DAILY BREAD. O KING of earth and air and sea! To Thee the lions roaring call, The fishes may for food complain; Thy bounteous hand with food can bless And oh, when through the wilds we roam L Do Thou thy gracious comfort give, BISHOP HEBER, 1783-1826. NEVER YIELD! FORWARD press, though trials thicken, Forward! to your duty quicken, Quail not for opposing might; Ye are struggling for the right! Never yield, never yield! Forward press, oh! while you live, Soul, strength, and mind to duty give, Pelted though you be with scorn, Never yield, never yield! Forward with unflinching tread! Never yield! Let a noble life be led! Hope among the wav'ring spread! Let conviction forth from you Cleaving all obstructions through! Never yield, never yield! Forward, forward! act like men! Never be discouraged! when Driven back, return again! Never yield! Firmly utter what you know, Truth can bear the hardest blow; Strokes but make the metal glow! Never yield, never yield! Forward, forward! to despair Never yield! Truth and goodness, now so rare, Never yield! Forward, then! the ages cry; Never yield, never yield! THOMAS KNOX, 1818- ALL THINGS PREACH OF DEATH. eye, ALL things around us preach of Death! yet Mirth To fit us for a dread Eternity. Hear, ye that watch with Faith's unslumbering eye,Earth is our pilgrimage, our home is Heaven! D. M. MOIR, 1798-1851. THE TWILIGHT OF THE HEART. THERE is an evening twilight of the heart, 'Tis with a nameless feeling of regret, them as they melt away, We gaze upon And fondly would we bid them linger yet, But Hope is round us with her angel-lay, Hailing afar some happier moonlight hour; Dear are her whispers still, though lost their earthly power. In youth, the cheek was crimson'd with her glow; We knew not, cared not, it was born to die. With dancing heart we gazed on the pure sky, And mock'd the passing clouds that dimm'd its blue, Like our own sorrows then-as fleeting and as few. And manhood felt her sway too on the eye And though at times might lour the thunder-storm, The rainbow of the heart, was hovering there. 'Tis in life's noontide she is nearest seen, Her wreath the summer-flower, her robe of summer green. |