with riches and renown. Thou hast them both?' The angel disappear'd. Bewilder'd then the singer sought the town.

Men lowly bow'd to him as one they fear'd.
There at the gates, where he was wont to sing,

The angel's words had made the singer king!
With riches and renown the singer sweet
Stood at his window, looking down the street.
Rich purple vestments on his person hung,
While at the gates another singer sung.

With tearful eyes unto the king the bard

Look'd up for alms; but all in vain he pled. Sing those who must. Let those who may reward. The world is wide,' the haughty monarch said. Then, as the singer sadly left the place, Too late, he recognized the angel's face!

L. C. Strong.

3489. WEALTH. Household
THANK God for little children:
When our skies are cold and grey,
They fling a sunshine o'er our hearts,
And charm our cares away.

'BE not weary,' toiling Christian,

Good the Master thou dost serve;
Let no disappointment move thee,
From thy service never swerve:
Sow in hope, nor cease thy sowing;
Lack not patience, faith, or prayer;
Seed-time passeth,-harvest hasteneth,—
Precious sheaves thou then shalt bear.

'Be not weary,' praying Christian,
Open is thy Father's ear
To the fervent supplication,

And the agonizing prayer :
Prayer the Holy Ghost begetteth,

Be it words, or groans, or tears,
Is the prayer that's always answer'd;
Banish then thy doubts and fears.

'Be not weary,' suffering Christian, Scourged is each adopted child, Else would grow, in sad profusion,

Nature's fruit, perverse and wild; Chastening's needful for the spirit,

Though 'tis painful for the flesh; God designs a blessing for thee;

Let this thought thy soul refresh.

'Be not weary,' tempted Christian, Sin can only lure on earth; Faith is tried by sore temptation; 'Tis the furnace proves its worth : Bounds are set unto the tempter,

Which beyond he cannot go; Battle on, on God relying,

Faith will overcome the foe.

'Be not weary,' weeping Christian, Tears endure but for the night, Joy, deep joy thy spirit greeting,

Will return with morning's light: Every tear thou shedd'st is number'd

In the register above;

Heaven is tearless, sweet the prospect,― Sighless, tearless land of love!

3492. WEARY. Invitation to the

POOR worldling! stay thy vain pursuit of peace
In empty vanities: no good can live

In all the gilded charms that mock thee: cease
Thy hold on these; loose every cord, and hear
The voice of God: 'Come, ye that weary are!
Ye heavy-laden, come, and I will give
You rest.' O, heed that call! in holy fear,
In deep humility, bow down: the star

Of hope shall rise, and joy shall speak thy soul's release.—Shepard.

3493. WEEPING.

THERE was a time

her cries and sorrows

Were not despised; when, if she chanced to sigh,

Or but look sad, a friend or parent
Would have ta'en her in his arms,
Eased her declining head upon his breast,
And never left her till he found the cause:
But now, let her weep seas,

Cry till she rend the earth, sigh till she burst
Her heart asunder, she is disregarded.—Otway.

Thus weeping urges weeping on;
In vain our miseries hope relief;

For one drop calls another down,

Till we are drown'd in seas of grief.

Then let these useless streams be staid, Wear native courage in your face: These vulgar things were never made

For souls of a superior race.-Watts.

I weep, but not rebellious tears;

I mourn, but not in hopeless woe;
I droop, but not with doubtful fears;
For whom I've trusted, Him I know.
Lord, I believe; assuage my grief,
And help, oh! help my unbelief.

My days of youth and health are o'er;
My early friends are dead and gone;
And there are times it tries me sore
To think I'm left on earth alone.
But yet Faith whispers, "'Tis not so:
He will not leave, nor let thee go.'
Caroline Anne Southey.

Weep not for him that dieth;

For he sleeps and is at rest, And the couch whereon he lieth

Is the green earth's quiet breast: But weep for him who pineth

On a far land's hateful shore, Who wearily declineth,

Where ye see his face no more!

Weep not for him that dieth;

For friends are round his bed, And many a young lip sigheth When they name the early dead: But weep for him that liveth

Where none will know or care, When the groan his faint heart giveth Is the last sigh of despair.—Mrs Norton.

Oh, weep not for the dead!
Rather, oh, rather give the tear
To those who darkly linger here,
When all besides are fled :
Weep for the spirit withering
In its cold, cheerless sorrowing;
Weep for the young and lovely one
That ruin darkly revels on ;

But never be a tear-drop shed

For them, the pure enfranchised dead.
Mary E. Brooks.

3494. WICKEDNESS.

WHAT rein can hold licentious wickedness
When down the hill he holds his fierce career?
Shakespeare.

The wicked with anxiety of mind
Shall pine away, in sighs consume their breath.
Sandys.