If he hath hidden the outcast, or let in

A ray of sunshine to the cell of sin;
If he hath lent

Strength to the weak, and in an hour of need,
Over the suffering, mindless of his creed
Or home, hath bent, -

He has not lived in vain; and while he gives The praise to Him in whom he moves and lives, With thankful heart,

He gazes backward, and with hope before,

Knowing that from his works he never more
Can henceforth part.

J. G. Whittier.

THE STRANGER AND HIS FRIEND.

A poor wayfaring man of grief

Hath often crossed me on my way,

Who sued so humbly for relief

That I could never answer, Nay.

I had not power to ask his name,
Whither he went, or whence he came ;
Yet there was something in his eye
That won my love, I knew not why.

Once, when my scanty meal was spread,

He entered, not a word he spake, –

Just famishing for want of bread:

I gave him all; he blessed it, brake,
And ate, but gave me part again :
Mine was an angel's portion then;
And while I fed with eager haste,
The crust was manna to my taste.

I spied him where a fountain burst

Clear from the rock; his strength was gone; The heedless water mocked his thirst;

He heard it, saw it hurrying on.

I ran to raise the sufferer up;

Thrice from the stream he drained my cup,
Dipt, and returned it running o'er;

I drank, and never thirsted more.

'Twas night; the floods were out; it blew

A winter hurricane aloof:

I heard his voice abroad, and flew

To bid him welcome to my roof.

I warmed, I clothed, I cheered my guest,
Laid him on my own couch to rest;

Then made the hearth my bed, and seemed
In Eden's garden while I dreamed.

Stript, wounded, beaten nigh to death,
I found him by the highway side;

I roused his pulse, brought back his breath,
Revived his spirit, and supplied

Wine, oil, refreshment; he was healed:
I had myself a wound concealed ;
But from that hour forgot the smart,
And peace bound up my broken heart.

In prison I saw him next, condemned
To meet a traitor's doom at morn :
The tide of lying tongues I stemmed,
And honored him 'mid shame and scorn.

My friendship's utmost zeal to try,

He asked 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 my eyes. He spake, and my poor name he named : "Of me thou hast not been ashamed;

These deeds shall thy memorial be:
Fear not, thou didst it unto me."

Montgomery.

Give of labor, sweat, and heart-throbs; Give of life, if we would live.

Always holding, never giving,
Losing greatest, saving least,
Is but gorging husks and siftings
When there waits a royal feast.

Giving most, thou most retainest;

Giving least, thou shalt have naught; Through the world be that great lesson ""Tis more blessed "—oftener taught.

Richest springs most waste their waters; Choicest flowers most cast their seed;

Hero blood becomes most precious

When 'tis spilt for country's need.

Giving, give as thou receivest

What thou hast of earthly worth:
Wouldst thou know the wealth of heaven,
Truly yield the wealth of earth.

Seek thy true wealth, then, in giving;
Joys in secret, silent giving;

For the veriest charm of living

Is in giving, —ever giving.

Henry Loudon.

THE LAW OF LOVE.

Is there a gloom of sorrow on thy spirit?

Do clouds o'erhang thee, and shut out the day? Go, seek thy neighbor's darkened heart, and cheer it, And soon his smile shall fright the clouds away.

Art thou crushed down, shut in thy body earthen,
O'erladen with thy troubles, sad and lone?
Aid then thy neighbor with his heavy burthen,
And it shall cause thee to forget thy own.

Is there a grief upon thy soul for sinning?
Wouldst thou thy purpose fix, and fault atone?
Seek thy repentant neighbor, and, by winning
His soul to peace, give rest unto thine own.