LOVE TO OUR NEIGHBOUR. LOVE and kindness we may measure By this simple rule alone:

Do we mind our neighbour's pleasure Just as if it were our own?

We should always care for others,
Nor suppose ourselves the best:

Let us love like friends and brothers-'Twas the Saviour's last request.

His example we should borrow,
Who forsook His throne above,
And endured such pain and sorrow
Out of tenderness and love.

When the poor are unbefriended,
If we will not pity lend,
Christ accounts Himself offended,
Who is every creature's friend.

Let us not be so ungrateful,

Thus His goodness to reward; Selfishness, indeed, is hateful

In the sight of Christ our Lord.

When a selfish thought would seize us, And our resolution break,

Let us ask the help of Jesus,

And resist it for His sake.

THE VOICE OF CONSCIENCE.

WHEN a foolish thought within

Tries to take us in a snare, Conscience tells us, "It is sin," And entreats us to beware.

If in something we transgress,
And are tempted to deny,
Conscience "Your faults confess,

says,

Do not dare to tell a lie."

In the morning when we rise, And would fain omit to pray, "Child, consider," Conscience cries,

66 Should not God be sought to-day?" When within His holy walls,

Far abroad our thoughts we send, Conscience often loudly calls,

And entreats us to attend.

When our angry passions rise, Tempting to revenge an ill, "Now subdue it," Conscience cries, "Do command your temper still." But if we should disregard

While those friendly voices call, Conscience soon will grow so hard, That it will not speak at all.

GLORY, GLORY.

AROUND the throne of God in heaven Thousands of children stand; Children whose sins are all forgiven,

A holy, happy band,

Singing, glory, glory, glory.

In flowing robes of spotless white

See every one array'd,

Dwelling in everlasting light

And joys that never fade,

Singing, glory, glory, glory.

What brought them to that world above,
That heaven so bright and fair,

Where all is peace, and joy, and love—
How came those children there?

Singing, glory, glory, glory.

Because the Saviour shed His blood

To wash away their sin:

Bathed in that pure and precious flood,
Behold them white and clean,

Singing, glory, glory, glory.

On earth they sought their Saviour's grace,
On earth they loved His name;
So now they see His blessed face,
And stand before the Lamb,

Singing, glory, glory, glory.

MORNING.

Anne Houlditch.

THE God of mercy walks his round
From day to day, from year to year,
And warns us each, with awful sound,—
"No longer stand ye idle here."

Ye whose young cheeks are rosy bright,
Whose hands are strong, whose hearts are clear,
Waste not of youth the morning light,-

Oh, fools! why stand ye idle here?

And

grey

ye whose scanty locks of
Foretell your latest travail near,
How fast declines your useless day,-
And stand ye yet so idle here?

One hour remains, there is but one,
But many a grief and many a tear
Through endless ages must atone

For moments lost and wasted here.

Heber.

THE SPRING MORNING.

GET up, little sister, the morning is bright,
And the birds are all singing to welcome the light;
The buds are all opening-the dew's on the flower;

If

you shake but a branch, see, there falls quite a shower.

By the side of their mothers, look under the trees,

How the young lambs are skipping about as they please;
And by all those rings on the water I know
The fishes are merrily swimming below.

The bee, I dare say, has been long on the wing,
To get honey from every flower of the Spring;

For the bee never idles, but labours all day,

And thinks (wise little insect!) work better than play.

The lark's singing gaily; it loves the bright sun,
And rejoices that now the gay Spring has begun;
For the Spring is so cheerful, I think 'twould be wrong
If we did not feel happy to hear the lark's

song.

Get up, for when all things are merry and glad
Good children should never be lazy and sad;
For God gives us day-light, dear sister, that we
May rejoice like the lark, and may work like the bee.
Lady Flora Hastings.