IF WE KNEW ALL!

If all men's thoughts were written on their face,
Some one that now the rest doth overcrow,

Some others ebb that wants his sovereign grace,
When as the prince their inward thoughts should know,
The meaner then should take the better place,

The greatest man might stoop and sit below.

Sir John Harrington.

MAKING A DIFFERENCE.

Leigh Richmond was once conversing with a brother clergyman in the case of a poor man who had acted inconsistently with his religious profession. After some angry and severe remarks on the conduct of such persons, the gentleman with whom he was discussing the case concluded by saying, “I have no notion of such pretences; I will have nothing to do with him."—"Nay, brother, let us be humble and moderate. Remember who has

said, 'making a difference;' with opportunity on the one hand, and Satan at the other, and the grace of God at neither, where should you and I be?"

FENELON'S PRAYER.

O Lord, take my heart, for I cannot give it; and when thou hast it, oh keep it, for I cannot keep it for thee; and save me in spite of myself, for Jesus Christ's sake. Amen.

WHAT FENELON WOULD HAVE SAID TO DEATH.

Fenelon observed, shortly before his death, "Had I viewed only the glory of this world, I would have said to Death, when he presented to me the cup of bitterness, 'Let that cup pass from me.' But, happily, my thoughts were entirely taken up with heaven, and I exclaimed to myself, 'How pleasing is this cup!""

THE COSTLINESS OF MAD PLEASURE.

O vanity!

How are thy painted beauties doted on
By light and empty idiots! how pursued
With open and extended appetite!

How they do sweat, and run themselves from breath!
Raised on their toes to catch thy airy forms,

Still turning giddy till they reel like drunkards,
That buy the merry madness of one hour
With the long irksomeness of following time.

THE DURATION OF HOPE.

Ben Jonson.

Eternal Hope! when yonder spheres sublime
Peal'd their first notes to sound the march of time,

Thy joyous youth began, but not to fade,

When all thy sister planets had decay'd;

When wrapt in flames the clouds of ether glow,

And heaven's last thunder shakes the world below,
Thou, undismay'd, shalt o'er the ruins smile,
And light thy torch at nature's funeral pile!

Campbell.

"

THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL.

Vital spark of heavenly flame,
Quit, oh quit this mortal frame:
Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying-
Oh the pain, the bliss of dying!
Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life!

Hark! they whisper; angels say,
Sister spirit, come away!
What is this absorbs me quite?
Steals my senses, shuts my sight,
Drowns my spirit, draws my breath-
Tell me, my soul, can this be death?

The world recedes; it disappears!

· Heaven opens on my eyes! my ears
With sounds seraphic ring:
Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly:
O grave! where is thy victory?

O death! where is thy sting?

Pope.

THE PRAYER OF A LONELY HEART.

I am alone-oh be thou near to me,

Great God! from whom the meanest are so far.

Not in presumption of the daring spirit,

Striving to find the secrets of itself.

Make I my weeping prayer, in the deep want
Of utter loneliness, my God! I seek thee;
If the worm may creep up to thy fellowship,
Or dust, instinct with yearning, rise towards thee.
I have no fellow, Father! of my kind;

None that be kindred, none companion to me,
And the vast love, and harmony, and brotherhood,
Of the dumb creatures thou hast made below me,
Vexes my soul with its own bitter lot.

Around me grow the trees, each by the other;
Innumerable leaves, each like the other,

Whisper and breathe, and live and move together;
Around me spring the flowers-each rosy cup
Hath sisters leaning their fair cheeks against it;
The birds fly all above me-not alone,

But coupled in free fellowship, or mustering
A joyous band, sweeping in companies

The wide blue fields between the clouds; the clouds
Troop in society, each on the other

Shedding, like sympathy, reflected light;
The waves, a multitude, together run
To the great breast of the receiving sea:
Nothing but hath its kind, its company,
God! save I alone! then let me come,
Good Father! to thy feet; when, even as now,
Tears, that no human hand is near to wipe,
O'erbrim my eyes, oh wipe them thou, my Father!
When in my heart the stores of its affections,
Piled up unused, lock'd fast, are like to burst
The fleshly casket, that may not contain them,

Let me come nigh thee; accept them thou,
Dear Father! Fount of love! Compassionate God!
When in my spirit burns the fire, the pow'r
That have made men utter the words of angels,
And none are near to bid me speak and live:
Hearken, O Father! maker of my spirit!
God of my soul, to thee I will outpour

The hymns resounding through my troubled mind,
The sighs and sorrows of my lonely heart,
The tears and weeping of my weary eyes:
Be thou my fellow, glorious, gracious God!
And fit for me such fellowship with thee!

Frances Kemble Butler.