hast chosen Israel to be thy people and thy privileged heritage, consider the deplorable state in which they are groaning so long a time; they are treated with disdain and ignominy because they have disowned thy Son, Jesus Christ. Though they do not as yet recognize their error, nor their blindness, yet we implore for them thy compassion, O Lord, and thy light.

"Open thy bowels of compassion for the lost sheep of the house of Israel, so that they may return to the fold of the true Shepherd, and the prodigal son find his father's house again.

"Hear, O Lord, our prayers, we unite them with those of the converted brethren, and with the merits of Jesus Christ expiring on the cross, and saying, 'Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.'

"Lift then the veil from their hearts so that they may acknowledge with us our Saviour Jesus Christ.

"Blessed be he that blesseth thee,' Gen. xxvii. 29."

Shall not these things "provoke to jealousy" those who hold a purer faith, even that which induced Paul's "heart's desire and prayer to God for Israel that they might be saved?"

Many souls have been saved through the blessing of God on the agency of this society; it is the only association in England which invites the co-operation of all Christians; it has twenty-three Missionaries engaged in the work; and yet it is struggling with debt, and discouraged in its world-wide desires. Will none of those who pray for Israel help us by their liberality?

GEO. YONGE.

Poetry.

LINES ADDRESSED TO A NATIVE PROTESTANT GREEK, AND INSERTED IN HIS ALBUM.

Greece.

ILLUSTRIOUS land! thy fame all praise exceeds,
For works of genius and heroic deeds;
Whence Britain's sons, who scan thy classic page,
IIave learn'd, unawed, to face the tyrant's rage;
Have fought their way to freedom and renown,
And on their brows have wreath'd the patriot's crown
Thy gifted poets tuned the sacred lyre

To strains which still our generous youth inspire;

Thy hoary sages, train'd within thy walls,

That science taught, which now adorns our halls ;

Thy spacious temples, which in ruins lie,
To modern art just models yet supply;
Admiring sculptors emulate, in vain,
The skill thy breathing statues still retain.
Thy limpid streams I love-thy swelling hills,
Thy fruitful plains, fed by meandering rills;
Thy balmy air, refresh'd with genial showers,
Breathing sweet perfume from ten thousand flowers;
The clustering isles which gem thy glassy seas,
Whose verdant shores inhale the cooling breeze;
Thy cloudless sky with roseate hues glow red,
When day's bright monarch leaves his watery bed;
And all the air with gold and purple gleams,
When, in the west, he sheds his parting beams;
And when still Night her sable pall has spread,
Ten thousand stars roll glittering o'er thy head:

But'tis thy highest praise that truth Divine,
When on this world her lamp began to shine,)
Thy copious tongue selected to convey

Her heavenly light to cheer us on our way;
On yonder hill the great Apostle stood,
While all around the idol shrines he view'd,
And to the proud Athenians first proclaim'd,

That God, whom they the Great Unknown had named.
Thence numerous churches rose, where erst had been
The Pagan altar, with its rites obscene;

Now, to a holier faith new temples rise,

Whence prayer ascends, like incense, to the skies;
There martyrs bled, and meek confessors stood,
And stake, and rack, and dungeon, calmly view'd;
But soon this golden period pass'd away,

And Greece was doom'd to bear the Moslem's sway:
The church was clothed in sackcloth, and became
Through ignorance and vice, an empty name.
Yet life survived to break the oppressor's yoke,
Greece gain'd her freedom, and her fetters broke ;
The brighter Cross the Crescent's light had paled,
And the proud foe beneath her valour quail'd;
And still a brighter day her sons awaits,
When Christian truth shall reign within her gates;
When, from the dust, her suffering church shall rise,
And the pure gospel glad her ravish'd eyes.
Yorkshire.

W. L.

FRIENDSHIP.

AMIDST the change which Autumn brings,
On hill and valley, leaf and flower;
How sweet a joy from friendship springs,
To cheer us when the tempests lower.
Again fair Summer's passed away,

With gay parterre and verdant bower;
But friendship still asserts her sway,

To cheer us when the tempests lower. Though war still reigns through Magog's land,*

And Russia's tyrant boasts his power; England and France victorious stand,

To cheer us when the tempests lower. Should sorrows dark our footsteps trace, And blighted be each cherished flower;

These lines were sung at a public Tea party at Charlesworth, on the 7th inst., on which occasion a lecture was delivered on "The Land of Magog the Russian Empire."

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