LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE.

Then turn to Him, 'mid sorrows wild,
When wants and woes o'erwhelm;
Remembering, like the fearless child,
Our Father's at the helm!

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THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE.

TOLL for the brave!

The brave that are no more!

All sunk beneath the wave,

Fast by their native shore!

Eight hundred of the brave,
Whose courage well was tried,

Had made the vessel heel,

And laid her on her side.

A land-breeze shook the shrouds,
And she was overset ;
Down went the Royal George,
With all her crew complete.

Toll for the brave!

Brave Kempenfelt is gone;
His last sea-fight is fought;
His work of glory done.

It was not in the battle;

No tempest gave the shock;
She sprang no fatal leak;
She ran upon no rock.

His sword was in its sheath,
His fingers held the pen,
When Kempenfelt went down
With twice four hundred men.

Weigh the vessel up,

Once dreaded by our foes! And mingle with our cup

The tear that England owes.

Her timbers yet are sound;

And she may float again,

Full charged with England's thunder,

And plow the distant main.

But Kempenfelt is gone;

His victories are o'er;

And he and his eight hundred

Shall plow the wave no more.

COWPER.

NOW.

LIKE mist on the mountain,
Like ships on the sea,
So swiftly the years

Of our pilgrimage flee.
In the graves of our fathers
How soon we shall lie!

Dear children, to-day
To the Saviour fly!

How sweet are the flowerets
In April and May;

Yet often the frost

Makes them wither away. Like flowers you may fade! Are you ready to die? While "yet there is room," To the Saviour fly!

When Samuel was young,
He first knew the Lord,

And slept in His smile,
And rejoiced in His word.

So most of God's children
Are early brought nigh;
Oh, seek Him in youth!
To the Saviour fly!

Do you ask me for pleasure?
Then lean on His breast,
For there the sin-laden
And weary find rest!
In the valley of death
You will triumphing cry,
"If this be call'd dying,

'Tis pleasant to die!"

R. M'CHEYNE.

LITTLE BY LITTLE.

"LITTLE by little,” an acorn said,—
As it slowly sank in its mossy bed-
"I am improving every day,
Hidden deep in the earth away!"
Little by little each day it grew;
Little by little it sipped the dew.
Downward it sent out a thread-like root;
Up in the air sprung a tiny shoot.

LITTLE BY LITTLE.

Day after day, and year after year,
Little by little the leaves appear;

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And the slender branches spread far and wide, Till the mighty oak is the forest's pride.

Far down in the depths of the dark blue sea,
An insect-train work ceaselessly.

Grain by grain they are building well,
Each one alone in its little cell;
Moment by moment, and day by day,
Never stopping to rest or play.
Rocks upon rocks they are rearing high,
Till the tops look out on the sunny sky.
The gentle wind and the balmy air,
Little by little, bring verdure there,
Till the summer-sunbeams gaily smile
On the buds and flowers of the coral isle.

"Little by little," said a thoughtful boy, "Moment by moment, I'll well employ, Learning a little every day,

And not spending all my time in play.
And still this rule in my mind shall dwell,
Whatever I do, I will do it well.
Little by little, I'll learn to know
The treasured wisdom of long ago;