Recollect, 'tis thus the Saviour

Says he will thy soul reclaim,
With weeping and with supplication,
Humbly offered through his name.

PERSEVERANCE.

A swallow in the spring

Came to our granary, and 'neath the eaves Essayed to make a nest, and there did bring

Wet earth, and straw, and leaves.

Day after day she toiled

With patient heart;

crowned,

but ere her work was

Some sad mishap the tiny fabric spoiled,

And dashed it to the ground.

She found the ruin wrought,

But not cast down, forth from the place she flew,

And with her mate, fresh earth and grasses brought And built her nest anew.

But scarcely had she placed

The last soft feather on its ample floor,

When wicked hand, or chance, again laid waste

And wrought the ruin o'er.

But still her heart she kept,

And toiled again; and last night, hearing calls, I looked — and lo! three little swallows slept Within the earth-made walls.

What truth is here, O man!

Hath hope been smitten in its early dawn? Have clouds o'ercast thy purpose, trust or plan ? Have FAITH, and struggle on!

THE EVENING STAR.

REV. W. G. DANÁ.

The evening cloud in Summer sky;
Reflecting the last light of day,
Appears all glorious to the eye,

But, soon dissolving, melts away.
When darkness has her mantle spread,
Those golden splendors all are fled.

But where that cloud in glory shone,
Whose hues so gorgeous did appear;

Gleams forth, where now that splendor's flown,

The bright, unchanging evening star.
That star serene forever glows,
Effulgent as when first it rose.

And so when Hope's fair visions fade,
Her radiant splendors seen no more,
When earthly scenes are wrapped in shade,
And life's illusions all are o'er,

A better hope then beams from far,
And shines, a bright eternal star.

THE SEA SHORE.

NEWTON.

In every object here I see
Something, O Lord, that leads to Thee
Firm as the rocks thy promise stands,
Thy mercies countless as the sands,
Thy love a sea immensely wide,
Thy grace an overflowing tide.

In every object here I see

Something, my heart! that points at thee; Hard as the rocks that bound the strand, Unfruitful as the barren sand,

Deep and deceitful as the ocean,

And, like the tides, in constant motion.

TRUTH OF SCRIPTURE.

DRYDEN.

Whence, but from Heaven, could men unskilled in arts,

In several ages born, in several parts,

Weave such agreeing truths? or how, or why,
Should all conspire to cheat us with a lie?
Unasked their pains, ungrateful their advice,
Starving their gain, aud martyrdom their price.

WORK AND CONTEMPLATION.

ELIZABETH B. BARRETT.

The woman singeth at her spinning wheel
A pleasant chant, ballad, or barcarolle;
She thinketh of her song, upon the whole,
Far more than of her flax; and yet the reel
Is full, and artfully her fingers feel
With quick adjustment, provident control,
The lines, too subtly twisted to unroll
Out to a perfeet thread. I hence appeal
To the dear Christian church that we may do
Our Father's business in these temples mirk,
Thus, stiff and steadfast; thus, intent and strong;

While, thus apart from toil, our souls pursue

Some high, calm, spheric tune, and prove our work The better for the sweetness of our song.

INTERNAL EVIDENCE.

KITCHENER.

A man of subtle reasoning asked
A peasant if he knew

Where was the internal evidence
That proved the Bible true?

The terms of disputative art
Had never reached his ear,
He laid his hand upon his heart,
And only answered, "Here."

EXTERNAL EVIDENCE.

Prophets of old, events foretold
Ages ere they transpired;

Each word fulfilled, as God had willed,
Proclaims they were inspired.