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THE LOVE OF GOD.

M Y God! Thy boundless love I praise ;
W How bright on high its glories blaze !

How sweetly bloom below!
It streams from Thine eternal throne ;
Through heaven its joys forever run,

And o’er the earth they Aow.

'Tis love that paints the purple morn,
And bids the clouds, in air upborne,

Their genial .drops distil ;
In every vernal beam it glows,
And breathes in every gale that blows,

And glides in every rill.

But in Thy word I see it shine
With grace and glories more divine,

Proclaiming fins forgiven;
There, Faith, bright cherub, points the way
To realms of everlasting day,

And opens all her heaven.

Then let the love, that makes me blest,
With cheerful praise inspire my breast,

. And ardent gratitude ;

And all my thoughts and passions tend
To Thee, my Father and my friend,
My soul's eternal good.

Henry Moore. 1806.

GOD OUR SHEPHERD.

THE Lord my pasture shall prepare,

1 And feed me with a shepherd's care ;
His presence shall my wants supply,
And guard me with a watchful eye :
My noonday walks He shall attend,
And all my midnight hours defend.

When in the sultry glebe I faint,
Or on the thirsty mountain pant,
To fertile vales and dewy meads
My weary, wandering steps He leads,
Where peaceful rivers, soft and flow,
Amid the verdant landscape Aow.

Though in a bare and rugged way,
Through devious, lonely wilds I stray,
Thy bounty shall my pains beguile ;
The barren wilderness shall smile,
With sudden greens and herbage crowned,
And streams shall murmur all around.

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COW with a generous hand;

Pause not for toil or pain;
Weary not through the heat of summer,

Weary not through the cold spring rain ;
But wait till the autumn comes,

For the sheaves of golden grain.

Scatter the seed, and fear not,

A table will be spread ;
What matter if you are too weary

To eat your hard-earned bread?
Sow while the earth is broken,

For the hungry must be fed.

Sow; — while the seeds are lying

In the warm earth’s bosom deep,

And your warm tears fall upon it,

They will stir in their quiet sleep, And the green blades rise the quicker,

Perchance, for the tears you weep.

Then sow, — for the hours are fleeting,

And the seed must fall to-day,
And care not what hands shall reap it,

Or if you shall have passed away
Before the waving cornfields

Shall gladden the sunny day.

Sow, — and look onward, upward,

Where the starry light appears,
Where, in spite of the coward's doubting,

Or your own heart's trembling fears,
You shall reap in joy the harvest
You have sown to-day in tears.

Miss A. A. Procter.

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To have kissed the tender, way-worn feet

Of the Mother undefiled, And, with reverent wonder and deep delight,

To have tended the Holy Child !

Hush! such a glory was not for thee ;

But that care may still be thine ;
For are there not little ones still to aid

For the sake of the Child divine ?
Are there no wandering pilgrims now,

To thy heart and thy home to take ? And are there no mothers whose weary hearts

You can comfort for Mary's sake ?

O to have knelt at Jesus' feet,

And to have learnt His heavenly lore ! To have listened the gentle lessons He taught

On mountain and sea and shore ! While the rich and the mighty knew Him not,

To have meekly done His will ! Hush! for the worldly reject Him yet,

You can serve and love Him still. Time cannot silence His mighty words,

And though ages have fled away, His gentle accents of love divine

Speak to your soul to-day.

O to have solaced that weeping one

Whom the righteous dared despise !

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