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"And would'st thou have a ruddy nose,
A blotched face and vacant eye,
A shaky frame that feebly goes,
A form and figure all awry,
A body rack'd with rheumy pain,
A burnt-up stomach, fever'd brain,
A muddy mind that cannot think ?
Then drink, drink, drink!"

Thus spoke the voice and fled,
Nor any more did say ;

But I thought on what it said,
And threw the glass away.

The pipe was in my mouth,

The first cloud o'er me broke;
I was to blow another,

When a voice came from the smoke.

Come, this must be a hoax;

I'll snuff if I may not smoke.
But a voice came from the box,

And thus these voices spoke :

:

"And would'st thou have a swimming head,
A smoky breath and blackened tooth?
And would'st thou have thy freshness fade,
And wrinkle up thy leaf of youth?

Would'st thou have thy voice to lose its tone,-
Thy heavenly note a bagpipe's drone?

If thou would'st thy health's channels choke,
Then smoke, smoke, smoke!-

The pipes of thy sweet music stuff,

Then snuff, snuff, snuff!"

To be persuasive, you must be sincere; you must utter, veræ voces ab imo pectore," si vis me flere, flendum est tibi.

THOU art gone to the grave, but we will not deplore thee;
Though sorrow and darkness encompass the tomb,
The Saviour has pass'd through its portal before thee,
And the lamp of His love is thy guide through the gloom.
Thou art gone to the grave; we no longer behold thee,
Nor tread the rough path of the world by thy side;
But the wide arms of mercy are spread to enfold thee;
And sinners may hope, since the Sinless has died.

Thou art gone to the grave; and its mansion forsaking,
Perhaps thy tried spirit in doubt lingered long;
But the sunshine of heaven beam'd bright on thy waking,
And the song which thou heard'st was the Seraphim's song.
Thou art gone to the grave; but 'twere wrong to deplore thee,
When God was thy ransom, thy guardian, thy guide;
He gave thee and took thee, and soon will restore thee,
Where death hath no sting, since the Saviour hath died.

CONFIRMATION.

YOUTHS and maidens, wherefore meet ye
In this sacred house of prayer?
Come ye with glad hearts and willing,
Jesus' name and cross to share?
We come ere earthly sorrows
Have dimm'd our young life's joy;
We come ere earthly troubles
Our cares and thoughts employ;
We come ere yet we enter
A path untried, untrod;
Freely we come, and solemnly
We give ourselves to God.

Youths and maidens, wherefore stand ye,
While so many gaze around?
Say what mean those words so thrilling
Which through arch and aisle resound?
We stand before His presence,
Whom heaven and earth adore,
His foes and ours renouncing
Now and for evermore.
The world, the flesh,

From henceforth we resist,

And in the ranks of Jesus,
Our Saviour, King, enlist.

Youths and maidens, wherefore kneel ye,
While the aged pastor prays?
Say what means that loud assenting?
What that organ's notes of praise?
We kneel in supplication,
Our very strength is weak;
But with the pastor's blessing,
The Spirit's help we seek.

Heber.

18

The last "Amen" has sounded,
"Tis echoed deep and long,
On earth by Christian voices,
In Heaven by seraph's song.

Youths and maidens, earth will wonder,
Should ye keep these high resolves,
While temptations fresh beset you,
As each day and hour revolves.
We know it, but our Saviour
Hath overcome the world,
And his victorious banner
This day we have unfurl'd,
We may be flattered, tempted,
Or buffeted and slain,

But on the lov'd of Jesus,

Earth smiles and frowns in vain.

Youths and maidens, evil passions
Dwell intrenched in every heart,
How shall ye gain strength and courage,
With your cherished lusts to part?
Taught by the Holy Spirit,
We know and mourn our sin,
We hope by His renewing,
To be made pure within.
The blood of Jesus sprinkled,
On every burdened soul,
The love of God enkindled,
Will make us clean and whole.

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If His grace hath made you willing
In His strength to "serve the Lord,"
Earth shall be your scene of warfare,
Heaven your rest, and your reward.

J. T., Churchman's Monthly Penny Mag.,
Vol. i., p. 130.

WHICH WAS THE GREATER FOOL?

In a sermon, preached by Bishop Hall, upon his eightieth birthday, he relates the following story:-"There was a certain lord who kept a fool in his house, as many a great man did in those days for their pleasure; to whom this lord gave a staff, and charged him to keep it, till he should meet with one who was a greater fool than himself; and, if he met with such a one, to deliver it over to him. Not many years after, his lord fell sick, and indeed was sick unto death. His fool came to see him, and was told by his sick lord that he must now shortly leave him. "And whither wilt thou go ?" said the fool. "Into another world," said the lord. "And when wilt thou come

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again ?-Within a month?' "No." "Within a year

?"

No." "When then ?" "Never." "Never! and what provision hast thou made for thy entertainment there whither thou goest ?" "None at all." "No ?" said the fool, "none at all? Here, take my staff then. Art thou going away for ever, and hast taken no order, whence thou shalt never return? Take my staff, for I am not guilty of any such folly as this."

THE SOLDIER'S TEAR.

UPON the hill he turned

To take a last fond look

Of the valley and the village church
And the cottage by the brook.

He listen'd to the sounds

So familiar to his ear,

And the soldier leant upon his (staff),

And wiped away a tear.

Beside that cottage (door)
A girl was on her knees;
She held aloft a snowy scarf,
Which flutter'd in the breeze.

She breath'd a prayer for him-
A prayer he could not hear;

But he paus'd to bless her as she knelt,
And wiped away a tear.

He turn'd and left the spot,

Oh! do not deem him weak;

For dauntless was the soldier's heart,
Though tears were on his cheek:
Go (search) the foremost rank,
In danger's dark career;

Be sure the hand most (daring) there

(Hath) wiped away a tear.

Thomas Haynes Bayly.

THE ENGLISHMAN.

THERE's a land that bears a world-known name,

Tho' 'tis but a little spot;

'Tis the first on the blazing scroll of fame,
And who shall aver it is not ?

Of the deathless ones who shine and live,
In arms, in art, in song,

The brightest the whole world can give
To that little land belong.

'Tis the Star of the Earth, deny it who can,-
The Island home of an Englishman.

There's a flag that waves o'er every sea,

No matter when or where ;

And to treat that flag as aught but the free,
Is more than the strongest dare.

For the lion-spirits that tread the deck
Have carried the palm of the brave,

And that flag may sink with a shot-torn wreck,
But never float o'er a slave.

Its honour is stainless, deny it who can,
The flag of a true-born Englishman.

There's a heart that leaps with burning glow,
The wrong'd and the weak to defend;
And strikes as soon for a trampled foe
As it does for a soul-bound friend.

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