Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time.

Footprints that, perhaps, another
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
Some forlorn and shipwreck'd brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again

Let us then be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labour and to wait.

A Child's Hymn.

JAMES HOGG.

(For the close of the week.)

EFORE Thy footstool, God of truth,

BEFOR

A humble child bows down,

To thank Thee for the joys of earth,
And errors all to own.

I know Thou art the fountain-head
Whence all my blessings flow;
But all Thy glory and Thy good
I dare not seek to know:

Whether Thy way is on the wind,
Thy pathway on the storm;
Or on the waste of waters wide,

Which rolling waves deform;

A Child's Hymn.

But this I know, by flood or wild,
Thou seest me night and day,

And grievest o'er the wayward child
That goes from Thee astray.

Through all this week Thy kindly sway
Has round me been for good,—
At task or play, by night or day,
In wilderness or wood.

And when I lay me down to sleep,
Thy guardian shield be spread;
And angels of Thy presence keep
A watch around my bed.

Oh, teach me to adore Thy name,
For all Thy love to me;

Thy guardian goodness to proclaim,
Thy truth and verity.

And through the darkness of the night
Watch o'er my thoughts that stray,
And lift mine eyes upon the light
Of a new Sabbath-day.

And in a holy frame employ

Thy day, new praise to give
To Him who wept that I might joy,
And died that I might live:

Who rose again and went above,
That sinful ones like me

Might glory in redeeming love,
To all eternity.

I

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For all Thy blessings shower'd around
My kindred and my race,

I bless Thee, Lord, but most of all,
For riches of Thy grace.

For peace of mind, for health of frame,
And joys-a mighty store,

Accept my thanks, and to Thy name
Be glory evermore.

"T

“Thy Kingdom Come.”

ELIZA COOK.

IS human lot to meet and bear

The common ills of human life; There's not a breast but hath its share

Of bitter pain and vexing strife.

The peasant in his lowly shed,

The noble 'neath a gilded dome,

Each will at some time bow his head,

And ask and hope, "Thy kingdom come!"

When some deep sorrow, surely slow,

Despoils the cheek and eats the heart,

Laying our busy projects low,

And bidding all earth's dreams depart

Do we not smile, and calmly turn

From the wide world's tumultuous hum,

And feel the immortal essence yearn,

Rich with the thought, "Thy kingdom come?"

By the Rivers of Babylon.

The waves of Care may darkly bound
And buffet, till, our strength outworn,
We stagger as they gather round,

All shatter'd, weak, and tempest-torn :
But there's a lighthouse for the soul,

That beacons to a stormless home;

It safely guides through roughest tides-
It shines, it saves! "Thy kingdom come!”

To gaze upon the loved in death,

To mark the closing beamless eye,
To press dear lips, and find no breath--
This, this is life's worst agony !

But God, too merciful, too wise

To leave the lorn one in despair,

Whispers, while snatching those we prize,

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"My kingdom come !-Ye'll meet them there!"

By the Rivers of Babylon.

LORD BYRON. - Music by J. Nathan.

WE sate down and wept by the waters

WE

Of Babel, and thought of the day When our foe, in the love of his slaughters, Made Salem's high places his prey;

And ye, oh, her desolate daughters!

Were scatter'd, all weeping, away.

While sadly we gazed on the river
Which roll'd on in freedom below,
They demanded the song; but, oh, never
That triumph the stranger shall know!
May this right hand be wither'd for ever
Ere it string our high harp for the foe.

On the willow that harp is suspended,
O Salem! its sound should be free;
And the hour when thy glories were ended
But left me that token of thee:

And ne'er shall its soft tones be blended
With the voice of the spoiler by me!

The Death-Bed.

THOMAS HOOD.-Music by John Blockley.

WE

E watch'd her breathing through the night,
Her breathing soft and low,

As in her breast the wave of life

Kept heaving to and fro.

So silently we seem'd to speak,

So slowly moved about,

As we had lent her half our powers

To eke her living out.

Our very hopes belied our fears,
Our fears our hopes belied;

We thought her dying when she slept,
And sleeping when she died.

For when the morn came dim and sad,
And chill with early showers,

Her quiet eyelids closed,-she had
Another morn than ours.