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WE SCATTER SEEDS.

We scatter seeds with careless hand
And dream we ne'er shall see them more ;

But for a thousand years

Their fruit appears
In weeds that mar the land

Or healthful store.

The deeds we do—the words we say
Into still air they seem to fleet;

We count them ever past

But they shall last-
In the dread judgment, they
And we shall meet!

Lyra Innocentiam.

PARISH MUSINGS.

Christian life's no bank of roses,

Where we idly sit and sing,
Till the gathering evening closes,-

Christian life's an earnest thing.

Full of vows, and full of labour,

All our days fresh duties bring, First to God, and then our neighbour,

Christian life's an earnest thing.

Onward—ever onward pressing,

Yet untired as Angel's wing, Believing, doing, blest and blessing,

Christian life's an earnest thing.

On its way-side none may linger

Undisturbed by sorrow's sting, Or by judgment's warning finger,

Christian life's an earnest thing.

Wake then, Christian, from thy slumber,

Evening doth its shadows bring : Few the hours thy day may number,— Christian life's an earnest thing.

Monsell.

PARISH MUSINGS.

O it is a weary life,

Full of toils and dangers, Full of sorrows, full of strife,

We in it but strangers : O it is a world of woe !

Why should we so love it? And prefer life's cares below

To life's joys above it?

Yet from care we might be free

As the sunshine o'er us,
And the path of life might be

Ever bright before us,
If we could but look beyond

Life, to that life yonder,
If the hearts, of earth so fond,

Could of heaven grow fonder.

No, 'tis not a weary life,

Though it hath its dangers, If we wage the holy strife,

If we live as strangers :
It is not a world of woe

If we do not love it,
But a training heaven below,

For the heaven above it.—Monsell. GOOD NIGHT AND GOOD MORNING.

A fair little girl sat under a tree,
Sewing as long as her eyes could see;
Then smoothed her work, and folded it right,
And said, “Dear Work! Good Night! Good

Night !"

Such a number of rooks came over her head,
Crying, “ Caw! caw !” on their way to bed ;
She said, as she watched their curious flight,
“Little black things! Good Night! Good

Night !”

The horses neighed, and the oxen lowed :
The sheep's “ Bleat! bleat ! ”came over the

road : All seeming to say, with a quiet delight, Good little Girl ! Good Night ! Good

Night !"

She did not say to the Sun, “ Good night !”
Though she saw him there, like a ball of light;
For she knew he had God's time to keep,
All over the world, and never could sleep.

The tall pink fox-glove bowed his head
The violets curtsied, and went to bed ;
And good little Lucy tied up her hair,
And said, on her knees, her favourite prayer.

And while on her pillow she softy lay, She knew nothing more till again it was day; And all things said to the beautiful Sun, “Good Morning! Good Morning! our work is begun !”

Lord Houghton.

LABOUR.

Pause not to dream of the future before us, Pause not to weep the wild cares that come

o'er us: Hark! how Creation's deep musical chorus

Unintermitting goes up into Heaven !
Never the ocean wave falters in flowing,
Never the little seed stops in its growing;
More and more richly the rose-heart keeps

glowing,
Till from its nourishing stem it is riven.

Labour is life! 'Tis the still water faileth,
Idleness ever despaireth, bewaileth :

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