And let me not be one of them
Who, in profeffion poor,

Seem wealth and pleasure to contemn,
That they may cheat the more.

The works my calling doth propose,
Let me not idly fhun;
For he whom idlenefs undoes,
Is more than twice undone :
If my eftate enlarge I may,
Enlarge my love to Thee;
And though I more and more decay,
Yet let me thankful be.

For be we poor or be we rich,
If well employ'd we are,

It neither helps nor hinders much,
Things needful to prepare ;
Since God disposeth riches now,

As manna heretofore,

The feebleft gath'rer got enow,
The strongest got no more.

Nor poverty nor wealth is that
Whereby we may acquire
That bleffed and moft happy ftate,
Whereto we should aspire;

But if Thy Spirit make me wise,
And ftrive to do my beft,

There may be in the worst of these
A means of being bleff'd.

The rich in love obtain from Thee
Thy special gifts of grace;
The poor in spirit those men be
Who fhall behold Thy face:
Lord! grant I may be one of these,
Thus poor, or else thus rich;

E'en whether of the two Thou please,
I care not greatly which.

George Wither.

GIVE US OUR DAILY BREAD.

D

AY by day the manna fell;

O, to learn this leffon well!

Still by conftant mercy fed,

Give us, Lord, our daily bread.

"Day by day" the promise reads;
Daily ftrength for daily needs:
Caft foreboding fears away;
Take the manna of to-day!

Lord, our times are in thy hand;

All our sanguine hopes have planned,

To thy wisdom we refign,

And would mould our wills to thine.

Thou our daily task fhalt give ;

Day by day to thee we live;

So fhall added years fulfil

Not our own, our Father's will.

O, to live exempt from care,
By the energy of prayer;
Strong in faith, with mind subdued,
Glowing yet with gratitude!

Conder.

RECONCILED.

YEARS gone down into the past;
What pleasant memories come to me,

Of your untroubled days of peace,
And hours of almost ecstacy!

Yet would I have no moon stand still,
Where life's moft pleasant valleys lie;
Nor wheel the planet of the day

Back on his pathway through the sky.

For though, when youthful pleasures died,
My youth itself went with them, too;
To-day, aye! even this very hour,
Is the best hour I ever knew.

Not that my Father gives to me
More bleffings than in days gone by,

Dropping in my uplifted hands
All things. for which I blindly cry;

But that His plans and purposes

Have grown to me less strange and dim; And where I cannot understand,

I trust the iffues unto Him.

And spite of many broken dreams,
This have I truly learned to say—
Prayers which I thought unanswered once
Were answered in God's own best way.

And though some hopes I cherished once,
Perished untimely in their birth,

Yet have I been beloved and bleft
Beyond the measure of my worth.

And sometimes in my hours of grief
For moments, I have come to stand
Where, in the sorrows on me laid,

I felt the chaftening of God's hand;

Then learned I that the weakeft ones
Are kept secureft from life's harms;
And that the tender lambs alone

Are carried in the fhepherd's arms.

And, fitting by the wayfide blind,
He is the nearest to the light,

Who crieth out moft earnestly,
"Lord, that I might receive my fight!"

O feet, grown weary as ye walk,

When down life's hill my pathway lies,
What care I, while my soul can mount
As the young eagle mounts the skies?

O eyes, with weeping faded out,
What matters it how dim ye be?
My inner vifion sweeps untired
The reaches of eternity!

O death, most dreaded power of all,

When the last moment comes, and thou Darkeneft the windows of my soul, Through which I look on Nature now;

Yea, when mortality diffolves,

Shall I not meet thine hour unawed?

My house eternal in the heavens,
Is lighted by the smile of God!

Phoebe Carey.