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Hoping ever, failing never;
Though deceived, believing still ;
To thy heavenly Father's will ;
Thou dost all alike befriend.
LET THE PITCHER DOWN.
One quiet eve, some years ago, while lingering by a stile That led into a wayside path, to watch the clouds a while, Ere Thought had lifted from my heart the shadow of her
wing, I saw a child - a little girl — returning from a spring. A well-filled pitcher lightly pressed her curls of silken hair, Supported by a tiny hand. The child was passing fair, With something in her sunny face pure as the sky above, And something in her gentle eye that guardian angels love.
A little flower, blossoming a step or so aside,
The flower seemed to raise its head, bowed by a summer's
sun, And smile beneath the act the child unconsciously had done; While wandering on, with fairy tread, as merry as before, I saw her pass the garden gate, and close the cottage door.
Oh! often when this little scene has crossed my thought
again, I've wondered if, with all the love that warmed her spirit
then, This little girl has tripped through life as joyous to the last, Refreshing all the weary hearts that met her as she passed; If, with unconscious tenderness, her heart has paused to
poor amid their poverty, the sad in their distress; Still following up God's teachings day by day, and hour by
hour, Foreshadowed in that simple act, the water and the flower ;
If, with a song as pure and sweet, that voice has hushed to
rest The troubles of the aching heart, the sorrow-laden breast; If to the wayside wanderer, where'er her steps have led, The pitcher has been lowered ever kindly from her head. O holy, happy Charity ! how many pleasures lost By those who have not known thee, had been worthy of the How many heads a blessing from the upper world have
borne, While lowering the pitcher to the weary and the worn!
Thou who hast stood beside God's spring of blessings day,
by day, To fill the pitcher of thy wants, and carry it away, The poor and the dejected, whom God hath willed to roam, Are resting by the wayside that leads thee to thy home. Oh! let thy heart beat ever quick, in action kind to be, Remembering Him whose bounty has at all times followed
And deem it not a trouble, in the hedge-row or the town,
THE FIVE LOAVES.
What time the Saviour spread his feast
The abundant store supplied.
Though now unknown by name.
Or, for his sweet, obedient ways,
His frugal basket bear.
To the world's hidden King ?
Of him in Jesus' ear.
Nay, Christ will find a way.
As clouds when breezes sleep.
The wondrous pledge he took ? Keep thou, dear child, thine early word;
Bring Him thy best : who knows but he,
For his eternal board,
May take some gift of thee?
Within the holiest shrine.
Far in the eternal sky;
AN EASTERN LEGEND.
One evening, Jesus lingered in the market-place, Teaching the people parables of truth and grace ; When, in the square remote, a crowd was seen to rise, And stop with loathing gestures and abhorring cries.
The Master and his meek disciples went to see