"It is more Blessed."

'IVE! as the morning that flows out of heaven;

Give! as the waves when their channel is riven; Give! as the free air and sunshine are given;

Lavishly, utterly, joyfully give:

Not the waste drops of thy cup overflowing,
Not the faint sparks of thy hearth ever glowing,
Not a pale bud from the June roses blowing;

Give, as He gave thee, who gave thee to live.

Pour out thy love, like the rush of a river,
Wasting its waters, forever and ever,

Through the burnt sands that reward not the giver;
Silent or songful, thou nearest the sea.

Scatter thy life, as the summer showers pouring!
What if no bird through the pearl-rain is soaring?
What if no blossom looks upward adoring?

Look to the life that was lavished for thee!

So the wild wind strews its perfumed caresses,
Evil and thankless the desert it blesses,
Bitter the wave that its soft pinion presses,

Never it ceaseth to whisper and sing.
What if the hard heart give thorns for thy roses?
What if on rocks thy tired bosom reposes?
Sweetest is music with minor-keyed closes,

Fairest the vines that on ruin will cling.

Almost the day of thy giving is over;

Ere from the grass dies the bee-haunted clover,
Thou wilt have vanished from friend and from lover;
What shall thy longing avail in the grave?
Give, as the heart gives, whose fetters are breaking,
Life, love, and hope, all thy dreams and thy waking,
Soon heaven's river thy soul-fever slaking,

Thou shalt know God, and the gift that he gave.

ANONYMOUS.

THE TEACHER TAUGHT.

409

Ο

The Teacher Taught.

'ER wayward children wouldst thou hold firm rule,
And sun thee in the light of happy faces:

Love, Hope, and Patience,-these must be the graces.
And in thy own heart let them first keep school!
For, as old Atlas on his broad neck places
Heaven's starry globe, and there sustains it, so
Do these upbear the little world below
Of education-Patience, Hope, and Love!
Methinks I see them grouped in seemly show,—
The straitened arms upraised,-the palms aslope,--
And robes that touching, as adown they flow,
Distinctly blend, like snow embossed in snow.
O part them never! If Hope prostrate lie,
Love, too, will sink and die.

But Love is subtle; and will proof derive,
From her own life, that Hope is yet alive,
And bending o'er, with soul-transfusing eyes,

And the soft murmurs of the mother dove,

Woos back the fleeting spirit, and half supplies.

Thus Love repays to Hope what Hope first gave to Love! Yet haply there will come a weary day,

When, overtasked, at length,

Both Love and Hope beneath the load give way,
Then, with a statue's smile, a statue's strength,
Stands the mute sister, Patience,—nothing loath;
And, both supporting, does the work of both.

SAMUEL T. COLERIDGE.

"My Times are in Thy Hand."

Psalm xxxi. 15.

ATHER, I know that all my life

FA

Is portioned out for me:

And the changes that are sure to come
I do not fear to see;

But I ask thee for a present mind
Intent on pleasing thee.

I ask thee for a thankful love,
Through constant watching wise,
To greet the glad with joyful smiles,
And to wipe the weeping eyes;
And a heart at leisure from itself,
To soothe and sympathize.

I would not have the restless will
That hurries to and fro,

Seeking for some great thing to do,
Or secret thing to know;
I would be treated as a child,
And guided where I go.

Wherever in the world I am,
In whatsoe'er estate,

I have a fellowship with hearts,
To keep and cultivate;

And a lowly work of love to do,

For the Lord on whom I wait.

So I ask thee for the daily strength,
To none that ask denied ;

And a mind to blend with outward things

While keeping at thy side;

Content to fill a little space,

If thou be glorified.

4 STRIP OF BLUE.

And if some things I do not ask,

In my cup of blessing be,

I would have my spirit filled the more
With grateful love to thee-

More careful than to serve thee much,
To please thee perfectly.

There are briers besetting every path,
That call for patient care;

There is a crook in every lot,

And an earnest need for prayer; But a lowly heart that leans on thee, Is happy everywhere.

In a service that thy love appoints
There are no bonds for me;

For my secret heart has learned the truth
That makes thy children free,

And a life of self-renouncing love
Is a life of liberty.

411

MISS A. L. WARING.

I

A Strip of Blue.

Do not own an inch of land,

But all I see is mine-

The orchard and the mowing-fields,

The lawns and gardens fine.
The winds my tax-collectors are,
They bring me tithes divine—
Wild scents and subtle essences,
A tribute rare and free:
And more magnificent than all,
My window keeps for me
A glimpse of blue immensity-
A little strip of sea.

Richer am I than he who owns

Great fleets and argosies;
I have a share in every ship
Won by the inland breeze
To loiter on yon airy road
Above the apple-trees.

I freight them with my untold dreams,
Each bears my own picked crew;
And nobler cargoes wait for them
Than ever India knew-

My ships that sail into the East

Across that outlet blue.

Sometimes they seem like living shapes→ The people of the sky

Guests in white raiment coming down

From Heaven, which is close by:

I call them by familiar names,
As one by one draws nigh,
So white, so light, so spirit-like,

From violet mists they bloom!
The aching wastes of the unknown
Are half reclaimed from gloom,
Since on life's hospitable sea

All souls find sailing-room.

The ocean grows a weariness
With nothing else in sight;
Its east and west, its north and south,
Spread out from morn to night:
We miss the warm, caressing shore,
Its brooding shade and light.
A part is greater than the whole;
By hints are mysteries told;
The fringes of eternity-

God's sweeping garment-fold,

In that bright shred of glimmering sea, I reach out for, and hold.