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DAILY BREAD.

O KING of earth and air and sea!
The hungry ravens cry to Thee;
To Thee the scaly tribes that sweep
The bosom of the boundless deep;

To Thee the lions roaring call,
The common Father, kind to all!
Then grant Thy servants, Lord! we pray,
Our daily bread from day to day!

The fishes may for food complain;
The ravens spread their wings in vain ;
The roaring lions lack and pine;'
But, God! Thou carest still for Thine!

Thy bounteous hand with food can bless
The bleak and lonely wilderness;
And Thou hast taught us, Lord! to pray
For daily bread from day to day!

And oh, when through the wilds we roam
That part us from our heavenly home;
When, lost in danger, want, and woe,
Our faithless tears begin to flow;

L

Do Thou thy gracious comfort give,
By which alone the soul may live:
And grant Thy servants, Lord! we pray,
Our daily bread from day to day!

BISHOP HEBER, 1783-1826.

NEVER YIELD!

FORWARD press, though trials thicken,
Never yield!

Forward! to your duty quicken,
Lag not like the terror-stricken,
Never yield!

Quail not for opposing might;
What can honest men affright?

Ye are struggling for the right!

Never yield, never yield!

Forward press, oh! while you live,
Never yield!

Soul, strength, and mind to duty give,
Something in your age achieve!
Never yield!

Pelted though you be with scorn,
In toil's galling harness worn!
Not for ease were good men born!

Never yield, never yield!

Forward with unflinching tread!

Never yield!

Let a noble life be led!

Hope among the wav'ring spread!
Never yield!

Let conviction forth from you
Flash like lightning into view,

Cleaving all obstructions through!

Never yield, never yield!

Forward, forward! act like men!
Never yield!

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,
Yet shall flourish everywhere!

Never yield!

Forward, then! the ages cry;
Forward, martyr'd hosts reply;
Forward, forward valiantly!

Never yield, never yield!

THOMAS KNOX, 1818-

ALL THINGS PREACH OF DEATH.

eye,

ALL things around us preach of Death! yet Mirth
Swells the vain heart, darts from the careless
As if we were created ne'er to die,
And had our everlasting home on earth!
All things around us preach of Death :- the leaves
Drop from the forests-perish the bright flowers—
Shortens the day's shorn sunlight, hours on hours—
And o'er bleak sterile fields the wild wind grieves.
Yes! all things preach of Death-we're born to die :
We are but waves along Time's ocean driven :
Life is to us a brief probation given,

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,
When its wild passion-waves are lull'd to rest,
And the eye sees life's fairy scenes depart,
As fades the day-beam in the rosy west.

'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;
Her smile was loveliest then; her matin-song
Was heaven's own music, and the note of woe
Was all unheard her sunny bowers among.
Life's little world of bliss was newly born;

We knew not, cared not, it was born to die.
Flush'd with the cool breeze and the dews of morn,

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
Half realised, her earthly dreams most bright,
Her promised bower of happiness seem'd nigh,
Its days of joy, its vigils of delight;

And though at times might lour the thunder-storm,
And the red lightnings threaten, still the air
Was balmy with her breath, and her loved form,

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.

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