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Saving Help.

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Speak Gently.

G. W. LANGFORD.-Music by Miss Lindsay.

PEAK gently! it is better far

SPE

To rule by love than fear;

Speak gently! let not harsh words mar

The good we might do here.

Speak gently to the little child;
Its love be sure to gain :
Teach it in accents soft and mild,
It may not long remàin.

Speak gently to the young, for they

Will have enough to bear :

Pass through the world as best they may,
'Tis full of anxious care.

Speak gently to the aged one,
Grieve not a careworn heart;
The sands of life are nearly run,
Let such in peace depart.

Speak gently! 'tis a little thing,

Dropp'd in the heart's deep well; The good, the joy that it may bring, Eternity shall tell.

Saving Help.

MRS CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER.

HEN wounded sore the stricken soul

WHEN

Lies bleeding and unbound,

One only hand, a piercèd hand,

Can salve the sinner's wound.

When sorrow swells the laden breast,
And tears of anguish flow,
One only heart, a broken heart,
Can feel the sinner's woe.

When penitence has wept in vain
Over some foul dark spot,

One only stream, a stream of blood,
Can wash away the blot.

'Tis Jesus' blood that washes white, His hand that brings relief,

His heart that's touch'd with all our joys And feeleth for our grief.

Lift up Thy bleeding hand, O Lord;

Unseal that cleansing tide

e;

We have no shelter from our sin,

But in Thy wounded side.

I

Nature and Heaven.

BISHOP HEBER.

PRAISED the earth, in beauty seen With garlands gay of various green; I praised the sea, whose ample field Shone glorious as a silver shield; And earth and ocean seem'd to say, "Our beauties are but for a day."

I praised the sun, whose chariot roll'd
On wheels of amber, and of gold;

Angel of Charity.

I praised the moon, whose softer eye
Gleam'd sweetly through the summer sky;
And moon, and sun, in answer said,
"Our days of light are numberèd.”

O God! O good beyond compare !
If thus Thy meaner works are fair,
If thus Thy bounties gild the span
Of ruin'd earth, and sinful man,
How glorious must the mansion be,
Where Thy redeem'd shall dwell with Thee !

Death of a Christian.

FELICIA HEMANS.

'ALM on the bosom of thy God,

CA

Fair spirit, rest thee now!

E'en while with ours thy footsteps trod,

His seal was on thy brow.

Dust, to its narrow house beneath!

Soul, to its place on high!

They that have seen thy look in death
No more may fear to die.

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ANGEL of Charity, who, from above,

Comest to dwell a pilgrim here,

Thy voice is music, thy smile is love,
And Pity's soul is in thy tear.

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When on the shrine of God were laid
First-fruits of all most good and fair
That ever bloom'd in Eden's shade,
Thine was the holiest offering there.

Hope and her sister, Faith, were given
But as our guides to yonder sky;
Soon as they reach the verge of heaven,

There, lost in perfect bliss, they die.*
But long as Love, Almighty Love,

Shall on His throne of thrones abide,
Thou, Charity, shall dwell above,
Smiling for ever by His side!

· Not to Myself Alone.

S. W. PARTRIDGE.

OT to myself alone,"

"N°

The little opening flower transported cries, "Not to myself alone I bud and bloom;

With fragrant breath the breezes I perfume,
And gladden all things with my rainbow dyes:
The bee comes sipping every eventide
His dainty fill;

The butterfly within my cup doth hide
From threatening ill."

"There Faith shall fail, and holy Hope shall die,
One lost in certainty, and one in perfect joy."-PRIOR.

Not to Myself Alone.

"Not to myself alone,"

The circling star with honest pride doth boast,"Not to myself alone I rise and set;

I write upon night's coronal of jet,

HIS power and skill who form'd our myriad host:
A friendly beacon at heaven's open gate,
I gem the sky,

That man might ne'er forget, in every fate,
His home on high."

"Not to myself alone,"

The heavy-laden bee doth murmuring hum,-
"Not to myself alone from flower to flower
I rove the wood, the garden, and the bower,
And to the hive at evening weary come :
For man, for man the luscious food I pile
With busy care,

Content if this repay my ceaseless toil-
A scanty share.”

"Not to myself alone,"

The soaring bird, with lusty pinion, sings,-
"Not to myself alone I raise the song:

I cheer the drooping with my warbling tongue,
And bear the mourner on my viewless wings;
I bid the hymnless churl my anthem learn,
And God adore;

I call the worldling from his dross to turn,
And sing and soar."

"Not to myself alone,"

The streamlet whispers on its pebbly way,-
"Not to myself alone I sparkling glide:
I scatter life and health on every side,
And strew the fields with herb and floweret gay;

D

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