I need thy presence every passing hour; Away on the mountains wild and bare, What but thy grace can foil the tempter's Away from the tender Shepherd's care.

power? Who like thyself my guide and stay can be ?

“Lord, thou hast here thy ninety and nine, Through cloud and sunshine, oh, abide with

Are they not enough for thee?" me!

But the Shepherd made answer : “ This of I fear no foe, with thee at hand to bless;

mine Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness;

Has wandered away from me; Where is Death's sting? where, Grave, thy And although the road be rough and steep, victory?

I go to the desert to find my sheep.” I triumph still, if thou abide with me!

But none of the ransomed ever knew Hold, then, thy cross before my closing eyes, How deep were the waters crossed,

“But none of the ransomed ever knew
How dark was the night the Lord passed through.”

Nor how dark was the night that the Lord

passed through, Ere he found the sheep that was lost; Out in the desert he heard its cry, Sick, and helpless, and ready to die. “Lord, whence are these blood-drops all the

way, That mark out the mountain's track ?" “They were shed for one who had gone as

tray,

Ere the Shepherd could bring him back." Shine through the gloom, and point me to “Lord, whence are thy hands so rent and the skies;

torn ?” Heaven's morning breaks, and Earth’s vain shadows flee,

“ They are pierced to-night by many a

thorn." In Life and death, O Lord, abide with me! HENRY FRANCIS LYTE. But all through the mountains, thunder-riv

en, THE NINETY AND NINE. .

And up from the rocky steep,

There rose a cry to the gates of Heaven; UDHERE were ninety and nine that safely “Rejoice! I have found my sheep!" lay

ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID, Or your more dreaded hell to state,
OR THE RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS.

Damnation of expenses !
Y son, these maxims make a rule, Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames,
And lump them aye thegither :

Tied up in godly laces,
The Rigid Righteous is a foo

Before ye gie poor Frailty names,. The Rigid Wise anither;

Suppose a change of cases ; The cleanest corn that e'er was dight

A dear loved lad, convenience snug, May hae some pyles of caff in;

A treacherous inclination; So ne'er a fellow-creature slight

But, let me whisper in your lug, For random fits o' daffin."

Ye've, aiblins, no temptation.

Then gently scan your brother Man, O ye who are sae guid yoursel,

Still gentlier sister Woman; Sae pious and sae holy,

Though they may gang a kennie wrang, Ye've naught to do but mark and tell

To step aside is human; Your neebors' fauts and folly;

One point must still be greatly dark: Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill,

The moving Why they do it; Supplied wi' store o' water,

And just as lamely can ye mark The heapet happer's ebbing still,

How far perhaps they rue it. And still the clap plays clatter.

Who made the heart, 'tis He alone Hear me, ye venerable core,

Decidedly can try us ; As counsel for poor mortals

He knows each chord, its various tone, That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door

Each spring, its various bias; For glaikit Folly's portals;

Then at the balance let's be mute, I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes,

We never can adjust it; Would here propone defenses,

What's done we partly may compute, Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes, But know not what's resisted. Their failings and mischances.

ROBERT BURNS

Ye see your state wi' theirs compared,

And shudder at the niffer,
But cast a moment's fair regard,

What makes the mighty differ?
Discount what scant occasion gave

That purity ye pride in,
And, what's aft more than a' the lave,

Your better art o'hidin'.

THE BURIAL OF MOSES.
Y Nebo's lonely mountain,

On this side Jordan's wave,
In a vale in the land of Moab,

There lies a lonely grave;
But no man dug that sepulchre,

And no man saw it e'er,
For the angels of God upturned the sod,

And laid the dead man there.

Think, when your castigated pulse

Gies now and then a wallop,
What raging must his veins convulse

That still eternal gallop;
Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail,

Right on ye scud your sea-way;
But in the teeth of baith to sail,

It makes an unco lee-way.

That was the grandest funeral

That ever passed on earth ;
But no man heard the trampling,

Or saw the train go forth.
Noiselessly as the daylight

Comes when the night is done,
Or the crimson streak on ocean's cheek

Fades in the setting sun,
Noiselessly as the spring-time

Her crown of verdure weaves,
And all the trees on all the hills

Open their thousand leaves;

See Social Life and Glee sit down,

All joyous and unthinking,
Till, quite transmugrified, they've grown

Debauchery and drinking;
Oh, would they stay to calculate

The eternal consequences,

So, without sound of music,

This the most gifted poet Or voice of them that wept,

That ever breathed a word; Silently down from the mountain's crown And never earth's philosopher That grand procession swept.

Traced with his golden pen,

On the deathless page, truths half so sage Perchance the bald old eagle

As he wrote down for men.
On gray Beth-peor's height,
Out of his rocky eyrie,

And had he not high honor ?
Looked on the wondrous sight;

The hillside for his pall, Perchance some lion, stalking,

To lie in state while angels wait, Still shuns the hallowed spot,

With stars for tapers tall; For beast and bird have seen and heard The dark rock-pines, like tossing plumes, That which man knoweth not.

Over his bier to wave.

And God's own hand, in that lonely land, But when the warrior dieth,

To lay him in his grave?
His comrades in the war,
With arms reversed and muffled drums,

In that deep grave without a name,
Follow the funeral car;

Whence his uncoffined clay They show the banners taken,

Sha 1 break again-most wondrous thought:They tell his battles won,

Before the judgment day, And after him lead his masterless steed,

And stand, with glory wrapped around,

On the hills he never trod, While peals the minute gun.

And speak of the strife that won our life Amid the noblest of the land,

Through Christ the Incarnate God. They lay the sage to rest,

O lonely tomb in Moab's land ! And give the bard an honored place,

O dark Beth-peor's hill! With costly marble dressed,

Speak to these curious hearts of ours,
In the great minster transept,

And teach them to be still!
Where lights like glories fall,
While the sweet choir sings, and the organ rings God hath His mysteries of grace,

Ways that we cannot tell;
Along the emblazoned wall.

He hides them deep, like secret sleep This was the bravest warrior

Of him He loved so well. That ever buckled sword;

CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER.

SELF-KNOWLEDGE.

(From "The Imitation of Christ.") HO hath a harder conflict to endure than he who labors to subdue himself? But in

this we must be continually engaged, if we would be more strengthened in the INNER MAN, and make real progress toward perfection. Indeed, the highest per

fection we can attain to in the present state is alloyed with much imperfection; and our best knowledge is obscured by shades of ignorance. “We see through a glass darkly." An humble knowledge of thyself, therefore, is a more certain way of leading thee to God, than the most profound investigations of science. Science, however, or a proper knowledge of the things belonging to the present life, is so far from being blamable in itself, that it is good, and ordained of God; but purity of conscience, and holiness of life, must ever be preferred before it. And because men are more solicitous to learn much than to live well, they fall into error, and receive little or no benefit from their studies. Oh, that the same diligence were exerted to eradicate vice, and implant virtue, as are applied to the discussion of unprofitable questions, and the “vain strife of words!” So much daring wickedness would not be found among the common ranks of men, nor so much licentiousness disgrace those who live in monasteries. Assuredly, in the approaching day of judgment, it will not be inquired of us what we have read, but what we have done; not how eloquently we have spoken, but how bolily we have lived.

THOMAS A KEMPIS.