Yes me!-the feeblest-vilest-worst!
Deserving naught but woe,

By sin and Satan justly cursed,
Still ever I would go;

Go! Where? to thee, O bleeding heart,
No other balm can heal sin's smart,
To thy own wounds, and thence to tell
How thy free grace can save from hell.

Oh! if indeed it were not so

If men beneath thy eye,
Did not thy love and merits know,

How soon their hope must die;
How poor their faith who in self trust,
How soon their joy must reach the dust;
Though high they rise 'tis but to fall,
Thy death, O Jesus, is our all!

Then let me hope, though broken now,
That I shall yet be healed;
For though my Lord is crowned a king,
His heart is never steel'd;

Look up then, soul, mid sorrow's night,
The master's love shines clear and bright,
His promise he can ne'er forget,

His grace can make thee triumph yet.

WAITING.

"I wait for the Lord; my soul doth wait, and
in his word do I hope."-PSALM CXXX. 5.
WAITING, Waiting, humbly waiting,
At thy throne, thy face to see;
Oft with sin and doubt debating,-
Still, O Lord, upheld by thee.
Waiting, waiting, meekly waiting,
For the light to re-appear,
When in darkness feebly walking,
And no help or succour near.
Waiting, waiting, sadly waiting,
For the cloud to disappear;
Then to feel the Saviour's presence
Quelling doubt-dispelling fear.
Waiting, waiting, lonely waiting,
When my hope seems long deferred;
Yet, Lord, kept by Sovereign mercy,
Hoping only in thy word.

Waiting, waiting, lowly waiting,
At the foot of Calvary's Cross,
Seeking there increase of knowledge-
Counting all things else but loss.
Waiting, waiting, calmly waiting,
On my couch of pain and woe;
Cheered and strengthened by the promise—
"I will never let thee go."
Waiting, waiting, daily waiting,
For supplies of needed grace,
To sustain, 'midst every trial,
Pain, or grief, I have to trace.
Waiting, waiting, fondly waiting,
When my trembling soul finds rest;
When in waves of tribulation
Jesus calms my troubled breast.

Waiting, waiting, fitly waiting,
By God's Spirit sanctified;
For while nought but hell-deserving,
I shall live, for Christ has died.
Waiting, waiting, happy waiting,—
Resting in a Saviour's love,

Till awaking in his likeness,
I shall reach my home above!
W. H. RAMSEY.

January 13, 1867.

THE ARK.

THERE is no change of time and place with THEE;

Where'er I go, with me 'tis still the same; Within thy presence I rejoice to be,

And always hallow thy most holy name. The world doth ever change; there is no peace

Amid the billows of the storm-vexed breast;

With every breath the frothy waves increase, They toss up mire and dirt, they cannot

rest.

I thank THEE that within thy strong-built ark

My soul across the uncertain sea can sail, And though the night of death be long and dark,

My hope in Christ shall reach within the veil;

And to the promised haven steady steer, Whose rest to those who love is ever near.

THE BLESSED.

"Blessed are they that have not seen and yet have believed."-JOHN XX. 29.

WE saw thee not when Thou didst tread,
O Saviour, this our sinful earth;
Nor heard thy voice restore the dead,

And waken them to second birth;
Yet we believe that Thou didst come,
And quit for us thy glorious home.
We were not with the faithful few,
Who stood thy bitter cross around;
Nor heard thy prayer for those who slew,
Nor felt that earthquake rock the ground;
We saw no spear-wound in thy side,
But we believe that Thou hast died.
No angel's message met our ear,

On that first glorious Easter-day; "The Lord is risen, He is not here,!

Come, see the place where Jesus lay." But we believe that Thou didst quell The banded powers of death and hell. We saw Thee not return on high;

And now, our longing sight to bless, No ray of glory from the sky

Shines down upon our wilderness; But we believe that Thou art there, And seek Thee, Lord, in praise and prayer. From the German.

MORTALITY.

YET a few days, and thee

The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all its course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form is laid with many
tears,

Nor in the embrace of oceans, shall exist Thy image. Earth that nourished thee shall claim

Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again;
And lost each human trace, surrendering up
Their individual being, shalt thou go
To mix for ever with the elements,-
To be a brother to the insensible rock,
And to the sluggish clod, which the swain
Turns with his share and treads upon.

Yet not to thy dark resting-place Shalt thou retire alone. Thou shalt lie down With patriarchs of the infant world-with kings,

The powerful of the earth-the wise, the good,

Fair forms, and hoary seers, of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre.

So shalt thou rest; and what if thou withdraw,

Unheeded by the living, and no friend Take note of thy departure? All that breathe

Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh

When thou art gone--the solemn brood of

care

Plod on, and each one, as before, will chase His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave

Their mirth and their employment, and shall come

And make their bed with thee. As the long train

Of ages glide away, the sons of men, The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes

In the full strength of years, matron and maid,

And the sweet babe, and the grey-headed

man,

Shall, one by one, be gathered to thy side, By those who, in their turn, shall follow them.

So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan that moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall
take

His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave, at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and
soothed

By an unfaltering Trust, approach thy grave Like one that draws the drapery of his couch

About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

THE world is like the ivy which first draws out the cement between the bricks. and then, while hastening their decay, holds them temporarily together. It apparently keeps society together, but really it destroys religion, by which alone men can be made to live in harmony and love.

To believe in the realization of our wishes, in relation to temporal comforts, is one thing; to believe in GoD, to whom those wishes are expressed, is quite another. What is wanted, then, to dissipate anxieties, to scatter the dark cloud of over-carefulness, to fill the heart with holy composure, and to irradiate the soul with the blessed light of Heaven, is simply this the divine, the potent, the perfect remedy-unwavering faith in God. The Christian, to be consistent with his sublime profession, must surrender not merely selfrighteousness, but self-will, self-wishes, self-guidance, self-everything. He is in the unerring hands of the Lord who redeemed him, who keeps him, who loves him, who guides him continually, and who will surely bring him to glory. He may meet

with difficulties, crosses, losses, bereavements. It is not in the covenant that he shall not; but it is in the covenant that he shall be supported under them all, that they shall all be sanctified to him, and that all things shall work together for his good. What more would he?-W. L.

THERE is a volume of thought suggested by the extreme simplicity of these words, "Remember me," Behold my hands and my feet, that it is I myself; handle me and see," were the words of Jesus while still on earth. Now, He says, "Do this" (i.e. eat the bread, and drink the wine, which are the outward signs of the body and blood of Christ), " in remembrance of me." "Don't forget my body; remember it still, all the while I am away, till I come again." Where then is the body of Jesus now? Thither let the eye of faith be turned whilst feeding on these outward remembrances of it. Think not only how Jesus has once died, but, "rather," how He now lives! It is Jesus "as He is" that He bids us remember, "to our great and endless comfort."-A. L. NEWTON.

Avow your willingness to be Christ's.

Place your whole soul and heart in His redeeming hands. Wrestle with Him. Let Him not go, until your burdens fall, and peace swells like a rising tide. He can bring back to God. He can assure of pardon. He can reveal His pierced hands and side. He can bestow the title-deeds of life. He can admit you, as an adopted child, to the high family of grace. Then you will fully feel, how true are Moses' last words, "Happy art thou, O Israel; who is like unto thee, A people saved by the Lord, the shield of thy help, and who is the sword of thy excellency! And thine enemies shall be found liars unto thee; and thou shalt tread upon their high places."-ARCHDEACON LAW.

LET this triumphant name, "The Lord our Righteousnesss," settle every difficulty, solve every doubt, and silence every accusation. When conscience tells thee thy sins are both many and great, answer thou, "Christ cleanseth from all sin." When reminded of your ignorance, say, "Christ is my wisdom." When your ground and title to the kingdom are demanded, say, "Christ is my righteousness." When your meetness to enter within its sacred walls is challenged, say, "Christ is my sanctification. When sin and the law-when death and Satan claim thee as their captive, reply to them all, "Christ is my redemption." The Law saith, Pay thy debt. The Gospel saith, Christ paid it. The Law saith, Make amends for thy sins. The Gospel saith, Christ hath made it for thee. The Law saith, Thou art a sinner; despair, for thou shalt be condemned. The Gospel saith, Thy sins are forgiven thee; be of good comfort; thou shalt be saved.REV. JOHN STEVENSON.

We doubt not that there will be seasons, even in the happiest Christian pilgrimage, when the soul will be discouraged, because of the way. When difficulties which we thought had passed over, will re-appear; when temptations, which we hoped had been for ever vanquished, will again rise up against us; when sins, which we trusted we had forsaken, will once more mar our path; and these things will lead us to feel a deep sensation of despondency; we shall he tempted to think that God cannot pardon delinquencies so frequent and unprovoked, and that we shall certainly perish on the journey, and never arrive at that journey's blissful end. Let us be careful that such feelings lead us not into temptation; that they do not close our eyes and

our hearts against the infinity of God's mercy in Christ Jesus.-BLUNT.

THE child of God has nothing to dread, actually nothing. O dear friend, what a happy life we may, and, I trust, shall lead; and this also is the gift of God, for joy is a fruit of the Spirit. The pure, rich, deep stream of Jehovah's love pouring itself in ever-increasing fulness through the soul, which he has transformed into his image; and the knowledge, the practical knowledge every moment experienced, that each event, and every portion of each event, is working for good, that all past falls have been really subservient to God's glory and our ultimate benefit.-Letter to a Friend.

THERE is much contest in the world about property; but believers, taking Christ for their only property, whom nobody can take from them, have, in him alone, immense treasures and lasting peace.-BOGATZKY.

A MAN never sees the awful danger he was in, until it is past; never truly sees himself until he is safe; and never admits the connection between his sins and their consequences, until the former are forgiven and the latter removed by the efficacy of atoning blood. Hence, the grace which pardons transgression makes a new creature of the transgressor at the same moment. He hears with other ears, sees with other eyes, and feels as he never felt before. His loyalty is secured to the King who forgives him, not as the result of a process of thought that thus it should be out of gratitude for such a marvellous blessing, but simultaneously with the act of forgiveness, a new life diffuses itself through the heart, and constrains it to lay itself at the feet of the glorious Sovereign. The process of thought comes afterward, comes daily throughout the whole subsequent life, and, whatever be its premises, the conclusion is invariably the same, that the ransomed life belongs exclusively to the Ransomer.-W. L.

GOD never takes anything from his children, but he gives them something better. If he takes away the sixpence of comforts, he gives them the shilling of grace. (2 Cor. xii. 7.)

IF thou hast a Christ in thy heart, a cross on thy shoulder, a world under thy feet, and heaven in thy view, thou art a happy man.

CHRIST is clothed with majesty, but the garment in which he most delights is the "vesture dipt in blood." (Rev. xix. 13.

DID you ever go to God, as a God who is perfectly at peace with you, believing that there is not a thought in his heart but it is in love to you? When the believer goes to him otherwise, he greatly dishonours him, because it implies that God was not satisfied with what Christ has done and suffered.

FAITH is like the mainspring of a clock, it keeps all going. (See Heb. xi. 6.)

HEAVEN'S Songs are all about grace; there will be no Pharisee there. (Rev. v. 9.)

IT will be found at last that none did so much for Christ as those who built their salvation on a free-grace bottom. (Acts xx. 24.)

GIVE the tree of promise a shake with the hand of faith, and blessed fruit will drop.

THE ALPINE HUNTER. AMONG all the hunters on or near the Wengam Alps, there was no one more fearless, or daring, or successful, than Pierre Bernard. He not only knew where the wild chamois had his home, but the very peaks of the rocks on which he would be likely to perch, as he lay down snuffing every breeze that came over him. There were no cliffs which Pierre could not climb, no abyss over which he would not find access. Hence, he seldom returned home without a chamois thrown over one shoulder, while his great bored rifle rested on the other. Sometimes he would be miles away and far up the awful mountains, when day-light first gilded their peaks. Sometimes he would at night-fall be up far among the peaks and horns watching to see this mountain goat go to rest. When once he saw his game, his eye was so true and his nerves so strong, that he was about sure of him. Late and early, he was never at a loss.

Once, near the Alpine winter, just at night, he found himself far up among the highest peaks, many miles from home. For hours he had been following a flock of chamois as they leaped from rock to rock, and even up and down steeps which it would seem that no hoof could tread. Just as the sun had set, he got his first chance, and his shot gave him a noble chamois. But darkness was now coming on, and night was beginning to spread her solemn mantle over these awful solitudes. It grew intensely cold, and the winds were rising, and sweeping and moaning among the rocks. He threw his game over his shoulder and set out for home. He well knew that if he should stop he would freeze to death.

Over the jagged rocks he went as fast as

66

But

his heavy load would allow him. darkness came on fast. He knew that for many a mile he must find his way pathless, and unmarked, not by eyeing the peaks as in the day-time, but by his best judgment. He knew, too, that he had one awful chasm to pass over. It was hundreds of feet deep, and about twenty feet across its top. He knew that at a particular spot, one single log had been thrown over as a bridge. He knew that over that log he must cross with his load on his back. He knew, too, that through this chasm the winds rushed very strong. He knew he must find the log and get over it, or he would perish with cold. Would he be able to find it? Could he get over it? Fearing he might be belated, he had brought a small lamp in his pocket. So when it became dark he crouched under a great rock in a weary land," and with a match, lighted his little lamp. What was his horror to find that he had but one single match! A single gust of wind might put out his lamp, and then-! So he hung it to a string, and let it down, near the ground, to be "a lamp to his feet." Step by step he went, holding his little lamp most carefully-for if that failed, he must perish. At last he came to the chasm, and after a long search, found the log. It was a small, smooth, spruce log. And how fearfully the winds moaned and groaned through the chasm! A single strong gust would put out the lamp, and then-! Pierre offered one short, earnest prayer, and laid himself on the log, to creep over. He tied his load to his back, and with one hand grasped the log, and with the other held the string, by which the lamp hung over the dark, deep abyss. Slowly, almost breathlessly, he crept along on the log-the winds blew, the flame