I'll build it so, that if the blast
Around it whistle loud and long,
The tempest, when its rage has pass'd,
Shall leave its rafters doubly strong.
I'll build it so that travellers by
Shall view it with admiring eye,

For its commodiousness and grace: Firm on the ground-straight to the sky, A meek, but goodly dwelling place. Thus noble in its outward form,

Within I'll build it clean and white,
Not cheerless cold, but happy warm,
And ever open to the light.
No tortuous passages or stair,
No chamber foul, or dungeon lair,
No gloomy attic shall there be,
But wide apartments ordered fair,
And redolent of purity.

With three compartments furnished well,
The house shall be a home complete;
Wherein, should circumstance rebel,

The humble tenant may retreat.
The first a room wherein to deal
With men for human nature's weal,
A room where he may work or play,
And all his social life reveal

In its pure texture day by day.

The second, for his wisdom sought,

Where, with his chosen book or friend,

He may employ his active thought

To virtuous and exalted end. A chamber lofty and serene,

With a door-window to the green,

Smooth-shaven sward, and arching bowers, Where lore or talk or song between, May gild his intellectual hours.

The third an oratory dim,

But beautiful; where he may raise,
Unheard of men, his daily hymn
Of love and gratitude and praise.
Where he may revel in the light
Of things unseen and infinite,

And learn how little he may be,
And yet how awful in thy sight
Ineffable Eternity!

Such is the house that I must build,
This is the cottage-this the dome-
And this the palace, treasure fill'd
For an immortal's earthly home.

Oh noble work of toil and care!
Oh task most difficult and rare!

Oh simple but most arduous plan!
To raise a dwelling place so fair-
The sanctuary of a man.

C. Mackay.

How old art thou?"

OUNT not the days that have idly flown,
The years that were vainly spent;

Nor speak of the hours thou must blush to own
When thy spirit stands before the throne
To account for the talents lent.

But number the hours redeemed from sin,
The moments employed for heaven;
Oh! few and evil thy days have been,
Thy life, a toilsome but worthless scene,
For a nobler purpose given.

Will the shade go back on thy dial-plate?
Will thy sun stand still on his way?
Both hasten on; and thy spirit's fate
Rests on the point of life's little date:
Then live while 'tis called to-day.

Life's waning hours, like the Sybil's page,

As they lessen, in value rise:

Oh! rouse thee and live! nor deem man's age Stands in the length of his pilgrimage,

But in days that are truly wise.

Fa

Thy way, not mine.

HY way, not mine, O Lord,
However dark it be!

Lead me by Thine own hand,
Choose out the path for me.

Smooth let it be or rough,
It will be still the best,
Winding or straight, it leads
Right onward to Thy rest.

I dare not choose my lot:
I would not, if I might;
Choose Thou for me, my God,
So shall I walk aright.

The kingdom that I seek

Is Thine; so let the way
That leads to it be Thine,
Else I must surely stray.

Take Thou my cup, and it
With joy or sorrow fill,
As best to Thee may seem;

Choose Thou my good and ill.

Choose Thou for me my friends, My sickness or my health; Choose Thou my cares for me, My poverty or wealth.

Not mine, not mine the choice,
In things or great or small;
Be Thou my guide, my strength,
My wisdom, and my all.

Bonar.

HER

Resignation.

ATHER! whate'er of earthly bliss
Thy sovereign will denies,

Accepted at Thy throne of grace,
Let this petition rise:-

Give me a calm, a thankful heart,
"From every murmur free:

"The blessings of Thy grace impart,

"And make me live to Thee.

"Let the sweet hope that Thou art mine
"My life and death attend;

"Thy presence through my journey shine,
"And crown my journey's end!"

Steele.