REPENTANCE.

LORD, I have lain

Barren too long, and fain

I would redeem the time, that I may be
Fruitful to thee;

Fruitful in knowledge, faith, obedience,
Ere I go hence:

That when I come

At harvest to be reapéd, and brought home,
Thine angels may

My soul in thy celeftial garner lay,
Where perfect iov and bliss
Eternal is.

If to entreat

A crop of pureft wheat,

A bleffing too transcendent should appear

For me to hear,

Lord, make me what thou wilt, so thou wilt take What thou doft make,

And not disdain

To house me, though among thy coarseft grain;
So I may be

Laid with the gleanings gathered by thee,
When the full fheaves are spent,

I am content.

Francis Quarles. 1592-1644.

NOTHING BUT LEAVES.

NOTHING

HING but leaves; the spirit grieves
Over a wasted life;

Sin committed while conscience flept,
Promises made but never kept,

Hatred, battle, and ftrife;
Nothing but leaves!

Nothing but leaves; no garnered sheaves
Of life's fair, ripened grain;

Words, idle words, for earnest deeds;
We sow our seeds- -lo! tares and weeds;
We reap with toil and pain
Nothing but leaves !

Nothing but leaves; memory weaves
No veil to screen the past:

As we retrace our weary way,
Counting each loft and miffpent day-
We find, sadly, at last,
Nothing but leaves !

And shall we meet the Master so,
Bearing our withered leaves?

The Saviour looks for perfect fruit, -
We ftand before him, humbled, mute;
Waiting the words he breathes,-
"Nothing but leaves?"

WH

QUESTIONS.

THY doft thou talk of death, laddie?
Why doft thou long to go?

The Mafter that hath placed thee here
Hath work for thee to do.

Why doft thou talk of heaven, laddie?
What would'ft thou say in heaven,

When the Mafter afks, "What haft thou done
With the talents I have given ?

"I gave thee wealth and power,

And the poor around thee spread: Where are the fheep and lambs of mine That thou haft reared and fed?

"I gave thee wit and eloquence Thy brethren to persuade :

Where are the thousands by thy word
More wise and holy made?

"I placed thee in a land of light
Where the Gospel round thee shone:
Where is the heavenly-mindedness
I find in all mine own?

"And laft I sent thee chaftisement,
That thou might'ft be my son:
Where is the trufting faith which says,
'Father! Thy will be done'?"

NO HEART ALONE.

"I have learned," says the melancholy Pestalozzi, “ that in this wide world no one heart is able or willing to help another."

SAY not we through life must struggle,
Muft toil and mourn alone;

That no one human heart can answer

The beatings of our own.

The ftars look down from the filent heaven

Into the quiet ftream,

And see themselves from its dewy depths
In fresher beauty gleam.

The sky with its pale or glowing hues,
Ever painteth the wave below;

And the sea sends up its mist to form
Bright clouds and the heavenly bow.

Thus each does of the other borrow
A beauty not its own;

And tells us that no thing in Nature
Is for itself alone.

Alone, amid life's griefs and perils,
The ftouteft soul may quail:
Left to its own unaided efforts,
The strongest arm may fail;

And though all strength still comes from Heaven,

All light from God above,

Yet we may sometimes be his angels,

The Apostles of his love.

Then let us learn to help each other,

Hoping unto the end:

Who sees in every man a brother,

Shall find in each a friend.