made perfect in the image of Him who came to seek you when you were all wretchedness and sin.-BROOKS.

66

"Pleased to Mind."

Sir," said the Duke of Wellington to an officer of engineers, who urged the impossibility of executing the directions he had received, "I did not ask your opinion. I gave you my orders, and I expect them to be obeyed. Such should be the obedience of every follower of Jesus. The words which He has spoken are ur law, not our judgments or fancies. Even if death were in the way,

it is

Not ours to reason why-
Ours but to dare and die "-

and, at our Master's bidding, advance through flood or flame.

"I wish I could mind God as my little dog minds me," said a little boy, looking thoughtfully on his shaggy friend. "He always looks so pleased to mind, and I don't." What a painful truth did this child speak! Shall the poor little dog thus readily obey his master, and we rebel against God, who is our Creator, our Preserver, our Father, our Savior and the bountiful Giver of everything we love --SFURGEON.

OPPORTUNITY.

Opportunity Passing.

Master of human destinies am I;

Fame, love and fortune on my footsteps wait.
Cities and fields I walk; I penetrate
Deserts and seas remote, and, passing by
Hovel and mart and palace, soon or late
I knock, unbidden, once on every gate.
If sleeping, wake; if feasting, rise before
I turn away.
It is the hour of fate,

And they who follow me reach every state
Mortals desire, and conquer every foe

Save death.. But those who doubt or hesitate,
Condemned to failure, penury and woe,

Seek me in vain and needlessly implore;

I answer not and I return no more.

J. J. INGALLS.

The Hour of Fate.

There is a tide in the affairs of men,

Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune,

Omitted, all the voyage of their life

Is bound in shallows and in miseries.

On such a full sea are we now afloat;

And we must take the current when it serves, Or lose our ventures.

SHAKESPEARE.

Crises.

Once to every man and nation comes the moment to de

cide,

In the strife of Truth and Falsehood, for the good or evil side

Some great cause, God's new Messiah, offering each the bloom or blight,

Parts the goats upon the left hand and the sheep upon the right,

And the choice goes by for ever 'twixt that darkness and that light.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

PATIENCE.

A Prayer for Patience.

Teach me Thy patience; still with Thee
In closer, dearer company;

In work that keeps faith sweet and strong;
In trust that triumphs over wrong;

In hope that sends a shining ray

Far down the future's broadening way;
In peace that only Thou canst give-
With Thee, O Master, let me live!

WASHINGTON CADDEN.

Be Patient.

Be patient! Oh, be patient! Put your ear against the

earth!

Listen there how noiselessly the germ o' the seed has

birth

How noiselessly and gently it upheaves its little way, Till it parts the scarcely broken ground, and the blade stands up in day.

Be patient! Oh, be patient! Oh, be patient! The germs of mighty thought

Must have their silent undergrowth--must under-ground be wrought;

But as sure as there's a Power that makes the grass ap

pear,

Our land shall be green with liberty-the blade-time shall be here.

Be patient! Oh, be patient! Go and watch the wheat

ears grow

So imperceptibly that we can mark nor change nor throe Day after day, day after day, till the ear is fully grown; And then again, day after day, till the ripened field is brown.

Be patient! Oh, be patient! Though yet our hopes

are green

The harvest-fields of freedom shall be crowned with

sunny sheen.

Be ripening! Be ripening! Mature your silent way,
Till the whole broad land is tongued with fire on free-
dom's harvest day.
-R. C. TRENCH.

PATRIOTISM.

The True Glory of a Nation.

The true glory of a nation is in the living temple of a loyal, industrious and upright people. The busy click of machinery, the merry ring of the anvil, the lowing of peaceful herds and the song of the harvest-home are sweeter music than the pæans of departed glory or songs of triumph in war. The vine-clad cottage of the hillside, the cabin of the woodsman and the rural home of the farmer are the true citadels of any country. There is a dignity in honest toil which belongs not to the display of wealth or the luxury of fashion. The man who drives the plow or swings his ax in the forest or with cunning fingers plies the tools of his craft is as truly the servant of his country as the statesman in the Senate cr the soldier in battle.-H. B. WHIPPLE.

My Native Land.

Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said:

"This is my own, my native land"?
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned
As home his footsteps he hath turned,

From wandering on a foreign strand?
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no minstrel raptures swell!
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim—