Think gently of the erring;
Oh! do not thou forget,
However darkly stained by sin,
He is thy brother yet;

Heir of the self-same heritage,
Child of the self-same God,

He has but stumbled in the path
Thou hast in weakness trod.

Speak gently to the erring;
For is it not enough

That innocence and peace have gone,
Without thy censure rough?

It sure must be a weary lot,
That sin-stained heart to bear,

And those who share a happier fate,
Their chidings well may spare.

Speak gently to the erring;

Thou yet may'st lead them back

With holy words, and tones of love,

From misery's thorny track;

Forget not thou hast often sinned,

And sinful yet must be,

Deal gently with the erring then,

As God has dealt with thee.

Judge Not.

UDGE not; the workings of his brain
And of his heart thou can'st not see;
What looks to thy dim eyes a stain,

In God's pure light may only be

A scar, brought from some well-won field,
Where thou would'st only faint and yield.

The look, the air, that frets thy sight,

May be a token that below

The soul has closed in deadly fight,

With some infernal fiery foe,

Whose glance would scorch thy smiling grace,
And cast thee shuddering on thy face.

The fall thou darest to despise-
May be the slackened angel's hand
Has suffered it, that he may rise

And take a firmer, surer stand;
Or, trusting less to earthly things,
May henceforth learn to use his wings.

And judge none lost; but wait and see,
With hopeful pity, not disdain;

The depth of the abyss may be

The measure of the height of pain, And love and glory, that may raise This soul to God in after days.

A. A. Procter.

Faith, hope, and Charity.

AITH Hope, and Charity,-these three,
Yet is the greatest-Charity;

Father of lights! these gifts impart

To mine and every human heart.

Faith, that in prayer can never fail;

Hope, that o'er doubting must prevail;

And Charity, whose name above,

Is God's own name,-for God is love.

The morning star is lost in light;
Faith vanishes at perfect sight;
The rainbow passes with the storm,
And Hope with sorrow's fading form.

But Charity, serene, sublime,
Unlimited by death or time,

Like the blue sky's all-bounding space,

Holds heaven and earth in one embrace.

Life's Lesson.

J. Montgomery.

NDER the bowering honeysuckle,

By purple bells of shaking heather, And brambly spines that closely buckle Thick-leaved chains together,

As the sunshine plays,

Where the lily strays

On its stream,
Netting a gauzy maze

Where the shingles gleam,
Flitting in cressy nook

Which the forget-me-not

King-cup, and hare-bell dot,
How the glad little brook,

Sparkling along,

Singeth in joyous measure,

Toned by its own sweet pleasure,

Music's song!

Under the night's gloom, black and starless,
When the old forest-beeches near its
Darkling flood, like trees are far less
Than like shadowy spirits;

Though the sunlight's gone

That so sweetly shone,

And the flowers

Died, as the night came on,

With the golden hours;

Though the blossom and beam,
Though the love and the light
From the glamour of night
Have deserted its stream,

How the lone rill,

Chilled and forsaken-listen!

Makes, though no starlight glisten,

Music still!

Excelsior.

The Streamlet's Song.

LITTLE brook went singing,
All through the summer hours,
Ever a low soft murmur

It whispered to the flowers.
The bulrush and the sedgegrass
Its leafy border made,
And the low-bending willow
Gave cool and quiet shade.

The young birds loved its shelter,
And listened to its song,
They tried to learn its cadence
As it carolled it along.
What was the brooklet singing,

What did its murmur say,
As it sung its low soft music
Through all the summer day?

A child came to its margin,
It sung its song to her:
"Fair child," it said, "I'm joyous
As springtime's flowerets are.

For life is glad and sunny,
And who so gay as I?

For flowerets kiss me as I pass,
Beneath the glowing sky."