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OUND the “glad tidings” o'er Ocean's wide waters,
Whisper them softly to England's fair daughters; Sound them with joy o'er each mountain and lea, In every green island that spangles the sea. Oh! teach every nation one Father to own, To bow as free children before His wide throne ; No longer enfettered by false creed and pride, Since Jesus, their Shepherd, to free them has died. Go tell the wild Arab the message of peace, Bid the war-loving Sioux from fighting to cease ; The Jew o'er the day of his darkness to grieve, The Moslem his faith in the prophet to leave. Let the Papist no longer bow down with his beads, Nor the infidel boast he has no God nor creeds; Nor the Chinese burn incense to those who are dead, Nor a pope call himself of God's church the true head. Sound the “glad tidings” to earth’s farthest valleys, Through cities' wide streets, and sin-darkened alleys; Bring the poor and the outcast, the highest and least, To share in the blessings of Christ's loving feast. Let the spice-breathing islands be trophies for Him, And the hard-frozen north waft its heart's golden hymn; Let all nations draw round His white banner unfurled, That peace and goodwill may encircle the world. Sound the “glad tidings" while daylight is lasting, Disperse the dark clouds sin and Satan are casting Abroad in the world, to shut out God's fair light, Oh, rescue the perishing ere comes the night. The darkness must vanish, the weak become strong, For Jesus must conquer all nations among ; Hard hearts melt in love at His sweetness and grace, And yearn to be blessed by the light of His face. Then up, and be doing ! by faith, work, and prayer, Go add to the converts who stand round Him there ; Spend thy life in His cause, 'tis but little at best, And receive His “Well done!" when thou comest to rest.
H. D. I.
The Ladder of Blankets.
N the sunny land of Portugal, with its perfumed orange trees,
Its citrons, limes, and shaddocks, scenting the passing breeze ; A Portuguese of gentle birth was by the writer's side, Speaking in praise of Mary, of Heaven the Queen and Bride ; And the “good works” her devotees must e'er perform with zeal, If they would earn the promised bliss, and future crown and weal
“ I'm certain sure of heaven,” he said, “for long ago I've made
Earned heaven! poor man! thou dost not know that none can enter
there Leaning on their own merit; it is but a broken stair; Our righteousness is “filthy rags” in God's most holy sight, And none may in His presence stand but those who are clothed in
White,—the “fine linen of the saints,"---the “wedding garment“
given, To clothe the sinner's nakedness, and make him meet for heaven.
No work of man, no wealth, no alms, can buy this priceless dress,
And now we've just to look to Him for pardon of our sin,
H. D. I
GROUP of navvies waited for the relief party at the mouth of a tunnel.
Sing us a song, Sam !” said one.
“ Got a cold, Bill; try the new hand." A loud laugh followed this remark, and that for two reasons; one was Sam's cold, which was not strange, seeing that for fourteen hours they had worked as only English
navvies can) in that lòng tunnel, at times half choked with smoke and steam, and then half frozen with the bitter winter wind; the other reason was his suggestion for the resh hand to sing, whose strange, silent manner had not made him a favourite in the rough but hearty gang of navvies. Once Sam had watched and saw him reach over a part of his dinner to a mate who was not up to the mark,” when the said mate could not swallow the hard fare he had provided himself with and Sam ; wished to know more, being, as he would have said, “ kinder curus on sich p'ints," so he asked,
“ Prhaps you'll oblige ?” “ How long have we got, mates ?” “ Matter of half-hour before the relier comes." “I'll sing you a song at last, if you'll hear a story first."
“Hear! hear !” said Sam; and the rest agreed. So the new hand placed himself a little nearer the middle of the group, and leaning on his pick, began :
"A bargain is a bargain, mates, and I shall keep you to your word ; if you don't hear me out-no song.
I'm going to talk about my little Meg; and if you don't know why I am quiet-like now, you will before I have done. Once I had as nice a home as any man need wish for, and the girl I brought to it was the right sort, I can tell you ; 'none of your flashy, dressy, empty-headed ones, but a right down decent hard-working maid she was. But she was religious. Always wanted to go to church or chapel, or what not, on the Sunday, and I didn't care for that; so I told her :
Alice,' says I, you have married me, and you'll have to stick to me, or else there'll be a row. Well, she begged to go, but I would not hear a word of it; so she gave in.
“So we went on for more than a year; I was middlin' steady, and she kept the home up well, only I noticed she seemed less happy-like ;' and if I stopped her going to church or chapel on Sunday, I couldn't get her to go out for pleasure with me; for she said, “Fair's fair; I keep away from one place to please you, I keep away from others to
please myself.' And I thought there was something in that; don't you ?" The men made a murmur, half
half no, and seemed to grow more attentive; it was level with their understanding
He went on.
“Soon after that Még was born, and how glad Alice was, to be sure; why, that child, I believe sne would have worked her fingers to the bone for it. Some folks talk as if our little ones were a curse to us; why, mates, them as says so are worse than a jackdaw, and as empty as a bag of wind; they ain't got no heart themselves.”. “No; they're all jaw,” said Sam.
Well, anyway, we didn't call Meg a curse by a long stretch ; she crowed and grew, and every year bound us more together; for whatever little differences we had in other things we were one on the babe-she was the best in the world. But while Meg grew strong the mother grew weak, until she was as thin as a shadow; then I asked the doctor, who said she wanted change of air. I asked her if she would like to go and see her rother, and take Meg ; lor', how pleased she was! So she went, and I saw her off. “How I got on without her I don't know; badly enough
When she came back little Meg was four years old. Mates, I didn't know the wife, so white and ill she was; but the child was brighter than ever, the sunshine of our lives. To make the story short, while I hoped and hoped Alice would mend, she didn't ; and the sight of her face, so ghostlike, kind of haunted me--she was queer and lonely-like, and-well, lads, I took to drink !”
The fresh hand's voice quivered a little, but he grasped the pick firmer, and continued : “ Most every night I kept away from home, not because I hated it, boys, for my heart was there, but I just could not bear to see Alice ; somehow death appeared written in her face, and I wanted to give him plenty of room-I was not ready for him.