Only an instrument ready,
For Him to use at His will ;
And should He not require me,
Willing to wait there still.

Oh to be nothing-nothing,

Though painful the humbling be; Though it lay me low in the sight of those Who are now, perhaps, praising me. I would rather be nothing, nothing,

That to Him be their voices raised, Who alone is the Fountain of blessing, Who alone is meet to be praised.

Yet e'en as my pleading rises,

A voice seems with mine to blend, And whispers in loving accents,

"I call thee not servant, but friend. Fellow-worker with Me I call thee, Sharing my sorrows and joyFellow-heir to the glory I have above, To treasure without alloy."

Oh, love so free, so boundless,
Which, lifting me, lays me lower
At the footstool of Jesus, my risen Lord,
To worship and adore!
Which fills me with deeper longing

To have nothing dividing my heart,

My "all" given up to Jesus,

Not "keeping back a part."

Thine may I be, Thine only,

Till called by Thee to share
The glorious heavenly mansions
Thou art gone before to prepare.
My heart and soul are yearning

To see Thee face to face,

With unfettered tongue to praise Thee
For such heights and depths of grace.

G. M. T.

HE LIVETH LONG WHO LIVETH WELL.

HE liveth long who liveth well!
All other life is short and vain ;
He liveth longest who can tell
Of living most for heavenly gain.

He liveth long who liveth well!
All else is being flung away;
He liveth longest who can tell

Of true things truly done each day.

Waste not thy being; back to Him,
Who freely gave it, freely give,
Else is that being but a dream,
'Tis but to be, and not to live.

Be wise, and use thy wisdom well;
Who wisdom speaks must live it too;
He is the wisest who can tell

How first he lived, then spoke, the true.

Be what thou seemest; live thy creed ;
Hold up to earth the torch divine;
Be what thou prayest to be made;

Let the great Master's steps be thine.

Fill up each hour with what will last;
Buy up the moments as they go ;
The life above, when this is past,
Is the ripe fruit of life below.

Sow truth, if thou the true wouldst reap;
Who sows the false shall reap the vain ;
Erect and sound thy conscience keep,
From hollow words and deeds refrain.

Sow love, and taste its fruitage pure;
Sow peace, and reap its harvest bright;
Sow sunbeams on the rock and moor,
And find a harvest-home of light.

BONAR.

THE DAY IS AT HAND!

POOR fainting spirit, still hold on thy way—
The dawn is near!

True, thou art weary; but yon brightening ray
Becomes more clear.

Bear up a little longer-wait for rest

Yield not to slumber, though with toil opprest.

The night of life is mournful-but look on-
The dawn is near!

Soon will earth's shadowy scenes and forms be gone-
Yield not to fear!

The mountain's summit will ere long be gained,
And a bright world of joy and peace attained.

"Joyful through life," thy motto still must be;
The dawn is near!

What glories will that dawn unfold to thee!
Be of good cheer!

Gird up thy loins; bind sandals on thy feet,
The way is dark and long, the end is sweet.

CHARLOTTE ELLIOTT.

THE PURER PATH.

No bird-song floated down the hill;
The tangled bank below was still;
No rustle from the birchen stem,
No ripple from the water's hem.

The dusk of twilight round us grew;
We felt the falling of the dew;
Far from us, ere the day was done,
The wooded hills shut out the sun.

But on the river's farther side
We saw the hill-tops glorified—
A tender glow, exceeding fair,
A dream of day without its glare.

With us the damp, the chill, the gloom ;
With them the sunset's rosy bloom;
While dark, through willowy vistas seen,
The river rolled in shade between.

From out the darkness, where we trod,
We gazed upon the hills of God,
Whose light seemed not of moon or sun;
We spoke not, but our thought was one.

We paused as if, from that bright shore,
Beckoned our dear ones, gone before:
And stilled our beating hearts to hear
The voices lost to mortal ear!

Sudden our pathway turned from night ;
The hills swung open to the light :

Through their green gates the sunshine showed;
A long, slant splendour downward flowed.

Down glade and glen and bank it rolled;
It bridged the shaded stream with gold;
And, borne on piers of mist, allied
The shadowy with the sunlit side!

"So," prayed we, "when our feet drew near The river, dark with mortal fear,