With Whom is no Variableness

T fortifies my soul to know

IT

That, though I perish, Truth is so;
That, howsoe'er I stray and range
Whate'er I do, Thou dost not change.
I steadier step when I recall

That if I slip Thou dost not fall.

FROM

Shall I Look Back

ROM some dim height of being, undescried, Shall I look back and trace the weary way By which my feet are journeying to-dayThe toilsome path that climbs the mountain-side Or leads into the valley, sun-denied ?

Where through the darkness hapless wanderers stray,

Unblessed, uncheered, ungladdened by a ray Of certitude, their errant step to guide?

Shall I look back, and see the great things small; The toilsome path, God's training for my feet, The pains that never had been worth my tears? Will some great light of rapture, bathing all,

Make by-gone woe seem joy: past bitter, sweet? Shall I look back and wonder at my fears?

In June

I Show You a Mystery

FRIEND, your face I cannot see,

Your voice I cannot hear,

But for us both breaks at our feet

The floodtide of the

year;
The summertide all beautiful

With fragrance, and with song,
Sung by the happy-hearted birds
To cheer the months along.

And so the mystery I show

Is this, all simple-sweet;
Because God's summertide so breaks

At yours and at my feet,
We're not so very far apart

As it at first would seem,

We're near each other in the Lord;

The miles are all a dream.

-JOHN WHITE CHADWICK.

Copyright, 1888, by John W. Chadwick.

Scotch Hymn

HERE are blossoms that hae budded,

THE

Been blighted i' the cauld,

An' lammies that hae perished

Because they left the fauld.
But cower ye in aneath His wings,
Wha died upon the tree,
An' gathers in His bosom.

Helpless weans like you and me.

In the warld there's tribulation,
In the warld there's wae;

But the warld it is bonnie,

For our Father made it sae ;
Then brichten up your armor,
An' be happy as ye gang,
Though your sky be aften clouded,
It winna be for lang.

A Song of Summer

HE ships glide in at the harbor's mouth,

THE

And the ships sail out to sea,

And the wind that sweeps from the sunny South,

It is sweet as sweet can be.

There's a world of toil and a world of pains,
There's a world of trouble and care,
But oh, in a world where our Father reigns
There is gladness everywhere!

The harvest waves in the breezy morn,
forth to reap,

And the men go

The fulness comes to the tasselled corn
Whether we wake or sleep.

And far on the hills by feet untrod,

There are blossoms that scent the air;
For oh, in this world of our Father, God,
There is beauty everywhere!

The breath grows faint on the dying lips,
And the weary hands lie still;
Our life is dimmed by the grief-eclipse,
But we rest on the Father's will.
A world of parting, a world of tears,
Yet we sink not in despair,

For oh, in the midst of the mournful years,
There is comfort everywhere!

The babe lies soft on the mother's breast,
And the tide of joy flows in,

He giveth, He taketh, He knoweth best,
The Lord to whose home we win.

And oh, when the soul is with trials tossed
There is help in the lifted prayer!
For never a soul that He loves is lost,
And our Father is everywhere!

The ships sail over the harbor bar
Away and away to sea,

The ships sail in with the evening star
To the port where no tempests be.
The harvests wave on the summer hills,
And the bands go forth to reap,
And all is right as our Father wills,
Whether we wake or sleep.

MARGARET E. SANGSTER.