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TRUST IN PROVIDENCE.
"Behold the fowls of the air!"-MATTHEW VI.
WHEN my breast labours with oppressive care,
Behold! and look away your low despair—
Observe the rising lily's snowy grace, Observe the various vegetable race; They neither toil nor spin, but careless grow, Yet see how warm they blush! how bright they glow! What regal vestments can with them compare! What king so shining! or what queen so fair!
If ceaseless thus the fowls of heaven He feeds, If o'er the fields such lucid robes He spreads, Will He not care for you, ye faithless, say? Is He unwise? or are ye less than they? JAMES THOMSON, 1700-1748.
ASPIRATIONS OF YOUTH.
HIGHER, higher will we climb
That our names may live through time
In our country's story;
Happy, when her welfare calls,
Deeper, deeper let us toil
In the mines of knowledge;
Onward, onward will we press
Excellence true beauty;
Close and closer then we knit
Hearts and hands together,
In the wildest weather:
Nearer, dearer bands of love
Draw our souls in union, To our Father's house above
To the saints' communion; Thither every hope ascend, There may all our labours end.
JAMES MONTGOMERY, 1771-1854.
TO A WEARIED WORKER.
"REST!"-thou must not seek for rest
Thou must not lay thy burthen down
Thou must not weary of the life,
Nor cease to work, because such work
Thou must not let thy heart grow cold,
When others strive, thou too must help,
The power to love God gave to thee,
"Freedom and Rest" thou wouldest have: Freedom is service meet;
And rest of soul is but a name
Unmoved to gaze upon the strife,
To others thou must minister,
In the outward world 'tis vain to seek
ABOVE AND BELOW.
O DWELLERS in the valley land,
The Lord's great work is idle too?
Of morn, because 'tis dark with you?
Though yet your valleys sleep in night,
In God's ripe fields the day is cried, And reapers, with their sickles bright,
Troop, singing down the mountain-side; Come up, and feel what health there is In the frank dawn's delighted eyes As, bending with a pitying kiss,
The night-shed tears of earth she dries!
The Lord wants reapers; oh mount up Before night comes, and says, "Too late!"
Stay not for taking scrip or cup,
The Master hungers while ye wait;
The advancing spears of Day can see,