"For Prince, my stout Prince, we have only but you; Well galloped, my steed, we may yet win the goal; Did ever horse gallop as then galloped he? Are now to the right and the left, and in scores "Farewell, my good master," cries Ivan the serf; You will not forget me, I know; Oh, be kind Then straight o'er the sledge bar, without a word more, One moment the brutes make a pause, and the next But his master is saved, for inside the gate Stout Prince is now panting for breath; And the cheek of the noble grows pale as he thinks Few deeds have the records of ages to show As the deed of that serf, who gave up his life Yet is there a record, surpassing by far Of one who, the Lord and the Master of all, It was Jesus, the Son of the living God, For He died upon Calvary; There shed He His blood, and gave up His life, He bared His breast to the wolves of the curse, That we might pass through the golden gate, Then Jesus! Jesus! grant us Thy grace, Lest we perish upon the way; For our eyes are dim, and our strength is small, But we look to Thee, and to Thee alone, For Thou hast given Thy precious blood To cleanse our souls from sin. Save us, O blessed Master! Unto Thee for help we flee: We are Thine, for Thou hast redeemed us, To be saved by Thy great salvation, The Lying Clock. BY REV. CHAS. COURTENAY. T was a very imposing-looking clock, too; a clock meant by its size to be visible at a distance; a clock which the most dim-eyed of men could read without spectacles. No one would have expected such an important-looking clock to tell such a lie as it did. I will tell you how it happened. It was at a railway station-one of our large London stations. I was going to fulfil an engagement in the country, and it was most important that I should catch the night train, for who likes to be behind time in anything? Of course when I reached the station my first impulse was to scan the face of the big clock, and, having scanned it and discovered that I had some twenty minutes to spare, I was content and happy. I had no cause to doubt the clock, so I believed it implicitly. How I passed the time I need not say. Let it suffice that I expended it in the best and most profitable way I could. But it must not be supposed that I allowed the whole twenty minutes to run before I sought my train. No; I left a broad margin for possible errors in calculation, and made my way to the proper platform in about fifteen minutes. Judge my surprise when I found my train had left several minutes before, and not before its time either. No; the train was true enough. It was the clock that was false. In fact, the clock had stopped. Now there is no good in being angry with a clock, although on such occasions as this you feel strongly disposed to be. The only thing to be done under such circumstances is to make the best of it. So I did make the best of it, and just used the occurrence as a text to do a bit of moralising upon. There are many men like that clock, I thought; men with fine open faces, who nevertheless fail to tell the truth. They invite you to trust them, and you naturally accept the invitation, with only too sad a result. There are deceptive men as well as deceptive clocks. I have such a man in my mind now. He had been dismissed from his situation for drunkenness, and he had so far repented as to promise to abstain wholly in the future. He would not touch strong drink again. But before long he was seen drinking whiskyand-water in a public bar. The doctor had ordered it, was his excuse; had pressed it upon him. I believed the man. There was nothing in his face to give the lie to his words. But hear what the doctor said. The man himself had pleaded for the doctor's permission to drink, and he had been refused promptly and decisively. Wasn't this man as false as the face of the clock? Then I thought, like false clocks, what mischief false men cause. There is no end to the possible mischief. I acted on the clock's lie, and how I suffered from it. But who has not suffered infinitely more from acting on the false assertions of brother-men? There is the loss of money, as in the case of insolvent companies. There is the loss of peace through the discovery of the falseness of a friend. There is the loss of faith in the truthfulness of the world. He will lead many a life A false man is like a false chart. to sad and utter shipwreck. A very firebrand in the world is a liar. We cannot count the awful results which may follow on a single lie; and of course, the higher the man is in the social scale, the more prominent the position he occupies, and the more trusted he is, the greater the disaster by far. Another lesson I drew from that false clock was, that a silent lie is often as bad as a spoken one. Of course the clock might have spoken its lie. It might have struck the wrong hour as easily as it looked it. But it didn't in this case. It was as silent a clock as ever was. It didn't even tick. Nevertheless, it lost me my train. When will people learn that to keep back the truth is to tell a lie? You cannot lie, is the common idea, if you keep your teeth tightly locked, and your hands quite still. But let men know, that a lie which is told by silence is often as malignant and evil in its results as when it is uttered aloud. The answer is almost And then I asked myself why that clock had stopped? There was plainly something wrong about it. What was it? Very significant to my mind was the answer I gave myself. It was wrong within. Its workings were out of order. Its lie was not to be remedied by shifting the hands from without, but by cleaning the mechanism within. And is it different with the man? How would you set the man right-from without or from within? too self-evident to be written down. that moral error springs from the heart, and that until the heart be cleansed and renewed the mischief cannot but continue? And as the world is full of men who are attempting to rectify themselves and others from without by polishing the outside, and, as it were, moving the hands on the dial-plate, no wonder they fail so sadly. How could they expect to succeed? If they cannot put a clock right that way, how can they expect to cure a man? No: get into the workings, right among the affections and will, clean every wheel of the soul from the world's dust that clogs them, apply the oil of the Spirit, renew the whole, and see then whether the truth will not shine out clearly and fully. But you know how clocks are put right, don't you? By the clockmaker. Whoever heard of a clock trying to put itself right and making itself clean? And yet there are plenty of men and women in the world who are trying to put their hearts right. Dear reader, are you trying to do this with your heart? Then let me tell you that you are altogether wrong. You must go to the Lord who made you, and who died, that by His blood your heart might be cleansed and renewed. Go to Him, trust Him, and He will not only put you right, but keep you right. Bogatzky's Experience. HE "Golden Treasury" is a book much read and prized by many Christians in England. Its author, C. H. von Bogatzky, was a deeply ex perienced and much blessed Christian worker in Germany during the greater part of the eighteenth century. All his life, too, he was a poor man. In his autobiography we have a deeply interesting picture of his inner life. One incident recorded in it illustrates in a very striking manner the proper effect of the experience of the power of Christ's atoning work in producing good works. Not a few in our day discredit the old evangelical doctrine concerning the blood of Christ, and seek the motive power to holy living and fruitful service in something else than in the death of Christ-the just for the unjust. "When I was in Breslau on one occasion," writes Bogatzky, "I experienced a remarkable awakening, that |