So shalt thou have thy Master's heart :
A labourer thou shalt prove

With Him who sows in tears, but waits

"The harvest-time of love."

From "Songs of Christian Chivalry."

T

Thy way-not Mine.

HY way-not mine, O Lord,

However dark it be!

Lead me by Thine own hand;
Choose out the path for me.

Smooth let it be or rough,

It will be still the best;

Winding or straight, it matters not,
It leads me to Thy rest.

I dare not choose my lot;
I would not, if I might:
Choose thou for me, my God,
So shall I walk aright.

The kingdom that I seek
Is Thine; so let the way
That leads to it be Thine,

Else surely I might stray.

Take Thou my cup, and it
With joy or sorrow fill:
As best to Thee may seem,
Choose thou my good and ill.

Choose Thou for me my friends,
My sickness or my health;
Choose Thou my cares for me,
My poverty or wealth.

Not mine-not mine the choice,
In things or great or small:
Be Thou my guide, my strength,
My wisdom, and my all.

O Lord, how great are thy Works 1”

N every season, every hour,

I

In every leaf, in every flower,

In every scene, and every sound
Amid creation's wonders found,
My soul Thy providence discerns,
And, whensoe'er I walk abroad,
To Thee involuntar❜ly turns:

To Thee, my God! to Thee, my God!

The glories of the midnight sky,
The evening insect humming by,
The mightiest and the meanest prove
Alike Thy wisdom, power, and love ;
While heaven and earth thus both combine
To raise the heart, and point the road
That leads through blessings so divine
To Thee, my God! to Thee, my God!

But oh, how much more dear to trace
The wonders of thy world of grace!
The soul that by the cross can kneel
And all that cross's comfort feel,
Upon the Saviour's healing wings,
Washed in the Saviour's precious blood,
Redeemed-regenerated-springs

To Thee, my God! to Thee, my God!

MONSELL.

Church Bells.

"Our days on the earth are as a shadow."

WEET church bell sounding solemnly, What warnings thou dost give! The living, they must surely die; The dying, they may live.

Thou, to the meditative mind,
A memory dost prove

Of pleasant scenes we leave behind
And solemn scenes above.

Thy voice doth tell of tearfulness,
Of partings and farewells,
And yet a chime of cheerfulness
In all its music dwells:
The knell of dying joys it tolls
To dying mortals given;
It rings its welcome peal for souls
Into the gates of heaven.

We hear thee in the busy mart,
We hear thee in the field,

We hear thee when the human heart
To tenderness doth yield:

When life is fresh, and home is fair, And young eyes beam around, Thou comest through the evening air, A profitable sound.

Thou bidst us use the pleasures which God gives us to enjoy,

As most uncertain treasures which

A moment may destroy ;

And Christians do not love thee less

Because Thy homeward sigh

Calls them from dreams which seem to bless

To bliss itself on high.

MONSELL.

T

"Redeeming the Time."

WO paces,--then the goal:

Two little steps at most,—

Then life is gone, and heaven is won,

Or else, alas, 'tis lost!

Two paces: brief the space,
By hasty feet soon trod;

And yet what wondrous room it leaves

For love to work for God!

There's time for faith to trust,

For holy zeal to glow ;

There's ample time for walk with God,

To serve His will below.

How many an aching heart

That breathes its sigh alone,

Might earnest love contrive to soothe

Ere life's brief term be gone!

જ