PERFECT LOVE. 1 JOHN iv. 18. Poetry. I SOUGHT among my kindred, I sought among my bosom friends, Now much they loved, but, ah! anon I found much love among my friends, The soldier, weltering in his blood, And now I turned upon myself, I thought the search was hopeless now, With bitter disappointment, then, I look'd, he sweetly smil'd on me, I'll lead thee through this wilderness, "Dear, precious Lord!" o'erwhelm'd, I cried, "Thine, thine's a perfect love!" Newport, I. W. ALBERT MIDLANE. TRIFLES. A CLOUD may intercept the sun; A web, by insect workers spun, Preserve the life within the frame, How often, at a single word, Will speed the pulse and blanch the cheek; And thoughts, nor look'd, nor yet express'd, Create a chaos in the breast. A smile of hope from those we love HYMN. "The Lord looketh on the heart." WHEN in thy temple, Lord of hosts, With prayerful lip we bow, If every vain and wayward thought And if the searching eye of man And every motive all unveil'd, How would the most familiar friend And neighbour scan the neighbour's face Yea, many whom a flattering world Might to the rocks and mountains turn, But Thou, to whose omniscient eye Our every thought on earth Hath stood uncurtain'd and reveal'd, E'en from our day of birth; How great must Thy forbearance be! SIGOURNEY. The Children's Gallery. BE KIND TO YOUR MOTHER. LITTLE Annie Grey was just eight years old. She was a blue-eyed, curlyhaired, and generally pleasant and happy child. But Annie's mother had been, for many long and weary months, confined to a sick room, with a pale face, and deep, hollow cough, which often brought tears to Annie's eyes, although she knew little of death, to which it might lead; and the indulgence which she received from those who had the care of the almost mother-plied, "I do not wish to read now. less child, as they called her, had made her wayward and fretful sometimes. Annie's mother loved her fondly and tenderly, and she gave her much good instruction. She used often, when she was well enough to walk in the fields, to lead her out, and tell her of the goodness of God in giving us the beautiful flowers which so much delighted her. She would tell her how he might have made the meadows without a single blossom, and the trees with but one colour, which now wore so many pretty shades; and after she was too weak to walk out, she would take her on her lap, and tell her of Jesus,-how he went about doing good while he lived in the world, that he was good and kind to everybody; and her eyes would fill with tears as she told her of his dying on the cross, and how he prayed for those who were so cruelly putting him to death. Annie loved to talk with her mother, but of late she had not been permitted to see her museum. She thought she should never tire of looking through the little opening at the curiosities within. She had laughed and jumped with it a long time, when her mother said, "Will my little girl read to me a few verses in her New Testament?" But Annie had not done with her museum. She chose, like many other little girls I have known, rather to please herself than her mother, and she fretfully re much. When she played with her ball, she was sent to the farther yard, that the noise might not disturb her mother; and when she played with her doll in the parlour, nurse would say, "Be very quiet, Annie, and not trouble your mother." Nurse will read you a chapter." Annie's mother said nothing, but she looked sad-so sad, that Annie could not love to look at her museum; so she got her beautiful gilt-covered Testament, the birthday-gift of her father, and read a few verses, but in so low a tone and so fast, and with so sour a face, that her mother took no pleasure in hearing her. Soon Mrs. Grey said, "I am very sick, nurse; you may take Annie away now." Nurse took the little girl to the bed-side, and then, for the first time, she saw how pale that mother was, except one spot on her cheeks, which was very red; but the sad, sorrowful look her mother gave her, as she received her usual goodnight kiss, touched her heart more than all the rest. But she was still too fretful to ask for forgiveness. After eating her supper, nurse put Annie to bed; but she could not sleep. That grieved, sad face of that dear mother was before her eyes whenever she closed them. She remembered how kind her mother had always been to her; she remembered how many times she had read stories to her before she had learned to call the hard words herself, and she longed now to kiss her, and ask her to forgive her; but she must wait till morning. Oh, how she But this was Annie's eighth birth-longed for the first dawn of light! She day, and this day she was to spend with her mother. She was too weak to say much to her, but she had in store for her many beautiful presents, and among others, one which pleased her more than all the rest-a Chinese remembered, too, what God has told us in his holy Word: to obey our parents-to honour our father and mother; and she knew that he was displeased with her, and she wept bitterly. There she lay on her little bed in the dark room, wishing morning would come. Soon she hears a noise, like many people going to and from her mother's sick room. Hark! some one approaches her door. It opens, and nurse enters in haste. Her eyes are red, and she is weeping. Nurse, why do you cry so; and why have you come to my room? is it morning?" "No, Annie, it is not morning. Your mother is much worse, and asks for you." Still wrapped in her loose, white night-robe, nurse hurried her to the dying bed; but, oh how shocked was she, as she gazed upon that mother, with whom she had parted but a few short hours before. That bright red spot upon her cheek was gone now, and she was much paler than Annie had ever seen her. Her eyes were large and very bright; her long dark hair, which Annie had twisted round her fingers so often, lay in damp, heavy masses on her forehead; and her breathing was very quick and short. Annie knew not what death was, but she felt that her mother was going to leave her, and wildly, sorrowfully threw her arms around her neck, and begged for forgiveness. Little strength was left to the dying woman; but with an effort she said, just loud enough for Annie to hear, "I do. Ask God, for you have offended him " And little Annie never heard her voice again. Her mother was dead. Years have rolled away, and Annie, no longer little Annie, still lives, but lives to be kind to all. She has not forgotten her mother's last words; and the remembrance of her unkindness to her has caused many a tear to dim her eye, and embittered many an hour; and she says to all little children, Do not sin against God by being unkind to your parents. My little readers, are you ever fretful or unkind to your parents? Remember little Annie. T. M. S. THE BOY AND THE BRICK-A FABLE. A BOY hearing his father say it was a poor rule that would not work both ways, said, "If father applies this rule about his work, I will test it in my play." So setting up a row of bricks, three or four inches apart, he tipped over the first, which, striking the second, caused it to fall on the third, which overturned the fourth, and so on through the whole course, until all the bricks lay prostrate. "Well," said the boy, "each brick has knocked down his neighbour which stood next to him; I only tipped one. Now I will raise one, and see if he will raise his neighbour. I will see if raising one will raise all the rest." He looked in vain to see them rise. "Here, father," said the boy, "is a poor rule; it will not work both ways. They knock each other down, but will not raise each other up." "My son," said the father, "bricks and mankind are alike, made of clay, active in knocking each other down, but not disposed to help each other up." "Father," said the boy, "does the first brick represent or resemble the first Adam ?" The father replied in the following Moral. "When men fall, they love company; but when they rise, they love to stand alone, like yonder brick, and see others prostrate, and below them." DRESS. NEVER laugh at those who do not dress as well as you do. They may know a great deal more than you. They probably are better far to their parents, or little brothers and sisters. Treat them kindly. Don't look at their clothes, and then at yours, as if to say, "See how nice I am dressed." Such conduct is mean and ill-bred. Don't be guilty of it. "HONOUR THY FATHER AND MOTHER." NONE love you so much as they; none are so much interested in fitting you to act well your part, and none so anxious that you should be kept from the evil of the world in which you are, and in which you are to live. Who will love you with a purer or more tender affection ? Who will nurse you more constantly when sick? The Cabinet. THE DEITY OF CHRIST, AS RELATED TO THE GLORY OF HIS PEOPLE. THE infinite dignity of the Saviour's character throws an inexpressible grandeur over all the other doctrines of the Gospel; and not one of the least pleasing themes of thought suggested by it is the inference we are authorized to make from it concerning the vastness of the good he will bestow upon his saints. The humiliation and death of so exalted a being implies that a most magnificent prize must have been before him. All he endured was not endured for a trivial end. And vast as was the object of satisfying Divine justice, so that pardon might be dispensed, yet the mere prevention of the penalty of the law upon his people does not meet all we have a right to feel was in view by that awful sacrifice. "I am come that ye may have life, and that ye might have it more abundantly." It was not the life of the soul as simply and barely rescued from the curse of the law, but a higher life, a more abundant life than even the obeyed law would have bestowed upon it. There are two aspects in which we may look at the blessedness of the saints, as suggested by the Deity of Christ. First, in regard to what we may infer respecting its greatness, from the amazing price paid for its redemption. Such intense love in clearing away the rubbish, so as to build the house at all, what will it not do in the matter of the actual erection of the building? If Christ was willing to die in order to remove an evil pressing upon the soul, what will he not do after such an incumbrance is thrown off, and the way is fairly open to reach it with his mercy? To what sublime results must not that love carry him in its eternal developments, since it could display itself in so amazing a manner by the sorrows of the garden and the agonies of the cross? Sin shall indeed be all forgiven. The atoning blood secures this. But this incumbrance upon the soul having been removed, what will not that love do that removed it at so awful an expense? Having fitted the soul, by taking away all the blindness and pollution of sin, for holy pleasures in his kingdom, on what a scale they will be bestowed! Mournful as is the spectacle of a weeping Saviour in the garden, and a bleeding Saviour on the cross, yet what a salvation the love thus shown intimates as about to be bestowed upon the saints! And connecting, as we must, the infinite dignity and glory of the Saviour's person with those sufferings, who can conceive the greatness of that joy they foreshadow as in due time to be bestowed by Infinite Love! Secondly, But there will be peculiarities in that abundant life an Infinite Saviour will bestow, which, in their nature, must vastly increase its joy. His Deity, as it gives an inexpressible interest to his humiliation, will awaken a sense of obligation causing an overflowing gratitude, itself pouring a mighty stream into that fulness of joy. The sense of the honour, too, bestowed upon their fallen nature, by the fact of the Redeemer's condescending to enter it, will add to the heavenly rapture of the saints. The splendour thrown over the justice and mercy of God, as they are both displayed in redemption, will also add to the brightness of the heavenly firmament. The confidence that will thus be inspired in the moral rectitude of the Divine character and government, as saints anticipate its everlasting progress, will also contribute to the sacred serenity and peace of their minds. In view of all these facts, we cannot but look upon the happiness of the saints as immeasurably augmented by the glorious doctrine of the Supreme Divinity of the Saviour. DIRECTIONS FOR DAILY WALKING WITH GOD. "Not as though I had already attained, either were already perfect; but I follow after, if that I may apprehend that for which also I am apprehended of Christ Jesus."-PHIL. iii. 12. 1. Resolve, in the strength of Divine | in a negligent manner. Earnest, begrace, to walk this day humbly with your God, drawing near unto him (Psa. lxxiii. 28) in renewed acts of repentance and faith, coming unto Christ, depending upon him, and looking to him as your atonement and example, and as the Author and Finisher of your faith. 2. Give diligence to make sure to yourself, and to evidence to others, your personal interest in the Son of God, your covenant relation to the Father through him, and consequent title to an everlasting inheritance in heaven. 3. Let nothing prevail on you to omit secret duties, or to perform them lieving prayer, the diligent study of the Scriptures, devout reflection, and self-examination, must be your every day employment, if you would keep up communion with God, and walk worthy of the Lord unto all pleasing. Thus, in the faithful and diligent use of these precious means, the man of God trims his lamp, and replenishes it with the heavenly oil, girds up the loins of his mind, becomes fruitful in every good work, and increases in the knowledge of God. 4. "Keep thine heart with all diligence." Examine well your thoughts and motives; guard particularly against the occasions of sin; vigilantly watch |