And pitieth not the children small

In smoky factories dim,

That all day long, lean, pale, and faint,
Do heavy tasks for him!

To him they are but as the stones
Beneath his feet that lie :

It entereth not his thoughts that they
With him claim sympathy :

It entereth not his thoughts that God
Heareth the sufferer's groan,
That in His righteous eye their life
Is precious as his own.

M. Howitt

CXII

SUNDAY

DAY most calm, most bright!

The fruit of this, the next world's bud, Th' indorsement of supreme delight, Writ by a Friend, and with His blood: The couch of time; care's balm and bay; The week were dark but for thy light, Thy-touch doth show the way.

Sundays the pillars are,

On which Heaven's palace archèd lies :
The other days fill up the spare
And hollow room with vanities:
They are the fruitful bed and borders
In God's rich garden: that is bare
Which parts their ranks and orders.

The Sundays of man's life,
Threaded together on time's string,

Make bracelets to adorn the wife
Of the eternal, glorious King.

On Sunday heaven's gate stands ope;
Blessings are plentiful and rife,

More plentiful than hope.

CXIII

G. Herbert

THE HOUR OF PRAYER

CH

“HILD, amidst the flowers at play,
While the red light fades away:

Mother, with thine earnest eye
Ever following silently:
Father, by the breeze of eve

Called thy harvest-work to leave,—
Pray! ere yet the dark hours be,
Lift the heart, and bend the knee.

Traveller in the stranger's land,
Far from thine own household band:
Mourner, haunted by the tone
Of a voice from this world gone :

Captive, in whose narrow cell
Sunshine hath not leave to dwell:
Sailor, on the darkening sea,
Lift the heart, and bend the knee.

Warrior, that from battle won
Breathest now at set of sun;

Woman, o'er the lowly slain,
Weeping on his burial plain :
Ye that triumph, ye that sigh
Kindred by one holy tie,

Heaven's first star alike ye see,

Lift the heart, and bend the knee.

F. Hemans

CXIV

EVENING

BEnthroned overhead,

EHOLD the sun, that seemed but now

Beginning to decline below

The globe whereon we tread;
And he, whom yet we look upon
With comfort and delight,
Will quite depart from hence anon,
And leave us to the night.

Thus time, unheeded, steals away
The life which nature gave,
Thus are our bodies every day

Declining to the grave:

Thus from us all our pleasures fly

Whereon we set our heart,

And then the night of death draws nigh;

Thus will they all depart.

Lord! though the sun forsake our sight, And mortal hopes are vain,

Let still Thine everlasting light

Within our souls remain !

ΙΟ

And in the nights of our distress

Vouchsafe those rays divine

Which from the Sun of righteousness
For ever brightly shine.

G. Wither

CXV

BAPTISMAL HYMN

IN token that thou shalt not fear

IN

Christ crucified to own,

We print the cross upon thee here,
And stamp thee His alone.

In token that thou shalt not blush
To glory in His name,
We blazon here upon thy front
His glory and His shame.

In token that thou shalt not flinch
Christ's quarrel to maintain,
But 'neath His banner manfully
Firm at thy post remain;

In token that thou too shalt tread
The path He travelled by,
Endure the cross, despise the shame,
And sit thee down on high;

Thus outwardly, and visibly,

We seal thee for His own :

And may the brow that wears His cross

Hereafter share His crown.

H. Alford

CXVI

WATCHMAN, WHAT OF THE NIGHT?

AY, watchman, what of the night?
Do the dews of the morning fall?

Have the orient skies a border of light,
Like the fringe of a funeral pall?

"The night is fast waning on high, And soon shall the darkness flee,

And the morn shall spread o'er the blushing sky, And bright shall its glories be."

But, watchman, what of the night,

When sorrow and pain are mine,

And the pleasures of life, so sweet and bright,
No longer around me shine?

"That night of sorrow thy soul

May surely prepare to meet ;

But away shall the clouds of thy heaviness roll,

And the morning of joy be sweet."

But, watchman, what of the night

When the arrow of death is sped,

And the grave, which no glimmering star can light,

Shall be my sleeping bed?

"That night is near, and the cheerless tomb

Shall keep thy body in store,

Till the morn of eternity rise on the gloom,

And night shall be no more.”

Anon.