Of heirloom jewels, prized so much,

Were many changed to chips and clods,
And even statues of the gods

Crumbled beneath its touch.

Then angrily the people cried, -
"The lofs outweighs the profit far;
Our goods suffice us as they are;
We will not have them tried."

And fince they could not so avail

To check this unrelenting guest,

They seized him, saying-"Let him teft

How real is our jail!"

But, though they flew him with the sword,
And in a fire his Touchftone burn'd,

Its doings could not be o'erturn'd,

Its undoings restored.

And when, to stop all future harm,

They ftrew'd its afhes on the breeze;

They little gueff'd each grain of these

Convey'd the perfect charm.

William Allingham.

CONTENTMENT.

A

GRATITUDE AND GRACE.

LAS these vifits rare and rude
Unto Thy holy place!

Our weak, wild burfts of gratitude,
Thy calm, clear deeps of grace.

Oh, never shall Thy mercy make
Our souls to reft in Thine?
Nor mortal gratitude partake

The flow of grace divine?

When shall our grateful raptures rise
Faft as Thy grace descends,

And link to endless harmonies
The love that never ends?

T. H. Gill.

CONTENT.

PEACE, muttering thoughts! and do not grudge

to keep

Within the walls of your own breast.

Who cannot on his own bed sweetly sleep
Can on another's hardly rest.

Gad not abroad at every queft and call
Of an untrained hope or paffion.

To court each place or fortune that doth fall,
Is wantonnefs in contemplation.

Mark, how the fire in flints doth quiet lie
Content and warm t' itself alone;
But when it would appear to others' eye,
Without a knock it never fhone.

Give me the pliant mind, whose gentle measure
Complies and suits with all eftates; '

Which can let loose to a crown, and yet with pleasure

Take up within a cloister's gates.

This soul doth span the world, and hang content From either pole unto the centre:

Where, in each room of the well-furnished tent,

He lies warm and without adventure.

Then cease discourfing, soul; till thine own ground.
Do not thyself or friends importune.

He that, by seeking, hath himself once found,
Hath ever found a happy fortune.

George Herbert. 1593-1635.

POVERTY.

HOME think there is no earthly state

SON

To be abhorréd more,

Or more deserving fear or hate,

Than to be mean and poor :
Yet such a portion I have got,

That I am needy made;
Yea, this is fallen to my lot,
And yet I am not sad.

For earth and all that therein is,
The Lord's poffeffions be;
Both He is mine and I am His,
Who hath enough for me:
The rich their own providers are,
Yet sometimes they have need;
But God hath of the poor a care,

And them doth always feed.

Though poverty seem grievous may,
And much afflicteth some,

It is the beft and safeft way
Unto the world to come ;
For poverty in her extreme,

Nor tempts nor so perverts,
As great abundance tempteth them
Who thereon set their hearts.

Therefore, that every man might grow

With his estate content;

Thy Son, O God! this way did go,
When through this world He went;
He wealth and honor prizéd not,
Though we now prize it high,
And Satan, therefore, nothing got
By tempting Him thereby.

Lord! though I do sometimes complain
That outward means are scant,
And would affume that luggage fain,
Which I but think I want;
Yet when I mind how poor a life

My Saviour lived on earth,
Wealth I condemn, and all my grief
Is changéd into mirth.

Let still my heart be pleased so,
Whate'er betide me fhall;

Yea, make me, though I poorer grow,
Contented therewithal: