Henceforth, and never shall my harp thy praise Forget, nor from thy Father's praise disjoin.

JESUS.

MRS. LIVERMORE.

Angels trod the starry arches,

Vaulted o'er the slumbering world, With their shining robes up-gathered, And their stainless pinions furled, Thrilling with their wond'rous music, All the hushed and listening air, And the blissful tidings chanting,

Pure as God whose suffrage chose him
To illume the world with truth;
Holy as the new-born angel,

When in Heaven begins its youth;
With a heart attuned so finely,

All its chords so nicely strung,
That the faintest touch of sorrow,
Thence a deep compassion wrung;

With a soul where every virtue,
As in constellation beamed,
With a love that ever gushing,
Into all his actions streamed,
Jesus gauged the dark abysses
Where abode the foulest sin,
And he fathomed depths the lowest,
Where the sinning had plunged in.

Oh, how deep his heart's affections,
As he spake those words of peace,
Which brought weakness to his shelter,
And the mourner's tears could cease!
Oh, how strong and how o'ermastering,
Was his bosom's secret grief,
When he saw the world in madness,
Thrusting back its sole relief!
To his heart of God-like largeness
None an answering throb could send,
None the sympathy could render
He was ever prompt to lend ;
Man could follow in his pathway,
In his tracks of joy and life,
But alone he chased the darkness,

Those he loved with tender yearning,

Whom he fondly chose his own,

Who exaled his best affections,

Left him e'en to die alone!

He, the mate of tallest angels,

Who might wear the crown of God,

Was by all he loved forsaken,

And alone, the grave he trod.

What if, then, ye lofty spirits,

Ye of high and holy heart,
Who to be the world's Messiah,
Are by nature set apart―
What if, lone, betrayed, forsaken,

Ye must pass through mortal life?
Jesus trod that path before you,
God-upholden in the strife.

Joy for sorrow, truth for falsehood,

And for hatred, give ye love;
For mankind endure and suffer,

And your Christ-like mission prove;
And though to your heart's pulsations,
Not an answering beat be given,
Yet, press on, with steps untiring,
To the open gates of Heaven.

SPIRIT OF JESUS.

GASKELL.

O, not to crush with abject fear
The burdened soul of man,
Did Jesus on the earth appear,

And open Heaven's high plan:
He came to bid him find repose,
And God his Father know;
And thus with love to raise up those
That once were bowed low.

O, not in coldness, nor in pride
His holy path he trod;
'Twas his delight to turn aside
And win the lost to God;
And unto sorrowing guilt disclose

The fount whence peace should flow;

And thus with love to raise up those
That once were bowed low.

O, not with cold, unfeeling eye
Did he the suffering view;
Not on the other side pass by,

And deem their tears untrue;
'Twas joy to him to heal their woes,

And Heaven's sweet refuge show;
And thus with love to raise up those
That once were bowed low.

LOVE-JOY.

GEORGE HERBERT

As on a window late I cast mine eye,
I saw a vine drop grapes, with J and C.
Annealed on every branch. One standing by
Asked what it meant. I, who am never loath
To spend my judgment, said, it seems to me
To be the body and the letters both

Of Joy and Charity. "Sir, you have not missed."
The man replied "It figures Jesus Christ."

CHRIST'S LOVE,-OUR EXAMPLE.

BULFINCH.

Spirit of love that shrined in Jesus shone,

As shone God's presence o'er the hallowed ark, Thou glorifiest all thou beamest on,

Robing in beauty what was cold and dark ; And as from one bright fire full many a spark Floats on the air, and kindling where it falls, New light and warmth from all around it calls,

While awe-struck crowds its course resistless mark;

So, thou, supreme in loveliness and might,

By Jesus brought on earth, from heart to heart,

Rapidly passing, fillest all with light

And warmth, and holiness; nor dost depart,

But rising with undying flame above,

Point to the throne of Him whose holiest name is Love.

THE WIDOW'S MITE.

BY ANN MAYLEN.

In the courts of the temple to numbers unknown,
Mid circling beholders the Saviour sat down;
With eye all serene on the multitude lent,

He marked where its throng to the treasury went.

The rich with their gold and their silver came up,
And cast in their tributes to charity's cup:
With looks too complacent in gifts of much worth,
They sought for the praise of their brethren on earth.

Then passed by a lone one, neglected and poor,
Mean, worn her apparel, as scanty her store;
All timid and trembling she dropped in her mite,
And blushed at the offering, and hastened from sight.

But He who sat by marked that boon as 't was given,
And smiled on its donor, approval from heaven.
Then what were to her the high looks of the proud,
Or her loneliness there in that cold heartless crowd.

See, here is the giver whose offering is blest!
More precious by far than the gold of the rest!
For they of their careless abundance cast in,
Their breasts coldly heaving with pride and with sin.

But she this small pittance, her all, hath bestowed
With a heart full of love, as a tribute to God!
He blesses the effort, he notes it on high;
Her witness and record are both in the sky.