And some are bent diligently on learning their part, and playing or singing it as well as they can, looking to the guiding eye of the leader, the Master of the assembly, that they may not lose the time, or may be encouraged or warned from time to time by his glance of approval or dissatisfaction.

God is listening to all this. He has given us a part to play and a song to learn, and He knows how we are doing it. We sometimes think we are lost in a crowd, and cover ourselves up with a sort of comfort in this, that it does not matter how we play our part in the world,-what we do or what we say; whether we are doing our best to help the harmony, or whether we are doing our worst in making a discord by false jarring notes. And some feeble faint-hearted one is rather troubled by the feeling of being overlooked, of being lost in a crowd, till the thought comes, "I am poor and needy, yet the Lord thinketh upon me." When Jesus was upon earth the children's crying "Hosanna" sorely displeased the chief priests and scribes, and they turned to Him with the inquiry, "Hearest Thou what these say?" Did he not hear? "Yea," was His reply, "Have ye never read, Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings Thou hast perfected praise?" Yea, He tells us the sound of those infant voices was sweet music in His ears: doubly sweet possibly, because they rang clear above the mutterings of discontent and unbelief. And here is an encouragement to the feeblest and youngest in the household of faith: the

Lord hears the weakest cry, and honours the humblest efforts to show forth His praise. Others may doubt if we are singing in tune, or whether we shall ever learn the song, or ever "play well upon an instrument” God may have put in our hands, but He knows,-He hears. And if there is but little voice, if we “make melody in our hearts" He hears the heart music and accepts it, saying, "Inasmuch as it was in thine heart."

"The feeblest lamb amidst the flock

Shall own the Shepherd's care."

"The lamb on whom none else discern Thy sign
Thou carriest in Thy bosom day by day."

"Oh give me, Lord, my golden harp,
And tune my broken voice;
That I may sing of troubles sharp
Exchanged for endless joys."

Yes: God is listening. "The Lord hearkened and heard." And this is true of evil as well as of good. It is a terrible thought brought home to the rash, idle, wicked speaker; but a blessed thought to all who are trying to hear and speak rightly, that He hears each word spoken by each one, just as if that one were all by himself in the world, speaking only for God's ear. Above all the din and roar and bustle of the world He hears, whether the words are meant for His hearing or not: hears to praise, hears to blame, hears to the acceptance or the shame of the speaker. And by and bye those who have been "wicked and slothful servants," caring little whether

I

they learn to do their part well or not, whether they help or hinder in the harmony God would have His creatures learn, and sheltering themselves under the thought that they are lost in a crowd and it does not matter if their voice is mute or discordant, will find that their conduct has been noticed, and that alone, each one for himself, every one of us shall have to give account for himself to God.

"All alone, so heaven has willed, we die."

All alone we must stand "before the judgment seat of Christ; that every one may receive the things done in his body, according to that he hath done." Shall it be all alone, friends? No human friend can speak for us or take our part, but we need not be all alone if we can say, "I know whom I have believed. Naught can separate me from the love of Christ, for He hath said, I will never leave thee nor forsake thee." If He has heard us whisper the first broken notes of the new song here, we know He will let us join the chorus there, where throughout eternity there will not be one false note or faltering tongue to mar the harmony of heaven.

IX.

A BAG WITH HOLES.

"My Lord a treasure gave, of long bright years,
And bade me spend it well: when He appears,
How shall I reckoning make, who day by day
Have thrown in petty sums the whole away,
And dare not what I therewith bought display?

"Moments were coins of such a small amount,

One idly spent seemed naught in the account;
So one by one they went: the freshest ore
Expended first; the scant and rusted store
Death may break through and steal, next morn before."

SHORT time ago, while waiting at a railway station for a late train, I was interested in overhearing the conversation of a knot of men going home after their week's work, early on a Saturday afternoon. They were well posted up in the news of the day, which they had managed to digest in their dinner-hour, and their remarks were spiced with a good deal of shrewdness. Ours is a free country, and every man thinks himself at liberty to say what he pleases, so politics and persons were pretty freely handled. I don't fancy

they quite approved of the suggested punishment for the brutal kicking assaults now in fashion. I was rather glad to hear that they saw through some of those agitators, who professing to be the workingman's friends are really his enemies. But I was very sorry they moved away with an oath to take their seats in the train, which, as they observed, had better have been advertised half-an-hour later than

it was.

There is no doubt about it that many things might and ought to be different, and if you could only see where the line is to be drawn, and what you ought patiently to submit to, and what you ought to set your face against, and rise up and say "I will not bear that," it would be a step in the right direction. I was glad to see lately that the system of "footing" was to be abolished in a large establishment: the men there are on the right track I hope.

I have reminded you before of the builders in Nehemiah's days who didn't wander about all over the city to do a little here and a little there, and put a stone straight here and lay a timber there, and then say nothing was or could be done, because the work was so great; there was so much to do, it was impossible for the "feeble Jews," as their enemies called them, to overtake it. But they each took the piece that came to hand, and worked, "every man over against his own house." We hand the saying down that "There is something rotten in the state of Denmark;" and it seems