In prison I saw Him next condemned,
To meet a traitor's doom at morn;
The tide of lying tongues I stemm'd,

AND HONOURED HIM 'MIDST SHAME AND SCORN.
My friendship's utmost zeal to try,
He ask'd, "If I for Him would die ?"
The flesh was weak, my blood ran chill,
But the free spirit cried, "I WILL.

Then, in a moment, to my view

The stranger darted from disguise ;
The tokens in His hands I knew,-

MY SAVIOUR STOOD BEFORE MINE EYES;
He spake; and my poor name He named ;
"OF ME THOU HAST NOT BEEN ASHAMED;
THESE DEEDS SHALL THY MEMORIAL BE,
For that thou didst them unto ME."

THE SAILOR BOY'S FAREWELL TO HIS

MOTHER,

[Earnest and cheerful.]

Farewell! my mother dear: and oh, forget not when I'm gone,
To breathe a prayer for me, and think of your loved absent one;
Think, as I ride upon the waves, that, waking or asleep,
Our God, who reigns above the skies, will me in safety keep !
And when you hear the wind blow loudly in my native vale,
And fears for your loved sailor-boy do your fond heart assail,
Then let your voice, my mother dear, in supplications rise
To Him who dwells, enthroned in glory, far beyond the skies.
He who can still the raging waves, and bid the tempest cease,
Can to your anxious heart, my dearest mother, whisper peace;
Then let that heart repose on Him, to Him direct your prayer,
And rest assured your boy will be quite safe beneath His care!
And when at midnight's solemn hour I pace the deck alone,
Full many a fervent prayer for you will reach the Heavenly
Throne.

Oft shall I think of those I love, of you, my mother, dear,
And sisters kind, while down my cheeks will roll the silent tear.

Oh! if it is my Father's will that I should see no more
My native land, oh, may we all meet on that Heavenly shore,
When we shall never part again, in that blest home above,
Where sorrow is not known, AND WHERE ALL IS JOY AND LOVE!

HELP EACH OTHER.

By W. LYLE.

[Earnest and vigorous.]

Oh, where are all the noble souls-
The strong of heart and mind-
The gallant few, with natures true,
And words of comfort kind—
Who should be near in sorrow's hour
To brothers worn and weak,

While tear-drops flow, for want and woe,
A-down the pallid cheek?

Come forward through the mists of care,
That dim our weary land,

Where sad hearts bend, and gladly lend
A BROTHER'S HELPING HAND.

Oh, sweetly sings the summer wind
Among the lonely hills,

And kindly showers refresh the flowers
From God's exhaustless rills;

But never did the drooping rose
Look up beneath a shower

With rarer eye, or brighter dye,
In nature's dreary hour,

Than broken hearts look up from earth
In gratitude above,

On sorrow's day beneath the sway

OF SYMPATHY AND LOVE.

Had God's Almighty plan ordained
That man should live apart,
And, lonely still, that every thrill
And impulse of his heart

In endless time should never wear
A channel through his breast,
And kindly thoughts ne'er seek a spot

Whereon his love might rest;

Then would the Word which made our earth
Have made ten thousand more,

And left a soul to grief's control
On every barren shore.

BUT GLORY TO HIS GRACIOUS NAME,
Through ev'ry throbbing vein
Of nature's heart there flows a part
Unnoted and unseen,

Of love's impassioned, shoreless sea,
Whose springs ne'er cease to rise,

WITH GOLDEN GLEE, FOR EVER FREE,
IN GOD'S ETERNAL SKIES,
Still singing as it sweeps along
Through nature rich and rude,
Let all mankind on earth be joined
IN RIGHTEOUS BROTHERHOOD.

Help each other through the storm,
And God will help you too :

For man must sow ere seed will grow
Beneath the heavens' dew.

And what though now and then a tear
Drop for another's pain,
Kissing the rod, LOOK UP TO GOD,

And thank Him for the rain.
Thus sow and weep that we may reap
A harvest bright and brave,

Unmixed with tares, undimmed with cares,
BEYOND THE DREAMLESS GRAVE.

A LITTLE GIRL'S APPEAL.
[For a little girl.]

I am a VERY LITTLE GIRL,
But I have got a soul
Which must exist for evermore
While endless ages roll.

I am a VERY LITTLE GIRL,
But Jesus died for me,
And made atonement for my sin
Upon Mount Calvary.

I am a VERY LITTLE GIRL,

But not too young to die,

And not too young to WEAR A CROWN,
Beyond the starry sky.

I am a VERY LITTLE GIRL,

But not too young to pray,

For Jesus looks and listens too

To what such children say.

We want NEW BOOKS, AND TICKETS, too,

And other things beside,

And by your looks you seem to say,

YOUR WANTS SHALL BE SUPPLIED.

I wish

-a common wish indeed-
My purse were somewhat fatter,
That I might cheer the child of need,
And not my pride to flatter;
That I might make OPPRESSION reel,
As only gold can make it,

And BREAK THE TYRANT'S ROD OF STEEL,
As only gold can break it.

I wish that Sympathy and Love,
And every human passion,

That has its origin above,

Would come and keep in fashion; That SCORN, and JEALOUSY, and HATE, And every base emotion,

WERE BURIED FIFTY FATHOMS DEEP
BENEATH THE WAVES OF OCEAN!

I wish that friends were always true,
And motives always pure;

I wish the good were not so few,
I wish the bad were fewer;
1 wish that parsons ne'er forgot
To heed their pious teaching;
I wish that practising was not
So different from preaching!

I wish that modest worth might be
Appraised with truth and candour:
I wish that innocence were free

From treachery and slander;

I wish that men their vows would mind;
That women ne'er were rovers ;

I wish that wives were always kind,
And husbands always lovers!

I wish-in fine-that Joy and Mirth,
And every good I deal,

May come erewhile, throughout the earth,
TO BE THE GLORIOUS REAL;
Till God shall every creature bless
With his supremest blessing,
And HOPE be lost in HAPPINESS,
AND WISHING IN POSSESSING !

THE ALPINE SHEEP.

BY MARIA LOWELL.

[Earnest and serious.]

When on my ear your loss was knelled,
And tender sympathy upburst,
A little spring from memory welled,
Which once had quenched my bitter thirst;
And I was fain to bear to you

A portion of its mild relief,

That it might be a healing dew,

To steal some fever from your grief.

After our child's untroubled breath
Up to the Father took its way,
And on our home the shade of Death
Like a long twilight haunting lay,
And friends came round, with us to weep
Her little spirit's swift remove,
The story of the Alpine sheep

Was told to us by one we love.

They, in the valley's sheltering care,

Soon crop the meadow's tender prime, And when the sod grows brown and bare, The shepherd strives to make them climb

To airy shelves of pasture green,

That hang along the mountain's side, Where grass and flowers together lean,

And down through mist the sunbeams slide.
But nought can tempt the timid things
The steep and rugged path to try,
Though sweet the shepherd calls and sings,
And seared below the pastures lie,

Till in his arms his lambs he takes,
Along the dizzy verge to go;

Then, heedless of the rifts and breaks,
They follow on o'er rock and snow.