"While many sympathising hearts Thou, in Thy wiser, stronger love, By the sweet voice of thankful song, "On Thy compassion I repose, Is not such an experience as this so good a thing that it is worth purchasing, even by sorrow? And yet how many of us would be willing to allow it if we could by any means prevent it? For ourselves, perhaps, we have lived long enough to know the mercifulness of sorrow. The discipline of life has not only been necessary, it has been very, very blessed. We can see what we have gained by it in the days that are past; and therefore even for the future we would not be without it. But we cannot feel the same for our friends. We are afraid of grief for them; we cannot bear that sorrow should come upon them. We cannot resist the feeling of regret with which we see the storm gathering, but it is only because we are weak and short-sighted. It is well for them, and well, too, for us, that our Father is stronger in His love than we. They would never grow in grace, would not become perfect if it were not through suffering. Let us try to be content to leave even those who are nearest and dearest in our Father's hands. Truly our love-gifts are different from His! "What would we give to our beloved? "What do we give to our beloved? A little dust to overweep, And bitter memories, to make The whole earth blasted for our sake: He giveth His beloved sleep." And what is there that is really better than rest and sleep? Let us be glad that our dearest ones are still dearer to our wise, and tender, and loving Lord. We can never, with all our trying, make our love what His is to them. We may load them with gifts, and feel that we would fain offer them our very lives, and yet it may be that nothing but sorrow will come to them from our love. We may be as good friends as it is in us to be, but we are frail, and imperfect, and often unfaithful. Let us be content to take the second place in their hearts, that Christ may be first. Let us leave them to their Father, and ours. And as we see His love-tokens given to them, let us say, "I will trust and not be afraid." Elouds. As, on an average, six or seven tenths of British sky is daily obscured by clouds, we have exceptional opportunities of watching and admiring them. Indeed, although we are not blind to their beauty, we are rather given to exultation when they are altogether absent. If we are describing any special occasion, such as an excursion, a boat racing, a review, or a wedding, the most important part of the description, the crowning touch, the climax, is sure to be "And the day was beautiful; we had an almost cloudless sky." That we rejoice at cloudless skies, and complain at cloudy ones, is only a proof that we may have too much of even good things. For that clouds are good who can deny? What would happen to our plants and to ourselves if they did not supply moisture? Are they not the sources of springs, lakes, and rivers? And do they not moderate the sun's rays and make the hot summer days delightful? In November, of course, we cannot be expected to admire clouds. But in August they do appear marvellously beautiful. When we are out and about, making holiday, and feasting our eyes upon the loveliness of nature, we lose a great deal, in more ways than one, if we do not often look up. The sea is very grand when the silver shimmer is upon it, or the frothy waves are tossing themselves upon stern rocks. Fields of green grass or white waving corn are pleasant pictures; and the hush of sombre forests is full of repose. But the sky is often more magnificent than anything beneath it, and to lie upon the greensward in the shelter of a tree, and watch the changes among the clouds, is about as tranquillising as any occupation in this world. Clear eyes and a little imagination are all that are necessary. We look up and see mountains and peaks covered with snow, cliffs and ravines, plains and valleys. We watch them for a few minutes, and then close our eyes for rest. When next we open them the scene has changed; there are hosts moving to battle, receding and pursuing armies, and silent gatherings from all parts of the vast field. Again the pictures shift, and now there are castles with battlements and towers and domes, the foundations hidden away in mists, the tops bright with glittering silver. It is even easy to recal the wonderful words, "Ye are come unto mount Zion, and unto the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to an innumerable company of angels." We may all enjoy the clouds, even although we know nothing about cirrus, cumulus, and stratus, and never think to puzzle ourselves as to how they are all held in the atmosphere. But we cannot enjoy them unless we have what Mrs. Stowe's hero called "the faculty of observation." Unless we accustom ourselves to looking closely at and into things the beauty of the clouds is very likely to escape our notice. But it is not only when there is something marked and peculiar either in colouring or formation that the clouds are worth looking at. They are interesting, graceful, and grand on almost every summer day and night. There is no lack of cloud poetry for those whose tastes incline them to recal it. Joanna Baillie says of a summer cloud, that it is "As though an angel, in his upward flight, Shelley writes most musically about the cloud, and its mission "I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers I bear light shade for the leaves when laid "From my wings are shaken the dews that waken When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, "I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder." Quite as beautiful, if more serious, is Wilson's wellknown sonnet "A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun. A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow." It will not do, however, to linger too long in cloudland. We soon are reminded that life is like a very cloudy day, and that in it we could do with a little more sunshine. Let us not be too sure of that. Too much light is blinding and bewildering; we cannot bear it. It is well for the natural world that clouds should temper the radiance and heat of the sun: may it not be just as well that our world should often be in shade, and our sky be overcast ? We ought not to be as vexed as we are when the sun is darkened and the clouds return after the rain; for surely we know enough of Him who "bindeth up the waters in His thick clouds," to be sure that He will let no harm come to His children. And as we take our eyes from the clouds and look down to the earth, where our work and our burdens lie waiting for us to take them up again, let us be thankful for the shelter and refreshing which even clouds may bring. Not Wanted. SOME doubts have been expressed as to whether childhood is after all the happiest time, but there can be no doubt at all but that it is a very foolish time. For then in our 66 ignorance we are fretful and impatient about many things which in after-life we would give not a little to recal. Is it not one of the troubles of children that they are always, as they say, being wanted?" When they are busily engaged in a most important game, at which they do not wish to be disturbed, what shadows are apt to creep over their faces, which are most suddenly and mysteriously elongated at the sound of the words, "You are wanted." They don't want to be wanted. They desire to be left to themselves and allowed to continue their game. There comes an after-time when they would be only too glad to hear the familiar words again, when one of the sorrows of life is that they are not wanted. The world goes on very well without them, it does not concern itself in the least about their affairs, whether they are ill or well, happy or miserable, or, indeed, whether they are still in the land of the living or have taken their places among the silent dead. And this consciousness is at the root of a great deal of loneliness and pain. For there is no harder thing in this hard world than to feel that we are of no use to anybody, and that no one misses or wants us. There is no summer in the lives of those who live so utterly alone and to themselves. How can there be blue skies, and fleecy cloud mountains, and diamond dew-drops, and hosts of flowers, if the sun does not shine? And where love never comes the whole life must be grey and joyless. How many are there in our world whose eyes would brighten, whose hearts would beat quicker, and whose whole being would be transformed into warmth and gladness at hearing once more the old words, "Mother wants you!" But mothers die, and friends and companions pass away. Old relationships cease, ties that were once deemed strong are broken, there are only vacant places and empty seats at the fireside, there are no loved lips to speak the familiar name, no clinging hand-grasp demanding love or help or anything that we have to give. And then? Well even then we ought to be wanted somewhere, and by some one. It is doubtful if God ever intended us to be lonely. "He setteth the solitary in families." The families are not all of the same size, they may consist of two or a hundred persons. If He has given no very close |