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Milion.
BRITISH HYMN-WRITERS.

MILTON.
M ILTON may scarcely be classed among Who did the solid earth ordain
1 the English hymn-writers. Yet,

To rise above the watery plain for the sake of one beautiful hymn, which

For His mercies shall endure,

Ever faithful, ever sure. you all know well, you may read this little sketch of the life of the grand poet

Who, by His all-commanding might, who wrote the Paradise Lost. Only a

Did fill the new-made world with light:

For His mercies shall endure, part of the hymn is found in the books

Ever faithful, ever sure. used at church and school. A few additional

And caused the golden-tressed sun verses are given here; they are too long

All the day long his course to run: to transcribe in full.

For His mercies shall endure,

Ever faithful, ever sure.
Let us with a gladsome mind,

The horned moon to shine by night
Praise the Lord, for He is kind:
For His mercies shall endure,

Amongst her spangled sisters bright: Ever faithful, ever sure.

For his mercies shall endure,

Ever faithful, ever sure. Let us blaze His name abroad,

He, with His thunder-clasping hand, For of gods he is the God:

Smote the first-born of Egypt land: For His mercies shall endure,

For His mercies shall endure, Ever faithful, ever sure.

Ever faithful, ever sure. Who, by His wisdom, did create

The floods stood still, like walls of brass, The painted heavens so full of state:

While the Hebrew bands did pass : 'For His mercies shall endure,

For His mercies shall endure." Ever faithful, ever sure.

Ever faithful, ever sure.

MILTON.

His chosen people He did bless

Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, In the wasteful wilderness:

Were all that did 'their silly thoughts so busy For His mercies shall endure.

kеер. Ever faithful, ever sure.

When such music sweet And to His servant Israel

Their hearts and ears did greet, He gave their land therein to dwell:

As never was by mortal finger strook, For His mercies shall endure,

Divinely warbled voice, Ever faithful, ever sure.

Answering the stringed noise,

As all their souls in blissful rapture took.
All living creatures He doth feed,
And with full hand supplies their need: Such music as, 'tis said,
For His mercies shall endure,

Before was never made,
Ever faithful, ever sure.

But when, of old, the sons of morning sung.' Let us therefore warble forth

Does all the picture rise before you of His great majesty and worth:

the shepherds on the plains of Bethlehem, For His mercies shall endure, Ever faithful, ever sure.'

keeping watch over their flocks by night,

when they heard the angels' song ?-the This hymn was written by Milton when beautiful Bible picture of the Divine child he was only fifteen. When he was but a cradled in the manger, because there was few years older, he wrote the Hymn on | no room in the inn-of the strange broodthe Nativity. It is not known to every ing peace in which the whole world was little one as his "Let us with a gladsome held? for over the earth all wars had mind' is known. But there are here and ceased in the year when Christ was born. there verses so simply beautiful, that even This beautiful hymn is a gladness—which little children may love and keep them in waits you with many other treasures to their hearts.

love and linger over in the riper years to It was the winter wild,

come. hile the heaven-born child,

John Milton was born in London, on the All meanly wrapt, in the rude manger lies; 9th day of December, 1608. He was Nature, in awe to Him,

educated with great care by his father, Had doffed her gaudy trim,

who was himself distinguished as a musical With her great Master so to sympathize.

composer. The poet inherited the same

genius, and was well skilled in this lovely But He, her fears to cease,

art. The music of his sweet-stringed lute Sent down the meek-eyed Peace:

passed into the music of his verse. No She, crowned with olive-green, came softly

strains are purer in melody than the early sliding.

poetry of Milton.

When he was seventeen he entered Peaceful was the night

Christ's College, Cambridge. He was a Wherein the Prince of Light

diligent student; of a somewhat haughty His reign of peace upon the earth began: The winds, with wonder whist,

temper, it is said, yet with a mild, serene Smoothly the waters kist,

beauty of person, which gained him the Whispering new joys to the mild ocean;

name of the lady of Christ's College. In Who now hath quite forgot to rave.

1632 he retired from the university to his While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed

father's country house at Horton in wave.

Buckinghamshire; and here, in the sweet

leisure of home and rural scenes, he wrote The shepherds on the lawn,

many of his beautiful early poems. Or ere the point of dawn,

A few years after this his mother died. Sat, simply chatting, in a rustic row. Full little thought they then

And then Milton left home, and travelled That the mighty Pan

for fifteen months in France and Italy Had kindly come to live with them below. and Switzerland. He returned home no

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INASMUCH.

God.

royalist-devoted to the cause of Crom

'INASMUCH.' well--no friend to King Charles. Then, THERE passed through the bustling street for many years, his history is so blent with 1 A maiden with gentle face, the history of England, it is too difficult And the quiet, fair brow of one whose heart and too unquiet to describe now. Milton Has its home by the Throne of Grace. became Cromwell's secretary, and lived

Not lightly weary was she; through the Commonwealth of England,

In well-doing steady and strong; when all who loved Charles were in

And she trustfully looked for the season disgrace. Then the scene changed again.

due,' Cromwell was dead. Charles Second was

And the joy of the harvest-song. on his father's throne; and the republican poet took refuge in obscurity. He was

But many a weary step indeed pardoned by Charles, but his public

Has been hers in this sultry day; life was past; and the late, serenity of age

And never before has seemed to her he devoted, with solemn ardour, to his first So long and toilsome the way. pursuit-poetry.

She has begged' for the Master's cause His sight had been slowly failing. In At many, many a door; 1658, when he began to write the · Paradise And some have given and some have not, Lost,' he was quite blind. His life lay And her heart is grieved sore. behind him, full of its stormy memories,

She prayed in the morning hour, and the darkness shut him in-alone with

That the Lord would bless her way; Since he left his father's house, he had

And many a time since then her soul

Has fled to its strength and stay. scarcely known home-happiness. His wife was not fond, and his daughters were

For it is not that the Lord strangely undutiful. They gave him no

Will not provide for his own; daughter's love, but left him in his old age.

For the silver and the gold of earth Perhaps, from this cruel neglect, he turned

Are His—are His alone. the more fervently to the one friend left to But the people who will not give, solace him—the poetry he had loved from When the Lord comes back again,youth. He was seven years writing i Ah, what will they say to the • Inasmuch'?

Paradise Lost.' A few years later he Ah, what will they answer then?
published Paradise Regained.' And three . It is easy now to say
years after its publication he died, in a That China is far away;
small house in London, on a November That other claims, and nearer ones,
day in 1674.

Are pressing hard to-day.
Many great men crowded to the funeral
that wintry hour, when the poet was

Will China be far away buried in the chancel of St. Giles' church.

When the Lord makes up His own;'. And his beautiful, blind face was remem

And when they are called from east and west bered, and his solemn music on the organ,

To stand at the judgment throne ? and how he rose in the early dark, that the It is easy to say, “So much first dawning hours of every day might be Has been given and done before, given to devotion and work.

That I make it a rule, now, not to give His great poem, Paradise Lost,' is To any new claim at my door.' England's treasure through the centuries;

Has the Lord's loving-kindness stayed ? but the little children will keep as theirs his

Has He risen and shut to the door? beautiful early hymn.

Do you think He will turn away when we Milton's third wife lived for fifty-three

knock, years after him. His three daughters also And say, Had you but come before!' survived him; but he left no son. 1. W. H.W.

A, J. T.

THE DAYSPRING BIBLE CLASS.

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The Dayspring Bible Class.

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QUESTIONS ON MATTHEW'S GOSPEL.

Chapter IV. 1-22. Who led Jesus into the wilderness, after He was baptised?

Why was He led there?

How long did He remain in the wilderness without food?

By what name, indicating his constant work, is Satan here called ?

With how many different temptations did he try Jesus?

How many times did Jesus, in answering Satan, assert the supreme authority of Scripture, by using the words, 'it is written'?

By what suggestion did Satan tempt Jesus to distrust His Father's care?

What words of Scripture did Jesus quote, to shew that the Word of God is even more needful for man than bread?

What part of the 91st Psalm did Satan misquote, in order to tempt Jesus?

How did Jesus repel this temptation ?

With what false promise did Satan tempt Jesus to covetousness?

With what sword did Jesus drive him away?
Who came to Jesus when Satan left Him?

Where was John the Baptist, when Jesus returned to Galilee?

At what city did Jesus dwell, after He left Nazareth ?

What prophecy speaks of Christ's coming to that part of Galilee?

By what emblem does that prophecy describe the change wrought in the hearts of men by Jesus?

Name the subject of Christ's preaching in the early part of His ministry? Which four disciples were first called ?

What allusion did Jesus make to their occupation, when He called them?

What two words in this narrative point out their prompt obedience to the call of Jesus?

THE LIVING FOUNTAIN. TEAD me to the living fountain

L Whence life-giving waters flow; Let me cast my weary burden

Where the spray-bath'd lilies grow. Lead me to the living fountain;

Gracious Lord, Thy promise show; Wash, 0 wash my sin-stained garments,

Till they whiter are than snow. Lead me to the living fountain ;

Give me but a draught, my God, Of its healing, crystal waters,

When I'm fainting in the road. Lead me to the living fountain ;

Let me kneel and drink my fill;

[These are not Prize Questions ; but intended solely to encourage the study of the Scriptures at home, and train the young in the art of questioning.)

PRIZE SCRIPTURE ACROSTICS AND QUESTIONS.

35

NEW EVERY MORNING. | THE sunlight is new every morning; let

1 it stream in all its freshness into the household. Throw open the windows, and take it all in. It is health to the marrow and fatness to the bones.'

The mercy-seat is new every morning. It is sprinkled afresh with the blood of the Lamb, newly slain from the foundation of the world.

The Lord's mercies are new every morning. What mercies! how numerous ! how great! how undeserved! yet how unfailing! o let the song of praise be new every morning. Let the incense of prayer be fresh as the new spices, beaten fresh for every morning sacrifice.

Prize Scripture Acrostics and Questions.

Competitors not to be above fourteen years of age; and the answers must be honestly the work of the individuals competing.

WITHERED LEAVES.
A SIMPLE maid, whom God, all-wise,
h Had scarce with reason blessed, -
Yet touched by tender sympathies,

And proud to be caressed, -
Had roused within her vacant mind

Some kindlings of delight,
A glimmering gladness, undefined

By feeble sense of right:
Till, in her heart, strange thoughts arose

Some kindness to express;
Though reason scarce could well devise

The mode or means to bless :
As, through the garden walk she strayed

Where flowerets blossomed sweet, 'I may not proffer these,' she said,

Though such fair gifts were meet.'
But, o'er the grass, the summer breeze

Had withered leaflets blown:
Anon, she thought I'll gather these,

For such are all my own.'
Then silently her lap she filled,

And straight her treasure brought; Whilst we our thankless murmurs stilled

To mark the kindly thought.
This childish gift, so vain, so poor,

Yet most sincerely given,
Seems emblem meet of many more

We offer up to heaven.
The noblest efforts of the mind-

Though this proud reason grieves -
When viewed by Him, the all-wise and kind,

Seem nought but withered leaves. What can we yield to Him, who gave

Each gift that we possess,
Who sent His only Son to save,

To succour and to bless ?
Though reason fails, if love inspires

What our weak powers express,
No loftier homage He requires,

Nor may we proffer less.
Father, the tribute of our tongues

Thy sovereign grace receives :
Still, Lord, accept our feeble songs,

Our lays of withered leaves! J. K. MUIR.

All answers to be sent, with the name and address of the competitor, not later than the 18th of each month, to the Rev. JOHN KAY, Coatbridge.

ACROSTIC 2. A CRY of woe, in sorrow's darkest hour; A A patient preacher, with a life of power; One, who refreshed a prisoner, unafraid ; A noble soldier, Christ's disciple made; One, who, a heaven-sent gift, on God's own

altar laid. Join those initials, and the name is found Of one, who earth transformed to sacred ground, Who walked, where but few earlierfeet had been, A lonely pilgrim, in a land unseen; A living fountain, where life stagnant lay; A river, brightening all upon its way; A long, long way it wandered, mountains crossed, And spreading valleys, till its song was lost In distant ocean, though none marked it glide To that vast Bosom, save the Unseen Guide. Yet still, a sound of murmured music, faintA rippling cadence-cheers the listening saint, Who oft, at rising dawn, or closing day, Hears the dim echoes floating far away, And walks, like him, a pilgrim not alone, But with a Guide he loves and leans upon, Into whose arms, life's toilsome journey passed, His yearning soul shall yield herself at last.

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