January 12.

As one whom his mother comforteth, so will I comfort

you.

GOD

OD has not so created the creatures that after creating He abandons them. He loves them, delights in them, is with them; moves and sustains each creature according to its kind. We Christians know that with God creating and sustaining are one thing.

LUTHER.

THE TRUE COMFORTER.

WHEN me my nearest friends forsake,
When I am wretched and forlorn,
I refuge with the Father take,

My pang to heaven's God is borne ;
Unchained by words, my silent sigh
Steals to the Loving One on high.

What deepest, keenest, stirs the heart,
What human lips can never speak,

What ne'er to human ear can dart,

Hath voice to Him who shields the weak;

Its mystic force to Him unrolls,

The spirit's source, the soul of souls.

In Christ's dear name I will outpour
My fullest bosom, Lord, to Thee;
Learn by sweet silence to adore,

To see, by seeking not to see;
My needs shall feed Thine altar's flame,
If I them breathe in Christ's dear name.

HYMNS OF DENMARK.

January 13.

Mine eyes fail for Thy word, saying, When wilt Thou comfort me?- Ps. cxix. 82.

YOUR sacrifice is burning on the altar, and around you

the temple of life is filled with smoke, and no light comes in through the windows, and the very walls you cannot see, but you know where you are; for as long as you suffer you are nigh the altar. That you know, and by that knowledge hold fast. Be quiet, fear not; and be you sure that when your sacrifice is over, one after the other the windows that open into the infinite — faith and hope will show themselves; and the air about you will be the clearer and the sweeter for having been so darkened awhile.

WILLIAM MOUNTFORD.

THE DIVINE HELPER.

THOU that art strong to comfort, look on me!
I sit in darkness and behold no light;
Over my soul the waves of agony

Have gone and left me in a rayless night.

A bruised and broken reed sustain ! sustain !
Divinest Comforter, to Thee I fly,

To whom no soul hath ever fled in vain;
Support me with Thy love, or else I die!

Father, whate'er I had, it all was Thine;
A God of mercy Thou hast ever been ;
Oh, help me what I most love to resign,
And if I murmur, count it not for sin !

My soul is strengthened now, and it shall bear
All that remains, whatever it may be;
And from the very depths of my despair

I will look up, O God, and trust in Thee.

January 14.

The day is Thine, the night also is Thine; Thou hast prepared the light and the sun. Thou hast set all the borders of the earth: Thou hast made summer and winter. - Ps. lxxiv. 16, 17.

WHA

HAT fire is this that so warmeth my heart? What light is this that so enlighteneth my soul! O fire that always burneth, and never goeth out, kindle me! O light which ever shineth, and art never darkened, illuminate me! O that I had my heat from thee, most holy fire! how sweetly dost thou burn!

SAINT AUGUSTINE.

ALL THINGS ARE THINE.

THOU art, O God, the life and light

Of all this wondrous world we see;
Its glow by day, its smile by night,

Are but reflections caught from Thee.
Where'er we turn, Thy glories shine,
And all things bright and fair are Thine!

When day, with farewell beam, delays
Among the opening clouds of even,
And we can almost think we gaze

Through golden vistas into heaven,
Those hues that make the sun's decline
So soft, so radiant, Lord! are Thine.

When night, with wings of starry gloom,
O'ershadows all the earth and skies,
Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume
Is sparkling with unnumbered eyes,
That sacred gloom, those fires divine,
So grand, so countless, Lord! are Thine.

When youthful spring around us breathes,
Thy spirit warms her fragrant sigh;
And every flower the summer wreathes
Is born beneath that kindling eye.
Where'er we turn, Thy glories shine,
And all things fair and bright are Thine!
THOMAS MOORE.

January 15.

Whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. JOHN xi. 26.

THE HE departed have not ceased their communication with us, though the visible chain is broken. If they are still the same, they must still think of us. If they live there, they love there. "God is not the God of the dead, but the God of the living." Then it is true, that they live there; and they yet speak to us. From that bright sphere, from that calm region, from the bowers of the life immortal, they speak to us. They say to us, Sigh not in despair over the broken and defeated expectations of earth. Sorrow not as those who have no hope. Bear calmly and cheerfully thy lot. Brighten the chain of love, of sympathy; of communion with all pure minds on earth and in heaven. Come, children of earth! come to the bright and blessed land!"

66

ORVILLE Dewey.

THE MESSENGER BIRD.

THOU art come from the spirits' land, thou bird!
Thou art come from the spirits' land!
Through the dark pine grove let thy voice be heard,
And tell of the shadowy band!

We know that the bowers are green and fair
In the light of that summer shore,

And we know that the friends we have lost are there;
They are there, and they weep no more!

And we know they have quenched their fever's thirst,
From the Fountain of Youth ere now;

For there must the stream in its freshness burst,
Which none may find below.

And we know that they will not be lured to earth,
From the land of deathless flowers,

By the feast, or the dance, or the song of mirth,
Though their hearts were once with ours;

Though they sat with us by the night-fire's blaze,
And bent with us the bow,

And heard the tales of our fathers' days,
Which are told to others now.

But tell us, thou bird of the solemn strain!
Can those who have loved forget?
We call, and they answer not again

Do they love-do they love us yet?

We call them far through the silent night,
And they speak not from cave or hill;
We know, thou bird! that their land is bright,
But say, do they love there still?

FELECIA HEMANS.

January 16.

Have mercy upon me, O God, according to Thy loving kindness; according unto the multitude of Thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions. — Ps. li. 1.

IN

IN a world where there is so much to ruffle the spirit's plumes, how needful that entering into the secret of His pavilion, which will alone bring it back to composure and peace! In a world where there is so much to sadden and depress, how blessed that communion with Him in whom is the one true source and fountain of all true gladness and abiding joy! In a world where so much is ever seeking to unhallow our spirits, to render them common and profane, how high the privilege of consecrating them anew in prayer to holiness and to God!

RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH.

EVENING PRAYER.

TAKE unto Thyself, O Father!
This folded day of Thine,
This weary day of mine;

Its ragged corners cut me yet,
Oh, still the jar and fret!
Father, do not forget

That I am tired

With this day of Thine.