TEACHERS OF PATIENCE AND COURAGE,

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The Angel Patience.

TILL up and down this wilderness

Softly an angel goes,

Sent by our great Creator

To comfort earthly woes.
In every look is peacefulness

And hallow'd calm of will:

Oh follow, follow, child of clay,
The angel Patience still.

She'll guide thee with untiring hand
Through every mortal strife,

And whisper tales of brighter worlds
And more enduring life.

But if thou give no credence,

Yet cloudless is her mood,

Still aiding thee thy cross to bear
While all things work for good.

She lulls to godly sorrowing

The soul's most gnawing pain:

The wildest heart, bathed in that dew,

Sinks into calm again;

The blackest night of gloominess

Flushes with rosy glow;

And every wound she healeth,
Although the cure be slow.

Thy stealing tears she scorns not,
But bids them trickle sweet;
She mocks not at thy fleshy heart
But guides thy wayward feet.
And when, 'mid sorrows howling storm,
Thou murmurest, "Ah, why?"

She points, serenely smiling,

To heaven, for all reply.

She has got for each questioner

An answer ready given;

The burthen of her song,

"Endure:

Not far thy refuge,-heaven!"

Close by thy side she paceth,

Yet scarce a word lets fall,

Still beckoning to the far-off land,-
The glorious goal of all.

Play Thy Part.

LAY thy part, and play it well : Joy in thine appointed task, And if pride or flesh rebel Courage of thy Father ask.

Shrink not from thy daily cross,
Murmur not at toil or pain,
'Tis to purge thy spirit's dross :
All must fight and none complain.

Take the task thy Father gives,
Bind it to thy cheerful breast;
He who suffers doubly lives,

He who suffers well, lives best.

Serve not God because thou must,— "Twere the service of a slave ;

Love alone is service just,

Love is worship pure and brave.

Courage then! and, nobly meek,
Let thy love thy sorrow quell;
Honour in obedience seek :

Play thy part, and play it well.

A Field Flower.

HERE is a flower, a little flower
With silver crest and golden eye,

That welcomes every changing hour
And weathers every sky.

The prouder beauties of the field
In gay but quick succession shine;
Race after race their honour yield,
They flourish and decline.

But this small flower, to nature dear

While moons and stars their courses run, Wreathes the whole circle of the year,— Companion of the sun!

It smiles upon the lap of May,

To sultry August spreads its charms, Lights pale October on its way,

And twines December's arms.

The purple heath and golden broom
On moory mountains catch the gale ;
O'er lawns the lily sheds perfume,—
The violet in the vale:

But this bold flow'ret climbs the hill,

Hides in the forest, haunts the glen,
Plays on the margin of the rill,
Peeps round the fox's den:

Within the garden's cultured ground
It shares the sweet carnation's bed;
And blooms on consecrated ground
In honour of the dead.

The lambkin crops its crimson gem,
The wild bee murmurs on its breast,
The blue-fly bends its pensile stem,
Light, o'er the sky-lark's nest.

This brave flower,-in every place
In every season fresh and fair,—

It opens with perennial grace
And blossoms everywhere.

On waste and woodland, rock and plain,
Its humble buds unheeded rise:

The rose has but a summer reign,—
The daisy never dies.

MONTGOMERY.