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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.
A MITHER'S KNEE.
T mither's knee I waitin' stood,
Wi' fingers link'd behind me,
That hour they seldom faund me;
Wi' lo'e-lit e'e, a' droopin'-
In memory's halie groupin'!
Her han’ she placed upon my heid;
Hoo aften I've caressed it!
Hoo aft wi' tears ha'e blessed it!
Hoo He lay in the manger:
And mapped out ilka danger.
A roguish, rompin' bairn was I,
Wi, een deep-set, blue-blinkin',
An' had a way o'thinkin';
Adoon my cheek fast trickle-
He has o’joys sic mickle.
She never thought her wark was gran',
Nor bruited it, nor tauld it;
Our bairnheid life to mould it;
Ower whilk she stretch'd lo'e's scepter;
For, like the sources o' the burn,
Frae rocks an' trees doon-drappin',
Still oot they maun be crappin',
The wise things taught i' college ;
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
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
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
Till the mountains all were lighted, and the valleys rang
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
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
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
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.