was born a Grecian and not a barbarian; thirdly, that not only so, but a philosopher also. But Christians, that are better bred and taught, turn the stream of their thanks into another manner of channel: First, that God hath created them after His own image; secondly, that He hath called them out of the common crowd of this world and made them Christians; thirdly, and more especially, that among those who bear the name of Christ He hath made them faithful ones; like a few quick-sighted men among a company of blind ones; like the light in Goshen, when all Egypt was dark besides; or like Gideon's fleece, only watered with the dew of Heaven, while the rest of the earth was dry and destitute of His favor. Great cause of thankfulness indeed!-Spencer.

A Beautiful Emblem.

The heath in the desert wants rain far more than the water-lily. But let the showers come down upon the heath in the desert. There is no motion, no sign, that the shower is welcome or is working. On the other hand, the moment the rain begins to fall upon the water-lily, though it is rooted in water and has its chief element in water, its leaves seem to be clapping their hands, and the whole plant rejoices in the falling of the rain.—S. MARTIN.

TRUST.

Rest.

[Lines found under a soldier's pillow in a hospital.]

I lay me down to sleep,

With little care

Whether my waking find.
Me here or there.

A bowing, burdened head
That only asks to rest,
Unquestioning, upon
A loving breast.

My good right hand forgets
Its cunning now;

To march the weary march

I know not how.

I am not eager, bold,

Nor strong all that is past;

I am ready not to do,

At last at last!

My half-day's work is done,
And this is all my part-

I give a patient God

My patient heart

And grasp His banner still,

Though all the blue be dim;

These stripes as well as stars
Lead after Him.

CHARLES D. HOLE.

"Will He Slight Thy Faint Crying?'

Sparrow, He guardeth thee;

Never a flight but thy wings He upholdeth;
Never a night but thy rest He enfoldeth;
Safely He guardeth thee.

Lily, He robeth thee;

Though thou must fade, by the Summer bemoaned, Thou art arrayed, fair as monarch enthroned, Spotless He robeth thee.

Hear, thou of little faith;

Sparrow and lily are soulless and dying;

Deathless art thou, will He slight thy faint crying? Trust, thou of little faith!

ROBERT GILBERT WELSH.

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