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THE MIRROR.

who alone is King for ever and ever. It was in this way that the fount, which first burst from his heart in life's young days, still channeling deeper as it flowed, became, in the consistent life and steady purpose of Daniel's latest years, a stream, passing onward to the great ocean of eternity.

Children, in all these lives there is a lesson for you. This is your seed time. May the good seed now sown ripen in your hearts, and be fruitful in after years.

'O happy is the man who hears
Instruction's warning voice;
And who celestial Wisdom makes
His early, only choice.'

'THE DAYSPRING' PICTURE GALLERY. IV. THE MIRROR.

PASSING on from the picture of the

sower, we are suddenly confronted by the reflection of our own faces in a large mirror. How is this? It is not here merely for ornament, as you often see mirrors in halls and galleries. No! it has a meaning; and the words inscribed above it, point us to that meaning. 'If any be a hearer of the word, and not a doer, he is like unto a man beholding his natural face in a glass; for he beholdeth himself, and goeth his way, and straightway_forgetteth what manner of man he was.' So we learn that the Bible shows us our hearts, just as a looking-glass shows us our faces.

You know that savages, whose only mirrors are made of polished metal, are filled with astonishment when they first see a European looking-glass. Dr. Livingstone tells of the absurd remarks the people of some of the African tribes used to make about their personal appearance, when they first saw themselves in his glass. One

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would say, 'What a big mouth I have!' Another, My ears are as big as pumpkin leaves; or, 'I have no chin at all.' And one man, after a long study of his own face, said candidly, 'People say I am ugly, and how very ugly I am indeed!' Seeing is believing. That man had never before been persuaded that people's opinion of him was true. Now I think there are a

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good many people in our country who are not unlike him. They have often been told that their hearts are black and wicked; but they will not believe that this is quite true, until some day they see their images in the perfect mirror of God's Word, and then their mouths will be stopped.

Mr Moody tells a story, in one of his addresses, which illustrates this. It is as follows:-'I said to my little family one morning, a few weeks before the Chicago fire, "I am coming home this afternoon to give you a ride." My little boy clapped his hands. "Oh, papa, will you take me to see the bears in Lincoln Park?"-"Yes." You know boys are very fond of seeing bears. I had not been gone long, when my little boy said, "Mamma, I wish you would get me ready."—"Oh," she said, "it will be a long time before papa comes.'

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"But I want to get ready, mamma." last he was ready to have the ride-face washed, and clothes all nice and clean."Now you must take good care and not get yourself dirty again," said mamma. Oh, of course he was going to take care; he wasn't going to get dirty. So off he ran to watch for me. However, it was a long time yet until the afternoon, and after a little he began to play. When I got home, I found him outside, with his face all covered with dirt. "I can't take you to the Park that way, Willie."- "Why, papa? you said you would take me."—"Oh, but I can't; you're all over mud. I couldn't be seen with such a dirty little boy."—"Why, I'se clean, papa; mamma washed me.""Well, you've got dirty since." But he began to cry, and I could not convince him that he was dirty. "I'se clean; mamma washed me!" he cried. Do you think I argued with him? No. I just took him up in my arms, and carried him into the house, and showed him his face in the looking-glass. He had not a word to say.'

It is extremely difficult to get people to look at themselves honestly in God's mirror, and the reason is very simple: it shows no flattering likeness. You remember how furious the Pharisees sometimes became with the Lord Jesus, when His parables

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THE BOOKS OF THE BIBLE.

shewed them their own hearts too plainly. And I have heard of a man's going to a celebrated preacher in a towering rage, to ask him what he meant by talking of him in that way in his sermon. The preacher knew nothing about him, and told him so. He had only held up the mirror faithfully, and the man saw his image reflected so plainly, that he was afraid every one in the congregation would see it also.

But I have still to tell you the most wonderful thing about this mirror. It shows you, not only exactly what you are, but what you ought to be; for, if you look stedfastly into it, you will see alongside of your own image, the likeness of 'One fairer than the sons of men.' As dear old John Bunyan says: Now the glass was one of a thousand. It would present a man, one way, with his own features exactly; and turn it but another way, and it would shew one the very face and similitude of the Prince of pilgrims Himself. Yes, I have talked with them that can tell, and they have said that they have seen the very crown of thorns upon His head by looking in that glass; they have therein also seen the holes in His hands, in His feet, and in His side. Yea, such an excellency is there in that glass, that it will shew Him to one where they have a mind to see Him, whether living or dead, whether in earth or in heaven, whether in a state of humiliation or in His exaltation, whether coming to suffer or coming to reign.'

Suppose you had a dear brother in Australia, would you not be glad if some one gave you a magic glass, such as we read of in old fables, by whose help you could see him at any time? Just such a glass is the Bible to the friends of the Lord Jesus. No wonder they love to study it, when they see there the face of Him they love best!

And now notice the wonderful words engraved below this mirror:-'We all, with open face, beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord, are changed into the same image.' Is not that good news for you and me, that as we study Christ's face in His Word, we shall grow like Him? Will you then use this glass every day,

praying, as you do so, the double petition 'taught by the good minister to the little Highland kitchen-maid: 'Lord, shew me myself;' 'Lord, shew me Thyself. And, as another good man used to say, 'For every look you take at yourself, take ten looks at Christ.' So you will daily see less to admire in yourself, and more to admire in Him, till the promised day comes, when 'we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is.'

THE BOOKS OF THE BIBLE.

J. B. M.

IRST Genesis, and Exodus, Leviticus, and
Numbers,

Deut'ronomy, and Joshua, and Judges, too, and Ruth;

Then Samuel, Kings, and Chronicles, and Ezra, Nehemiah,

And Esther, Job, and David's Psalms are in GOD's Book of Truth.

The wise king's Proverbs follow next, and then Ecclesiastes;

The Song of Solomon precedes Isaiah's glorious strain:

Then Jeremiah, prophet sad, weeps for his Lamentations;

Ezekiel and Daniel foretell Messiah's reign.

Hosea, Joel, Amos next, the book of Obadiah, And Jonah, Micah, Nahum, too, then

Habakkuk appears;

And Zephaniah, Haggai, the prophet Zechariah;

And Malachi completes the roll, ere CHRIST, four hundred years.

The Gospels-Matthew, Mark, Luke, John— the Acts of the Apostles;

Then Romans, and Corinthians, Galatians next we note;

Ephesians, and Philippians, Colossians, Thessalonians:

St. Paul these nine Epistles to the early churches wrote.

Next Timothy and Titus come, Philemon and the Hebrews:

Then James; and Peter's letters tell of 'precious' things above;

John's three Epistles; Jude: and last, John's wondrous Revelation,

The Volume of the Book' complete, God's blessed Book of Love!

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THE little babe was born at Berkhampstead, on a summer day of 1637; but he scarcely knew his mother, for she died before the first sweet years of his infancy were past. The family were old and honourable, but it was not rich now; and the little boy was carried by his eldest sister to live in her own home.

This sister was married to Izaak Walton. You do not know Izaak Walton. Sometime perhaps you shall hear how he angled in the pleasant Dove, and how he wrote of his angling-and how he wrote the beautiful lives of many good men, and touched them all with his own quaint goodness-sometime you shall surely know. 'My Kenna,' Izaak Walton called his fondly loved wife, with a lingering delight in her name, and he cherished the little Thomas Ken, her brother, whom nature had gifted well.

So, on the peaceful banks of the Dove, the future bishop's boyhood was passed; and he grew up skilful in music, with a voice that was wonderfully sweet.

When he went to Oxford his love of music still clung to him. Cromwell was then Protector; the Puritans were in power; and music, like all the fine arts, had begun to be looked on with a grudge. But Ken still cherished his beautiful art, and played on the organ and the lute; and in 1657 became the member of a musical society at Oxford. He also wrote a long poem which has been forgotten quiteit was but through his holy hymns his memory was to live.

When Cromwell was dead and Charles Second was restored to the English throne, Ken was presented to the rectory of Little Easton in Essex; and here he lived

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for two pleasant years, and then his life changed again. He was called to Winchester by the bishop of that place, and lived in the bishop's palace, which was indeed a home-for here his beloved sister and Izaak Walton her husband had already made their abode by desire of the grateful bishop Morley. Izaak Walton had sheltered Morley in his little cottage on the Dove, in the days when the roundheads were strong, and the royalists were their foes. And when the king came home, and Morley was made a bishop, he remembered the kindly Waltons, and made his palace their home.

But Ken was not long in Winchester. Bishop Morley made him rector of Brightstone. Brightstone is a fair little village which lies in the Isle of Wight; and here two other happy and busy years were spent by Ken. And they are years over which it is pleasant to linger, for the place was very sweet, with a far view of the sea and waves which rolled in ceaselessly with a glorious psalm of God. It was indeed a place most fitted for holy song; and here, Ken wrote those two beautiful hymns which we still so often sing. Walking, it is said in the rectory garden, beneath its tall hedge of yews, he composed those long-loved, familiar hymns for morning and evening time.

EVENING HYMN.

'All praise to Thee, my God this night,
For all the blessings of the light;
Keep me, O keep me, King of kings,
Beneath Thy own Almighty wings!

Forgive me, Lord, for Thy dear Son,
The ills that I this day have done;
That, with the world, myself, and Thee,
I, ere I sleep, at peace may be.

Teach me to live, that I may dread The grave as little as my bed; Teach me to live that so I may Rise glorious at the awful day.

O may my soul on Thee repose,

And may sweet sleep mine eyelids close; Sleep that shall me more vigorous make, To serve my God when I awake.

When in the night I sleepless lie,
My soul with heavenly thoughts supply;
Let no ill dreams disturb my rest,
No powers of darkness me molest.

Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow; Praise Him, all creatures here below; Praise Him above, ye heavenly host; Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.'

MORNING HYMN.

'All praise to Thee who safe hast kept, And hast refreshed me while I slept: Grant, Lord, when I from death awake, I may of endless life partake.

Awake, my soul, and with the sun
Thy daily stage of duty run;
Shake off dull sloth, and joyful rise,
To pay thy morning sacrifice.

Thy precious time misspent redeem : Each present day thy last esteem: Improve thy talent with due care: For the great day thyself prepare.

In conversation be sincere;
Keep conscience as the noontide clear:
Think how all-seeing God thy ways
And all thy secret thoughts surveys.

Wake, and lift up thyself, my heart, And with the angels bear a part, Who all night long unwearied sing High praise to heaven's eternal King.

I wake, I wake, ye heavenly choir!
May your devotion me inspire,
That I, like you, my time may spend;
Like you, may on my God attend.

May I, like you, in God delight,

Have all the day my God in sight; Perform, like you, my Maker's will;

O may I never more do ill!

Heaven is, dear Lord, where e'er Thou art:
O never from my mind depart;

For to my soul 'tis hell to be
But for one moment void of Thee.

Lord, I my vows to Thee renew:
Disperse my sins like morning dew;
Guard my first springs of thought and will,
And with Thyself my spirit fill.

Direct, control, suggest, this day,
All I design, or do, or say;
That all my powers, and all my might,
In Thy sole glory may unite.

BISHOP KEN.

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow; Praise Him, all creatures here below; Praise Him above, ye heavenly host; Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.'

In these same peaceful days in the Isle of Wight, Ken composed his Midnight Hymn. Little known now, it yet has comforted many in painful and sad hours. But Ken was not to rest long in this quiet retreat, writing hymns and teaching the simple people he loved. He was called once more by Bishop Morley to Winchester. And then follow many years of no quiet life to Ken-years of which I cannot tell you much. When you grow to be a man, and know something of the struggles and ambitions of life, of all its cares and all its prizes, you shall understand them better. You shall hear of a tour he made through Italy, with his nephew, young Izaak Walton, the son of Izaak Walton the angler, of whom I have told you already-you will hear how he went to Holland as Chaplain to the young Princess of Orange who was afterwards Queen of England. You will hear how, after he returned from Holland, he was sent abroad again as Chaplain-inchief of King Charles Second's fleet, which was in the Mediterranean Sea. When Ken returned home in the first week of April, 1684, he found that old Izaak Walton had died some months before. Izaak Walton was buried in the Cathedral of Winchester. He was ninety years old. He had left to Ken a blood-stone ring, on which was carved an effigy of Christ on the Cross. With this sacred ring, Ken afterwards sealed all the letters he wrote. It was about this time that Charles Second made him Bishop of Bath and Wells. And how busy and how kind was his life, I cannot tell you truly. Preaching in the churches, and teaching the poor people, he travelled much through that part of the country which was under his care. Usually when at home on Sundays he had twelve poor men and

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women to dine with him in his hall, and while they ate the abundant good things before them, he talked with them kindly and comfortingly; and then he would send them home laden with help for those they loved.

This was the kind of life he lived, till at length he displeased the king. Charles Second was now dead. James Second was king. He was a Roman Catholic, and displeased with Bishop Ken. So Ken was arrested with six other bishops of whom sometime you will read much in history. But you cannot yet understand the cause of their imprisonment. They were cast into the tower of London, and then tried by judges as if they had been guilty of a crime against the king. Happily they were soon set free. It was by the next king, William Third, (William of Orange he is called,) that the bishoprick was taken from Ken. For Ken was still loyal to the Stewarts, and thought William should not be king. James Second, who was then in distress and banishment, he still called his king. Thus Ken, in his old age, had to leave the bishop's palace he had no home of his own, and scarcely any money left. He had once a small fortune left him of four thousand pounds, and immediately sent it all to the relief of the homeless Protestants of France. But he was much richer in friends than he was in money. Many were eager to befriend him, and make their homes his. And perhaps this part of his life was the peacefullest of all. He travelled from village to village on an old white horse, teaching the poor people as he had done long ago. When the old white horse grew too old, Ken travelled on foot, slowly, with staff in hand, gathering the people by the waysides or under the village elms.

He was now aged and feeble in health, but his wakeful nights he filled with hymns. He died on a March day, 1711, seventythree years old. He was buried under the chancel window of the church of Frome, Selwood, while the village children sang round his grave his own Morning Hymn. For it was in the early spring dawn that the bishop was laid to rest.

H. W. H. W.

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