Art Thou my Father?-I'll depend
Upon the care of such a friend;
And only wish to do and be,
Whatever seemeth good to Thee.

Art Thou my Father ?-Then, at last,
When all my days on earth are past,
Send down, and take me in Thy love,
To be Thy better child above.

TAYLOR.

EARLY RELIGION.

.-C. M.

Happy the child, whose early years
Receive instruction well;

Who hates the sinner's path, and fears
The road that leads to hell.

When we devote our youth to God,
'Tis pleasing in his eyes:

A flower, when offered in the bud,
Is no vain sacrifice.

'Tis easier work, if we begin

To fear the Lord betimes;
While sinners, that grow old in sin,
Are hardened in their crimes.

"Twill save us from a thousand snares,
To mind religion young;

Grace will preserve our following years,
And make our virtue strong.

To Thee, Almighty God, to Thee,
Our childhood we resign:

'Twill please us to look back, and see
That our whole lives were thine.

Let the sweet work of prayer and praise
Employ my youngest breath;
Thus, I'm prepared for longer days,
Or fit for early death.

WATTS.

CHRISTMAS HYMN.-7.'s.

Hark! the herald angels sing,
Glory to the new-born King!
Peace on earth and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled.

Joyful all ye nations rise,

Join the triumphs of the skies;
With the angelic host proclaim,
Christ is born in Bethlehem.

Hail, the Heaven-sent Prince of Peace!
Hail, the Sun of righteousness!
Light and life to all he brings,
Risen with healing on his wings.

Gracious bond of earth and sky!
Born that man no more may die;
Born to raise the sons of earth,
Born to give them second birth!

LOOK FOR THE FLOWERS.

Here, we earth-wanderers
Timid and brave,

Hasten with onward step
Nearer the grave;

And in our pilgrimage

Should we not see

All that is beautiful,

Lovesome and free?

Should we, with mourning heart,
Sit all forlorn?

Should we with sullen hand

Gather the thorn?

Should we in rambling
Over the meads,

Look but for pestilent

Poisonous weeds ?

Should we not joyously,

Hand locked in hand,

A hopeful-a jubilant,
Brotherly band,

Look for the flowers?

In the far nooks of life-
In the deep shade-

Where amidst evil things

Good well might fade;

God sends the sunny beam,

God sends the showers,

Nursing humanity's

Ever-bright flowers.

Sin may be rife enough,

But"The good part,"

Lieth low hidden in

Every heart.

God sent the stream at first, From His own fount

Christ, in diffusing it,

Died on the mount;

And amongst stony ways
Ripples are heard,

Like the half utter'd notes
Of a lone bird;

Dark tho' the fate of us,

That matters not

In the glad soul of us

Lies the bright spot,

Look for the flowers!

Are there not sainted ones,
Graciously given,

Who in their gentle hands,
Lead us to heaven?

When they return to us
In the dim night,

Are they not angel-like,
Holy and bright-

Sanctified-purified

Unto us now,

With a heaven-garland

Encircling each brow?

Turn to the living ones,

There as they stand,

Touch the live hearts of them
With thy love-wand-

Seek not the weeds in them,
And to thy sight

They will be angel-like,
Holy and bright;

Look for the flowers!

Look for the flowery way,
Life has its clouds;

Treasured ones suddenly

Wrapp'd in their shrouds ;

Hopes often dash'd aside-
Hearts rudely torn,

And o'er wreck'd promises

Oft do we mourn ;

Hints, too, are given us,
That our swift day,

Rapidly-rapidly,

Fleeteth away.

Up, then! and cheerfully,
Trust me, there lies,

Much that is beautiful,

'Neath the broad skies!

Go on life's pilgrimage,

Hand locked in hand,

A hopeful-a jubilant,
Brotherly band,

Looking for flowers!