And when of scathe and loss

That man can ne'er repair,
The dread inquiry meets my soul,
What shall it answer there?

OUNT not the days that have idly flown,
The years that were vainly spent ;

Nor speak of the hours thou must blush to own, When thy spirit stands before the throne

To account for the talents lent.

But number the hours redeemed from sin,
The moments employed for heaven:
Oh, few and evil thy days have been,
Thy life a toilsome but worthless scene,
For a nobler purpose given !

Will the shade go back on thy dial-plate?
Will thy sun stand still on his way?
Both hasten on; and thy spirit's fate
Rests on the point of life's little date:
Then live while 'tis called to-day.

Life's waning hours, like the sybil's page,
As they lessen in value-rise :

Oh, rouse thee and live! nor deem man's age
Stands in the length of the pilgrimage,

But in days that are truly wise.

M

REJOICING IN HOPE.

Hope Ever!

HE night is mother of the day,

THE

The winter of the spring,

And ever upon old decay

The greenest mosses spring.

Behind the cloud the starlight lurks,

Through showers the sunbeams fall,
For God who loved all His works
Has left His hope with all.

T

Hope and Memory.

WO sisters are there: ever year by year
Companions true and dear

To meek and thoughtful hearts. Fair Hope is

one,

With voice of merry tone,

With footsteps light, and eye of sparkling glance;

The other is perchance

E'en somewhat lovelier, but less full of glee,

Her name is Memory.

She wanders near me, chanting plaintive lays
Of by-gone scenes and days,

And when I turn and meet her thoughtful eye,
She tells me mournfully

Of soft low gurgling brooks, of glistening flowers,
And childhood's sunny hours;

And then, with tears and melancholy tone,
She tells me they are gone.

Hope gently chides her,-bids me not to cast
My eyes upon the past;

Cheering me thus, she leads me by the hand
To view her own fair land:

And soon I see where many pleasures meet,
Some close before my feet,

And some, seen dimly through the distant haze,
Grow brighter as I gaze.

Oh, both refresh me! Yet not only so,-
They teach, where'er I go :

One tells of follies past, and one is given
To talk to me of heaven.

And thus I'll cling to both. Soft MEMORY,

All pensive though she be,

Shall bide a comrade cherish'd to the end:
But HOPE shall be my friend.

J. S. HOWSON.

"It Bemaineth."

1 COR. vii. 9; HEB. iv. 9.

T remaineth: it remaineth!"
Was sounding in mine ear,
Mid many a dirge-like cadence
Of the departing year;
Most like the spirit music,

When hope and fear are blent
To tame our reckless joyance,
And yet for solace sent.

A shadow mid earth's sunshine,
A glory mid her gloom,
To every heart a blessing

That gives the lesson room.

Oh, shrink not from the shadow

As of the dove's soft wing,

Nor yet refuse the comfort

The turtle's voice should bring!

"It remaineth: it remaineth!"

Would'st know what now remains? That earthly joys are passing,

And passing earthly pains,-
Yea, as a dream are passing,
To leave no trace behind,
On saintly brow no shadow,
No stain on saintly mind!

For thee, a pilgrim stranger,
Remaineth only this,—
To lightly bear earth's sadness,
And lightly hold her bliss;

To be as one that waiteth

And watcheth for the Lord: So may'st thou at His coming Receive a full reward.

"It remaineth: it remaineth!"

Would'st know what then remains?

The glory and the gladness,-
Love's everlasting gains!
All that was worth the prizing,

Most precious and most pure!
All that the true heart treasures,
For ever to endure !