Dr. Watts's Divine Songs-Suitable in many respects for youth and age-The verse repeated by an aged friend-The peevish repiner-The poor blind boy-Old Father William-Montgomery's lines on the soul-Advantage of making conversation and poetry the handmaids of piety.

"UNCLE! uncle! I have a favour to ask you. The pretty pieces of poetry that you repeated to me pleased me so much, that I want you to repeat to me a few more.'

"Do you, Edmund? Why, that is the very thing I intended to do. Perhaps you remember I explained to you that the object of all

conversation should be to afford pleasure, to do good, to impart information, or to give God glory. Now the pieces of poetry repeated by me were mostly meant to do good, by setting forth some striking lesson; but I wish also to show you how poetry may be made useful in conversation in promoting piety. Hardly could I say too much in favour of the Divine Songs of Dr. Watts, they are so simple, so appropriate, and so sweetly adapted to express the pious feelings of young and old. How well suited for the mouth of a child are the words

'How glorious is our heavenly King,
Who reigns above the sky!

How shall a child presume to sing
His dreadful majesty?'

And what word can be better adapted to the lips of a man of fourscore than these?—

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'I sing the almighty power of God,
That made the mountains rise;
That spread the flowing seas abroad,
And built the lofty skies."

They seem to be more beautiful to me now than when I have read them, uncle."

"Words when spoken in an impressive manner have more power than when simply printed in a book, and this is another proof of the great advantage of being able to converse well. When we speak well, we clothe what we say with more power and influence than it otherwise would possess. A short time ago,

an aged friend called in, who had just returned from the house of God. After speaking for some time in an animated manner about the service he had attended, he burst out into the words

'Lord, how delightful 'tis to see

A whole assembly worship thee!
At once they sing, at once they pray,
They hear of heaven, and learn the way.'

Every word he spoke went to my heart, and did me good. I seemed to have a fresher love for the house of prayer, and for holy things; and never did the verse of Dr. Watts, which my aged friend had spoken, appear so beautiful to me: it was harmony to my ears, and charming to my heart."

"You make me like it better than ever I did before."

"If, then, in conversing with you, I make you like a good thing better than you liked it before, so when you converse well with another the same effect may follow. If many people were more aware than they are what a power there is in conversation to do good, they would be much more anxious to learn to converse than they now are. I was once present when a serious person, whom God had abundantly blessed in many things, was peevishly repining at some very trifling trial. A friend who was with me, thinking it might do no harm mildly to reprove a repining spirit, repeated the following favourite little piece:

THE POOR BLIND BOY.

'Oh say, what is that thing call'd light,
Which I must ne'er enjoy?
What are the blessings of the sight?
Oh tell your poor blind boy.

"You talk of wondrous things you see,
You say the sun shines bright;
I feel him warm, but how can he
Or make it day or night?

'My day and night myself I make
Whene'er I sleep or play;
And could I always keep awake,
With me 'twere always day.

'Then let not what I cannot have
My peace of mind destroy;
While thus I sing, I am a king,
Although a poor blind boy.'

I am not prepared to say that a poor blind boy ever spoke these words in reality, but they are just such thoughts as would naturally rise in the mind of a cheerful-hearted blind boy, especially if God had made him thankful for what mercies he possessed, and given him hope of happiness hereafter, through Him who died on the cross. They at once stopped the peevish repining of the murmurer."

"That I dare say they did. If a blind boy can be happy, all other people ought to be,

I am sure.'

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Hardly do I know a prettier piece than that of 'Old Father William' by Southey, nor one more suited to the young. Very likely you may have read it, but it will bear repeating:

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OLD FATHER WILLIAM.

'You are old, father William,' the young man cried;
"The few locks that are left you are gray:
You are hale, father William, a hearty old man;
Now tell me the reason, I pray.'

'In the days of my youth,' father William replied,
'I remember'd that youth would fly fast;
And abused not my health and my vigour at first,
That I never might need them at last.'

'You are old, father William,' the young man cried,
'And pleasures with youth pass away;

And yet you lament not the days that are gone;
Now tell me the reason, I pray.'

'In the days of my youth,' father William replied,
'I remember'd that youth could not last;

I thought of the future, whatever I did,

That I never might grieve for the past.'

'You are old, father William,' the young man cried,
And life must be hastening away;

You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death;
Now tell me the reason, I pray.'

'I am cheerful, young man,' father William replied,
'Let the cause thy attention engage:

In the days of my youth I remember'd my God,
And he hath not forgotten my age."

Yes, I have read it, and I shall read it again, after what you have said, with more pleasure than ever. I can fancy that I see old father William now, with his grey hairs and his cheerful face, standing before me, looking as fresh as a holly-bush on a frosty morning." "When have learned to converse, Edmund, you may some day, perhaps, have an opportunity of bringing in the following little

you

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