Oh Thou who reigns't above Where countless squadrons of bright angels stand, Teach us to wear Thine armour, seek Thy love, And call us home at last to join thy heavenly band. ANNIE WHITE. THOUGHTS FOR BIRTHDAYS. Another station on time's gliding railway, And now, anticipation's eager glances, The present age is full of noise and action; And meditation, through our rapid transit, Yet are there seasons when the troubled waters Touched for a moment by the rod of wisdom, And o'er the opened pathway of the spirit, Then earthly gain compared with life eternal, Then holy vows are breathed forth at the altar And hopes grow pure and bright, as stars that glisten, Let such be our experience, as we welcome Each new-born year; Let worldly mists before truth's radiant sunbeam And the wide-spread expanse of God's rich goodness Arrest our gaze; And songs, expressive of the soul's emotion, Resound His praise! No magic glass have we which brings the future But mighty faith the confidence sustains Joy may light up our coming path; or sorrow O God of love! all-wise are thy decrees― Thy will be done! London. H. M. W. "GOOD NIGHT, MAMMA ! ” [A little girl, two years of age, died after a very short illness. When her eyes began to grow dim with death, she evidently fancied that it was night and she was going to sleep; and she departed with her customary "Good Night, Mamma!" many times repeated, trembling on her lips.] "GOOD night, mamma, good night!" Sweet little prattler! with what thrilling power "Good night, mamma, good night!" Thick shades had gathered o'er thy soft blue eye, The unexpected call so sweet and low, "Good night, mamma, good night!" Yes, precious child! thou dost in Jesus sleep, No more wilt thou be weary or distrest:— "Good night, mamma, good night!" London. H. M. W. "THE PIOUS DEAD." BLESS'D are the dead who die Believing on the Lord, They from their labors rest, No more beset by sin, Tempted and tried no more, Their conflict now is o'er. They fought the fight of faith, While pilgrims here below They had their doubts and fears, And Providence obscure; They serve him day and night, No foe invades their peace, Islington. Faith now is lost in sight, While all their wondrous powers O pleasing thought, that friends Such blessedness to leave. But looking down on us "Come, come up hither," cry. Incline our hearts, O Lord, We, with them, may rejoice. A. A. DIXEY. HYMN. LORD, from highest heaven bending- Sinful, mortal, dust and ashes, But thy Cross-a mercy-token- On the sinner's Saviour call; S. X. |