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of men have not been exempt from temptation. Nor was our blessed Lord Himself. There is no sin in being tempted: the sin is in not resisting it . As a quaint old writer puts it, "We cannot help the birds lighting on our head, but we can help them making a nest in our hair."

The purest and noblest of men have trodden the path we tread. They were not ignorant of Satan's devices; nor was our Saviour Himself. Then in temptation "Think of Jesus."

Tempted, He resisted the tempter. He wielded a sword we too can wield. He humbled Himself to our human level, and as man he met the great foe of men. When tempted to prove His Divine Sonship by making the desert stones into bread for the satisfaction of His hunger, He said, "It is written, man shall not live by bread alone." He thus comes close to every one of us. He resisted not Satan by the victorious out-flashing of His Divine glory. His sword of resistance was the written word of God. With God's word he opposed the devil's word. That is the weapon too for us. How manifold the serviceableness of the Holy Scriptures! How important to search them, to know them! Would you see this value in resisting the Evil One? "Think of Jesus."

Satan could gain no advantage over Him. The word of God was the sword of victory. Satan, vanquished, left Him. His victory assures us of ours. He not only by His example teaches us how to resist, but he watches us in the conflict; prays for us, and by His almighty spirit helps us. "Greater is He who is for us, than all that can be against us."

Then in the hour of temptation, "think of Jesus." How He thinks of us! How He longs to bless and save us !" All power" is His. He can succour us. He can make us more than conquerors. Think of Him! Trust in Him! The contest may be keen: it cannot be long. Heaven is the home of peace. There, all conflict ended, "the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest."

T. C.

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The haar from off the German Sea,

Oh! it was cold and keen, And scarce a single loiterer

On all the street was seen.

For such as called some home their own

Were thither hurrying fast,
And homeless ones in nooks and stairs

Sought shelter from the blast.

Only one little waif stood still

Upon the wintry street,
Waiting to sell his matches there.

Amid the snow and sleet .

"Only a penny, matches, sir,
lights, matches, please to buy;

Only a penny, lights, sir, lights :"
Such was the poor child's cry.

I saw him as I hurried past,

There shiv'ring in the cold;
A child in years, his pale thin face

Was prematurely old.

"Give me a box," I said, "of those

Wax matches that you sell. Not change a shilling? Bring the change

Around to my hotel."

The hours passed by, no boy returned
To bring me back the change;

Temptation had o'ermastered him,
I thought, nor thought it strange.

Not strange that such a waif as he
Should clutch dishonest gain,

And yet I hoped that he would come:
My hope, it seemed, was vain.

"Poor child ! he knows no better; born

And bred in some thieves' den, You cannot judge of such a child As you would judge of men."

Late in the evening came a knock

At my room door. "Come in." 'Twas a poor little shivering child,

His dress was worn and thin.

He spoke; his voice was very sad,

And yet the tones were sweet. "Are you the gentleman that bought

The matches in the street?

There's fourpence of your shilling, sir,

My brither has lost some;
That's a' that's left, I've brocht it you,

For Sandie canna come.

He would hae come himsel' to you,

It's no for want o' will,
For him and me is honest, sir,

But Sandie's very ill.

A cart ran o'er him, and he lost

Your pennies in the sna';
His legs are broken, and he'll dee,

The doctor says. That's a'.

And there's your pennies, a' that's left."

He laid them on the tray,
And with a great heartrending sob

He turned to go away.

"Stay, little man. What is your name?

You're hungry, that I know, And very cold your little feet

With trudging through the snow.

O, Reubie, is it? That's your name."

I placed him by the fire, And set before him everything

I thought he could desire.

He tried to eat, but scarce the child

From sobbing could refrain,
Then started up—" I maun gang hame,

For Sandie's a' his lane."

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I rose up also. Then I said,
"I'll go with you, my man,

And see how Sandie is, poor lad,
And help him if I can."

Upon the road he told me they

Were friendless and alone; His father and his mother both

He said were dead and gone.

We found poor Sandie on the floor,
Some shavings formed his bed;

He made a sign, I stooped to hear,
And this is what he said :—

"I got the change, was coming back,

A horse then gave a start
As I was passing, and my legs

Were broken by the cart.

But Reubie, little Reubie, oh!

What will become of you When I am gone? When I am dead,

Oh! what will Reubie do 2"

"I will provide for him," I said,
Then gently took his hand;

He could no longer speak, but he
My words could understand.

A smile broke o'er his cheek; he gave

One look of glad surprise,
And all was o'er, the light of earth

Had faded from his eyes.

And I once thought the boy a thief

Dishonestly enticed,—
A small Barabbas, when the child

Was liker to the Christ .

With duty seen to mid his pains,
And done in face of death,

And for another tender care
Breathed in his latest breath.

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