Read and ponder well the story, how in Mizraim's ancient land,

He the suffering slaves delivered with a mighty outstretched hand;

Stay not till the plagues are on thee, lest perchance a funeral cry,

Loud and bitter, strangely mingle with the shout of LIBERTY!

E. B. P.

THE SAVIOUR'S GIFT.

Peace was the song the angels sang,

When Jesus sought this vale of tears,
And sweet the heavenly prelude rang,
To calm the watchful shepherds' fears.
War is the cry that man doth raise,
As frantic in Bellona's train,
He bids her vengeful altars blaze,

While tears and blood his garments stain.

Peace was the prayer the Saviour breath'd,
When from this earth his steps withdrew,

The gift He to his friends bequeath'd,
With Calvary, and the Cross in view.

Oh! ye, whose souls have felt His love,
Guard day and night this rich bequest;
The watch-word of Heaven's host above,
The passport to their realms of rest.

L. H. S.

LOOK FOR THE FLOWERS.

HERE we, earth's wanderers,
Timid and brave,

Hasten with onward step

Nearer the grave;

And in our pilgrimage,

Should we not see

All that is beautiful

Lovesome and free?

Should we with mourning hearts
Sit all forlorn ?

Should we with sullen hand
Gather the thorn?

Should we not joyfully,

Hand locked in hand,

A hopeful, a jubilant,

Sisterly band,

Look for the flowers?

In the far works of life,
In the deep shade,

Where, among evil things,
Good well might fade,

God sends the sunny beam,

God sends the shower,

Nursing humanity's

Ever bright flower;

And amidst stony ways,
Ripples are heard,

Like the far-uttered notes

Of a lone bird;

God sends the stream at first

From his own fount;

Christ in diffusing it,

Died on the Mount:

Sin may be rife enough,

But the good part

Lieth low hidden

In every heart;

Dark though the fate of us,

That matters not;

In the glad soul of us

Lies the bright spot.

Look for the flowers!

Are there not sainted ones,
Graciously given,

Who, in their gentle tones,
Lead us to Heaven?

When they return to us
In the dim night,

Are they not, angel-like,

Holy and bright,

Sanctified, glorified,

Unto us now,

With a heavenly garland

Encircling each brow?

Turn to the living ones,

There, as they stand,

Touch the live hearts of them
With thy love-wand:

Seek not the weeds in them,
And to thy sight

They will be angel-like

Holy and bright.

Look for the flowers!

Look for the flowery way;

Life hath its clouds ;

Treasured ones suddenly

Wrapped in their shrouds ;

Hopes often dashed aside,
Hearts wildly torn ;

And o'er wrecked promises

Oft do we mourn :

Hints too are given us,

That our brief day

Rapidly, rapidly,

Fleeteth away.

Up then, and cheerfully;
Trust me, there lies,

Much that is beautiful,

'Neath the broad skies:

Go on life's pilgrimage,

Hand locked in hand,

A hopeful, a jubilant,
Sisterly band,

Looking for flowers!

LINES,

E. P. HOOD.

On reading Captain Thruth's Letter to the King, resigning his Commission of Captain in the Navy, on the ground that War is unlawful for a Christian.

THE roll of the drum, and the cannon's roar,

And shout of the battle are over;

The deck of the war-ship is thine no more,
Which the dead and the dying cover.