Again I looked, and all was still,
The light of life had fled;
With trembling hands we lifted them,
And laid them with the dead.

Yet there amid the graves I heard
A voice that seemed to say
That death reigns but a little while-
"This too shall pass away."

I know it, my Redeemer lives,
The dead in Him shall rise,
And when He cometh in the clouds
Shall meet Him in the skies.

The reign of wrong is not for long,
Soon comes His glorious day,
For He hath said of sin and curse-
"This too shall pass away."

O grant Thy Spirit, Lord, to me,
That I may wisely choose
The good that lasteth evermore,
And every ill refuse;

That I may find that crown of life
Which never can decay,

And build my hopes upon the Rock
That cannot pass away.

O Saviour! I would trust in Thee,
Thy love and grace endure;
Thou changest not like changing man,

Thy promises are sure.

Thou promisest to hear our cry,

And help us when we pray;

And suppliants from Thy throne of grace
Are never turned away.

I wait upon Thee, O my God!
For Thou canst save my soul.
Oh, heal me of sin's deadly wound,
And make my spirit whole!

I kneel beside Thy footstool, Lord,
I wait to hear Thee say

Of every evil thing in me,
"This too shall pass away."

The sage took up the stylus sharp
That by his tablets lay,

And wrote upon the page the words,
"This too shall pass away."

In sooth a proverb for all time,
A motto true and wise,
For change is writ on everything
That is beneath the skies.

It is but for a passing hour
We bask in fortune's smile,
And poverty and pain and woe
Last but a little while.

The sands that tell our saddest hours
Full speedily are run,

And earthly glory fades like light
At setting of the sun.

I thought upon the sage's words,
And ever like a bell,

With rhythmic cadence as I mused
Upon my soul they fell.

When I beheld the children's glee,
And marked them at their play,
I seemed to hear amid their shouts,
"This too shall pass away."

I looked again, and in their place
Were youths and maidens fair;
Around them bloomed the flowers
And music filled the air.

Yet while I listened to their so
Amid the gladdest lay,
There clanged the notes of changi
"This too shall pass away."

I looked again; I saw not youth

But men and women there,

was afraid you were going to be late! been ready ever so long."

h an impatient little woman," replied her t isn't half after twelve yet; however, we Do much time, I expect, for there's always a ts and things in Gracechurch Street, and we'll : perhaps half an hour to get you and the baby

ell, let's make haste then; 'two

a dreadful

My God, deliver me from sin,
And guilt and curse and woe;
And in the precious blood of Christ,
O wash me white as snow!

I cry from out the dark to Thee,
I weary for the day.

Speak to the darkness, Lord, and then
"This too shall pass away."

And then Thy light I shall behold,

Thy glory I shall see :

And in the vision of Thy face
Become, my God, like Thee.

Wrong's wrong, and Right's right.

T was twelve o'clock on the first Saturday in August, and the whistle that told the men engaged on the great block of new buildings in Kensington that

work was over for the week, sounded shrilly through the sultry air. The busy clink, clink of numerous trowels, the more distracting sounds of hammer, saw, and plane that had reigned since early morning, ceased as if by magic, and in a few minutes the men were hurrying home through the hot dusty streets, and the big unfinished houses were left silent and deserted.

One of the last to leave was a young carpenter of pleasant appearance, even in his soiled work-day clothes. Monday was Bank Holiday, and he gave a last look round to see that he had all his tools safe in his bag.

"Are you off anywhere to-day, Allwright?" asked a fellow-workman as they left the buildings together.

"Ay, I'm going to take the missis and baby down to Southend till Monday," he replied, with a broad smile of delight.

"You're a lucky fellow," replied his mate.

"We've too

many youngsters to do more than a boat to Greenwich or Kew for the day."

"Well," replied Allwright, "you see I've done a good stroke of work this summer, and my little woman has been a trifle weak ever since the baby was born last May, and this hot weather tries her; our street's close and hot, and a blow by the sea will be better nor a doctor's bill."

"You're right there, mate.

here."

Good-day, mate!"

Good-day to ye. I turns

And Charles Allwright hurried

away home, for they were to take the 2.27 train to Southend that they might have as long as possible in the fresh country air.

His lodgings were in a side street off Fulham Road, and there he found his young wife eagerly waiting to start; the few simple things they needed to take with them were ready packed in a neat bag, the baby dressed in her clean pelisse and fresh white linen hat; whilst a soft shawl lying across the bag showed that the thoughtful young mother had not forgotten that the sea-air might be keener than baby was accustomed to encounter in the close London streets. Part of a cold-meat pasty stood on a plate upon the table with a small jug of ale beside it.

Charles Allwright smiled as his rapid glance took in all these details, and then rested on the beaming face of his wife, as she turned quickly from the glass, before which she had been putting the finishing touches to her holiday attire, to welcome him.

66

Oh, Charlie, I was afraid you were going to be late! Baby and I have been ready ever so long."

"You are such an impatient little woman," replied her husband. "It isn't half after twelve yet; however, we shan't have too much time, I expect, for there's always a block of carts and things in Gracechurch Street, and we'll have to wait perhaps half an hour to get you and the baby across safe."

“Oh, well, let's make haste then; 'twould be a dreadful