But clear and bright to inward sense
It shines, the star of Providence.
The radiance of the central throne,
It comes from God, and God alone:
The ray that never yet grew pale,
The star "that shines within the veil."
And faith, uncheck'd by earthly fears,
Shall lift its eye, tho' fill'd with tears;
And while around 'tis dark as night,
Untired shall mark that heavenly light.
In vain they smite me ;-men but do
What God permits, with different view.
To outward sight they wield the rod,
But faith proclaims it all of God.
Unmov'd then, let me keep my way,
Supported by that cheering ray;
Which, shining distant, renders clear
The clouds and darkness thronging near.

October 28.

(Madame Guyon.)

THE CHOICEST CONSOLATION.

Of all the created comforts God is the lender;

you are the borrower, not the owner.

(Rutherford.)

October 29.

NATURE AND GRACE.

St. Paul says, "whether one member suffers, all the members suffer with it." This does not arise, as one might suppose, from simple pity and natural commiseration. Christian sympathy is raised as high above compassion as grace is above nature; or as charity is raised above that alms-giving and benevolence, of which an unregenerated nature is capable. Nature can be moved to feel; but when at a distance it rarely has the wish to come in contact with sorrow; but charity suffers with the sufferer, and identifies herself with every detail of its anguish, moral and physical. Nature is pleased with herself, when, under excitement, she rises in her estimate of herself, and basks in the sense of her own superiority; whereas charity forgets self, and has but one thought,-devotion to others. Nature seeks her own satisfaction in all the emotions she feels, and in all the relief she offers. Charity looks for no reward: she expects no wages; and if the thought crosses her mind that wages may be due, she only expects to receive them from the God of love, to whom she

refers everything, and in whom she has her being. Nature weeps: nature offers relief, devises compensations for the injured, and would gladly repair for them their losses. More she cannot do. But charity goes far beyond this;charity prays! Thus, natural compassion, which is a noble gift of the Creator, and one which points out in a fallen man a remnant of his primitive greatness,-natural compassion can only find its truth, its reality, and its perfection, when it is absorbed in Divine love; and this is charity! (Grand Pierre.)

[What a delicate appreciation of the contrasts which so truly exist between Divine love expanding within the human heart, and the natural emotions of that heart when brought into contact with the sufferings of humanity. Lavater has said that "no communication or gift can exhaust genius, or impoverish charity." This is only true, I think, of charity in its Divine essence; the fountain-head being then ever near us to replenish the flowing waters: otherwise, how soon does charity clothe herself in poverty! How often we hear the assertion, 'I am not able to do more." This or that is

now quite beyond my means." And with a comfortable retrospect on the things which are behind us, in the shape of bounties more or less tainted with selfishness, we rarely press forward, or if we do, it is perhaps in the shape of charities bestowed in our dying will,-whereby the burden is laid on our heirs and executors.]

October 30.

(P. M.)

THOUGHTS OF CHILDHOOD.

There was a time when I was very small,
When my whole frame was but an ell in height;
Sweetly, as I recall it, tears do fall,

And therefore I recall it with delight.

I sported in my tender mother's arms,

And rode a-horse-back on blest father's knee: Alike were sorrows, passions, and alarms,

And gold, and Greek, and love unknown to me.

Then seemed to me this world far less in size, Likewise it seemed to me less wicked far: Like points in heaven, I saw the stars arise,

And longed for wings, that I might catch a star.

I saw the moon behind an island fade,

And thought, "O were I on that island there, I could find out of what the moon is made,

Find out how large it is, how round, how fair!"

Wond'ring, I saw God's sun through western skies
Sink in the ocean's golden lap at night;
And yet, upon the morrow, early rise,

And paint the eastern heaven with crimson light;

And thought of God, the gracious heavenly Father, Who made me and that lovely sun on high, And all those pearls of heaven, thick strung together,

Dropped, clustering, from his hand o'er all the sky.

With childish reverence my young lips did say The prayer my pious mother taught to me; "O, gentle God! O, let me strive alway

Still to be wise, and good, and follow Thee!"

So prayed I for my father and my mother,
And for my sister, and for all the town:
The king I knew not, and the beggar brother,
Who, bent with age, went sighing up and down.