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Cromwell, France her Bonaparte, and that, if we would escape the rock on which they split, we must avoid their errors.

HENRY CLAY.

A MITHER'S KNEE.

AT

T mither's knee I waitin' stood,

Wi' fingers link'd behind me,
The bauldest o'the bairnheid brood :-

That hour they seldom faund me;
My mither's weel-arch'd bree aboon,

Wi' lo'e-lit e'e, a' droopin'-
The deid, the gaun, they gather roun',

In memory's halie groupin'!

Her han’ she placed upon my heid;

Hoo aften I've caressed it!
An' syne it mould'red with the deid,

Hoo aft wi' tears ha'e blessed it!
Hoo sweet she tauld us o’ Christ's lo'e,

Hoo He lay in the manger:
Hoo, then, she leuked our hale life thro',

And mapped out ilka danger.

A roguish, rompin' bairn was I,

Wi, een deep-set, blue-blinkin',
Wha speir'd o' things baith laigh and high,

An' had a way o'thinkin';
Her leuk o'lo'e could mak’ the tear

Adoon my cheek fast trickle-
But, ah, nae bairn lang face lang wears,

He has o’joys sic mickle.

She never thought her wark was gran',

Nor bruited it, nor tauld it;
But, kept at it, wi' silent han',

Our bairnheid life to mould it;
She blent' it wi' the halie sphere,

Ower whilk she stretch'd lo'e's scepter;
The harvest o' life's comin'

year,
Hopefu' through a' this kept her.

For, like the sources o' the burn,

Frae rocks an' trees doon-drappin',
These deft-hid things that first we learn,

Still oot they maun be crappin',
I've lang forgot the beuks I read,

The wise things taught i' college ;
But time'll na dri'e frae oot my head

That ither bairnheid knowledge !

THE FINDING OF THE CROSS.

For Missionary Meetings.

ISTEN! I will tell a legend of a land beyond the

sea ; Listen! I will tell a legend, strange, and strangely sweet

LIST

!

to me,

Of the days of superstition, when the hearts of men were

led From the Saviour's dying sorrow, to the cross whereon

He bled; When they worshiped less the Saviour, than the cross

on which He died ; When they held aloft a symbol, till the type was glorified. But the cross they counted sacred-so the weird tradi

tions go

Vanished from sight of mortals, how or wherefore, none

could know. So they journeyed late and early, hoping they might find

again, Raise, and hold it up forever, in the sight of doubting men. Watchers waited on each summit, on each towering

mountain height, For the signal which should tell them that the cross was

brought to light. Long and far the pilgrims journeyed, long they sought

in patient trust, Till at last they found their object, rudely trampled in

the dust. Lo! a sudden cry of gladness over plain and valley

rung, And a chorus of thanksgiving for the sacred cross was

sung; On the nearest mountain summit soon a fire was all

aglow, Blazing forth the joyful tidings to the waiting hearts

below. Watchers on another mountain saw the fire that burned

afar, Shining through the dark and distance like a glory

giving star. So they quickly gathered fagots, lit them up, and sent

the word To another group of watchers, till the hearts of men were

stirred. And from summit unto summit thus the signals passed

along,

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Till the mountains all were lighted, and the valleys rang

with song;

And the nations seemed to tremble with the echoes of

the sound: "Hallelujah! hallelujah! for the Holy Cross is found !"

This is but an idle legend of another land and time; This is but an idle legend, woven through an idle rhyme, But I turn the fabric over; on the other side are

wrought Lessons of a better meaning than the ancient dreamers

thought; For to-night the cry is ringing in a clear, exultant

voice : “ Hallelujah! Hallelujah! we have found the cross

rejoice !" This is not the wooden symbol, but the story, grand and

true. Buried deep in men's traditions, it was nearly lost to

view;

Crusted thick with mold'ring doctrines, trampled under

marching feet; Yet at last the cross is lifted ; " God be praised,” our

lips repeat. Will you help us light our signal? Come and pile the

fagots high ; Come and join our hallelujahs, for the precious cross is

nigh! For the story of the Saviour and His love for human

kind, Lifted from the dust that hid it in the ages just behind, Rises on the sight of mortals, and we send the tidings Lighting up the gloomy valleys where are souls in sin

out,

and doubt, Waiting nations, long in darkness, rise and turn their

eager eyes To the westward, where the signal faintly gleams against

the skies. “Can it be,” they softly whisper, “ Can it be that hope

is there ?" Come and pile the fagots higher! come and chase away

despair! From another mountain turret soon the signal light will

shine;

Soon another height be glowing with the soul-rejoicing

sign. Thus the word of hope and blessing will be passed from

land to land; Thus the hymn of exultation will be passed from band

to band; Till the Hallelujah Chorus of the ages yet to be, Rises, surges, swells, and mingles with the waves of

every sea ; Till the universal anthem beats and breaks on every

shore: "Glory, honor, power, dominion, be to God forever

more! Glory, honor, power, dominion, be to Jesus Christ, His

Son ! Praise the Lord, ye saints and angels, for at last the world is won !”

JESSIE H. BROWN.

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