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Not

a

Bay without a

Line.

PART I.

"ARE you in earnest? seize this very minute;
What you can do, or think you can, begin it.
Each indecision brings its own delay,

And days are lost lamenting o'er lost days."

The inability to accomplish great things does not excuse us from the Divine command, to make the best use of the talents we may possess, in accordance with our circumstances in life.

He who originates or brings to light a truth is a benefactor of his race, but the truth is greater than its medium; let him follow humbly in its lead.

Undeveloped faculties, like flowerless buds, are selfconsuming.

God often writes success upon that which men count failures, and vice versa.

Let us build our life structure with reference to the trial light of eternity,

We are in more danger from misdirected mental energy than from physical.

The conflict of words is more potent for good or evil, inflicts deeper wounds, than that of the sword.

It is the Christian's vocation (with a heart in unison with his Master) to sow the seed for a heavenly harvest.

"Scatter the seed and fear not,
A table will be spread;
What matter if you are too weary
To eat your hard-earned bread ;
Sow, while the earth is broken,
For the hungry must be fed.

Sow, while the seeds are lying

In the warm earth's bosom deep,
And your warm tears fall upon it;
They will stir in their quiet sleep,
And the green blade rise the quicker,
Perchance, for the tears you weep.

Sow, and look onward, upward,
Where the starry light appears,
Where in spite of the coward's doubting,
Or your own heart's trembling fears,

You shall reap in joy the harvest

You have sown to-day in tears."

Discontent is the soul's testimony to the insufficiency of earthly good to satisfy its immortal yearnings.

"It's the hankering after a life

That we never have learned to know;
It's the discontent with a life

That is always thus and so.'

Bayard Taylor.

We perversely choose to grope in the pit where our path is impeded by thorns and briers, and hedged with formidable difficulties, rather than take the upper walk, which is illuminated by rays from the celestial light above.

"The path of the just is as a shining light, which shineth the more and more unto the perfect day."

If we serve the world, we must take the world's

pay.

How soothing the evening draught of scriptural comfort after the turmoil of the day.

"The day brought tears and trouble,

The evening brings no kiss,

Nor rest in the arms I long for,
Rest and refuge and home.
Grieved and lonely and weary,
Unto the book I come.

One of the sweet old chapters,

The love that blossoms through,

His care of birds and lilies,

Out in the meadow dew.

His evening lies soft around them,
Their faith is simply to be;
Ah! hushed by thy tender lesson,

My God, let me rest in thee."

How condescending in our Heavenly Father to listen to all our petty grievances, and pour the balm of consolation into our rebellious hearts with his own loving hand.

The best biography we can have is that which we may write in kind words and deeds upon the hearts of others.

It is only the ear of the Infinite that is attuned so exquisitely as to appreciate the secret melody of that wonderful instrument, the human soul, and only the touch of the Master can bring forth the melodicus refrain.

We are surrounded by a host of invisible witnesses, and are constantly touching chords that will vibrate throughout eternity.

The strongest minds are often those of whom the noisy world hears least.

There are comparatively few lives that present to the world an eventful history, even among the gifted, especially among women. Many mute, patient, sorrowful ones pursue their narrow way, silently scattering blessings all unnoticed by the world; and many more sleep in graves unknown save to the Omniscient eye.

"We count the broken lyres that rest

Where the sweet wailing singers slumber;
But o'er their silent sisters' breast,

The wild flowers who will stoop to number?
A few can touch the magic string,

And noisy fame is proud to win them;
Alas! for those that never sing,

But die with all their music in them.

Nay, grieve not for the dead alone,

Whose song has told their heart's sad story;
Weep for the voiceless who have known
The cross, but not the crown of glory;
Not where Leucadian breezes sweep

O'er Sappho's memory-haunted billow;
But where the glistening night dews weep,
On nameless sorrow's churchyard pillow.
Oh! hearts that break and give no sign,
Save whitening lips and fading tresses,
Till death pours out his cordial wine,
Slow dropped from misery's crushing presses.
If singing breath or echoing chord,
To every hidden pang were given,
What endless melodies were poured,
As sad as earth, as sweet as heaven."

O. W. Holmes.

The atmosphere of the crowded city is foul with fetid odors, not only from its dark and filthy alleys, upon which the sunlight seldom rests, but it is also polluted by cursing and deceit, and the nameless exhibitions of

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