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Thy Saviour weeps! Hear it, poor blinded heart;

Where angels weep, wilt thou foolhardy jest thee? In vain array and careless mirth take part,

Still hasting on, hasting till Death arrest thee?
Oh see, how true Eternal mercy keeps;

Thy Saviour weeps!
Thy Saviour weeps ! Sad spirit, hear it well,

Lift up thine eyes from out thy tearful dwelling;
Rejoice! rejoice! the Guard of Israel

Sees all thy grief, and all thy tears is telling.
Oh weep thou not, one Friend who never sleeps-

Thy Saviour, weeps !
Thy Saviour weeps! O tears with comfort rife,

So truly man the Son of Man befriended,
That e'en to taste this our poor earthly life,

And bitter bread of tears, He condescended.
He drinks thy cup, O man, in all its deeps,

Thy Saviour weeps !
Thy Saviour weeps! Oh precious pearly blood !

Get it, o man, among thy kingly treasure;
Thy Saviour's teardrops and thy Saviour's blood,

Are pearls and rubies for the poor soul's pleasure ;
Oh fair, who for his crown such jewels keeps,
Thy Saviour weeps !

A. P.

The Mount of Prayer.

Luke vi. 12.
N ow the day's work all is done,
IV Jesus seeks the mountain lone;
He hath worked since early morning,
Worn Himself the people warning;
Sleeps He, now night's stillness sways ?
No, He watches still and prays.
Now His spirit soars above,
Rests in God His Father's love;
He will cleanse His heart from sorrow,
Praying, arm Him for the morrow.
Wind, sigh soft, that whispering strays,
Jesus watches, Jesus prays !

Earthly need and sinner's smart
Deeply wound His holy heart;
Hush, oh world, thy strife suspending,
Comfort Him, high heaven descending ;
Stars, shine forth with gentle rays,
Jesus watches, Jesus prays !
Daily hath He taught the word,
But how few have rightly heard !
Many things He yet would show ;
But they cannot bear them now.
Hear, oh night, while silence sways,
Jesus watches, Jesus prays !
Who may know the converse deep,
Which the Son and Father keep!
Angels, join your choirs that glisten,
And far off adoring listen.
Hold thy breath, night, in amaze,
Jesus watches, Jesus prays !
Now beneath night's quiet shade
Rests the world in slumber laid,
And in dreams is still pursuing
Of its day the joy and ruing.
Sleep, oh world, in night's dull haze,
Jesus watches, Jesus prays !
Forth in night's concealing hour
Comes the evil one in power ;
With soft murderous step is creeping,
Round the homes where men are sleeping;
Wicked foe, foiled are thy ways,
Jesus watches, Jesus prays !
Watches with the watching one,
By the camp, in chamber lone;
Wakes yet, where the bitter weeping
Keeps the weary eye from sleeping.
Sleep, sad heart, thy Shepherd stays-
Jesus watches, Jesus prays !
Now indeed His course is run,
But His love is never done ;
There above for us He's pleading,
Ever watches, interceding,
Thinks of thee and me always;
Jesus watches, Jesus prays !

A. P.

HERE was great sorrow in John Hartley's home, for

illness had crept in, no one knew how, and laid its hand on the eldest girl. Little Mary, they

always called her, though she was twelve years old. Perhaps it was because her brothers were all older, and growing up to be tall men; or perhaps because little is such an endearing word, when spoken of those we love, and Mary was dear to every one in the home. You would not wonder at that if you could have seen how loving she was to everybody, and how useful; how she waited on her father, and helped her mother, and sang to her brothers the sweet sacred songs she learned at the Sunday-school. Dear little Mary!

But she was ill now. Her father missed the trim little figure that used to spring across the doorstep at night to meet him, with a bright word of welcome. Her mother went about the house with feet that seemed turned to lead, doing her own work and Mary's too, and grudging every moment that was spent out of the little room where her child lay.

Mary was very patient. She had learned about Jesus at the Sunday-school, and her young heart had welcomed the teaching, and opened its door to let the Saviour in; and it was because His love had been shed abroad there, that her little light had shone so brightly in the home.

Day after day passed by in an ebb and flow of the intermittent fever that had fastened upon her ; but most surely, as the days went on, all save herself saw that she grew weaker and weaker, and at length the doctor confirmed the mother's anxious fears, and told her that nothing could save her child, and that the end was near.

Poor mother! what could she have done in that moment of untold anguish, if she, too, had not known and believed the love God had to her? It needed all His strength and succour to enable her to go back to the sick room prepared

to tell her child the truth. Mary paved the way by asking, in startled tones, as she entered,

“Mother, what can be the matter with me? I never felt like this before. Oh, mother, what is it?"

The look of speechless sorrow on her mother's face was at first her only answer, and then Margaret braced herself, though amidst broken-hearted sobs, to tell her.

“My darling, I am afraid you are going to die.”

“ To die, mother! Am I going to die? I never thought of that.” And for a moment the little girl, feeling the cold water of Jordan lapping round her feet, shrank back appalled. “Do you think I am quite ready, mother?" she gasped. “What must I do? Tell me what to say, mother."

The poor mother's heart was so full of feeling that her mind was empty of thought, and for an instant all was a terrible blank around her. And still this pitiful little face was turned towards her, and the eyes, dim and glassy now, pleaded for help.

“My darling, this is what you must say !” she cried ; "yes, this is it,

" Jesus, lover of my soul,

Let me to Thy bosom fly,
While the nearer waters roll,
While the tempest still is high.
Hide me, oh, my Saviour, hide,
Till the storm of life be past;
Safe into the haven guide,

Oh, receive my soul at last !'". Mary listened with hushed breathing, following with her lips each word of the hymn, and, as her mother ended, a smile of rapture brightened over her face, “ Oh, mother; that's it, it's all Jesus! I needn't trouble ; I've given myself away to Him, and He will be sure to look after me. I'm quite happy now. Don't cry so, dear mother; He'll comfort you, too.” And with a joyful recognition of her longloved Saviour, the dying child put her hand on His rod and staff, and went by His side through the “valley;" and her

moti:er's grief was stilled, and even turned into grateful thanks unto Him who had given her little Mary the victory through her Lord Jesus Christ.

This is the only means of victory, dear reader. It is a wise and wholesome thing sometimes to anticipate our final encounter with “ the last enemy," to picture his approach, and the terror with which he will assuredly be armed to us, unless, like Mary, we have "given ourselves away to Jesus.” Let me entreat you to do this now. To the youngest reader of this true story, as well as to the aged, who can only see its words by the aid of spectacles, He is offering safety, pardon, and friendship. A “great salvation” truly, even in time of liealth, and when “the evil days” that darken so many lives have not as yet come near ours.

But how great to have our heads covered in the day of battle with outward and spiritual foes! Greatest of all, to meet death, that “strong man armed,” and “fear no evil,” because One “stronger than he” is with us, pledged to give us the victory. How is it that any one can turn aside from such a salvation as this, and prefer the risk and suspense and exposure of a life and a death without Jesus ?

M. C. F.

" pe are not your own."

DOUGHT with a price, I'm not my own;

D But all I have, and all I am,
My God, is Thine, and Thine alone,
Bought with the blood of Christ the Lamb.
From death redeemed, from fears relieved,
The burden of my sins removed ;
The Spirit in my heart has breathed
The sense how greatly I'm beloved.
That love now fills my heart, and gives
A holy faith and peace of mind;
A faith that from His truth receives
That calm sweet peace His children find.

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