"O Church of God! my life is lent
For yours, to spend and to be spent ;
O Christ of God! let my death be
Not to myself but Thee - but Thee!"

AMEN.

JEAN INGELOW.

THE VOICE IN THE TWILIGHT.

I

WAS sitting alone toward the twilight,
With spirit troubled and vexed,

With thoughts that were morbid and gloomy
And faith that was sadly perplexed.

Some homely work I was doing

For the child of my love and care,
Some stitches half wearily setting
In the endless need of repair.

But my thoughts were about the “building,”
The work some day to be tried ;

And that only the gold, and the silver,

And the precious stones should abide.

And remembering my own poor efforts,
The wretched work I had done,
And, even when trying most truly,
The meagre success I had won!

"It is nothing but wood, hay, and stubble,"
I said: "it will all be burned-

This useless fruit of the talents
One day to be returned.

"And I have so longed to serve Him,

And sometimes I know I have tried ; But I'm sure when He sees such building, He will never let it abide."

Just then, as I turned the garment,
That no rent should be left behind,
My eye caught an odd little bungle
Of mending and patchwork combined.
My heart grew suddenly tender,
And something blinded my eyes
With one of those sweet intuitions
That sometimes make us so wise.
Dear child, she wanted to help me ;

I knew 't was the best she could do;
But O, what a botch she had made it -
The gray mismatching the blue!

And yet

- can you understand it? ·
With a tender smile and a tear,
And a half compassionate yearning,
I felt her grown more dear.

Then a sweet voice broke the silence,
And the dear Lord said to me,
"Art thou tenderer for the little child
Than I am tender for thee?"

And there in the deepening twilight
I seemed to be clasping a hand,
And to feel a great love constraining me
Stronger than any command.

Then I knew by the thrill of sweetness
'T was the hand of the Blessed One,
Which would tenderly guide and hold me
Till all the labor is done.

So my thoughts are nevermore gloomy,
My faith no longer is dim;

But my heart is strong and restful,

And mine eyes are unto Him.

WOMAN'S WORK FOR WOMEN.

"Ye also, as lively stones, are built up a spiritual house."

UCH as have not gold to bring Thee,

SUCH

They bring thanks - Thy grateful sons ;

Such as have no song to sing Thee,

Live Thee praise — Thy silent ones.

Such as have their unknown dwelling,
Secret from Thy children here,
Known of Thee, will Thee be telling
How Thy ways with them are dear.

None the place ordained refuseth,
They are one, and they are all
Living stones, the Builder chooseth
For the courses of His wall.

Now Thy work by us fulfilling,

Build us in Thy house divine;
Each one cries, “I, Lord, am willing,
Whatsoever place be mine."

Some, of every eye beholden,
Hewn to fitness for the height,
By Thy hand to beauty moulden,
Show Thy workmanship in light.

Other, Thou dost bless with station
Dark, and of the foot downtrod,
Sink them deep in the foundation -
Buried, hid with Christ in God.

JEAN INGELOW.

WORK ON EARTH.

WHY

HY dost thou talk of death, laddie?
Why dost thou long to go?

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

Why dost thou talk of heaven, laddie?
What wouldst thou say in heaven
When the Master asks, “What hast thou done
With the talents I have given?

"I gave thee wealth and influence,

And the poor around thee spread:

Where are the sheep and lambs of mine

That thou hast 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 my own?

"And last I sent thee chastisement, That thou mightst be my son : Where is the trusting faith that says, 'Father, Thy will be done'?"

JOHN WILSON.

NOW AND AFTERWARDS.

"TWO HANDS UPON THE BREAST, AND LABOR IS PAST."

'WO hands upon the breast,

"Two

And labor 's done;

Two pale feet crossed in rest

The race is won;

RUSSIAN PROVERB.

Two eyes with coin-weights shut,

And all tears cease;

Two lips where grief is mute,

Anger at peace;

So pray we oftentimes, mourning our lot:
God in His kindness answereth not.

"Two hands to work addrest

Aye for His praise;

Two feet that never rest,

Walking His ways;