One of our poetical contributors has thus celebrated the theme in

sacred song:

Behold how pleasant to the eye,

Yon waving corn appears;

The slender stalks swayed to and fro,
Beneath the golden ears.

Strange is the story of the seed
That first was planted there;
How marvellous the wither'd grain
"An hundred-fold" should bear

Within a silent tomb it passed
A lapse of ages slow,
Bound in a dark Egyptian's hand,
Three thousand years ago.

Pourtrayed upon the massive walls,
Might all his deeds be viewed ;
But none had ever yet disturbed
The awful solitude.

At length, within the sculptured cell,
A stranger dared to tread;
And lo! with sacrilegious hands,

He stole the ancient dead.

Far from the gorgeous sepulchre,
He bore his prize away;

Till here, on British ground, he laid
His venerable prey.

With careful fingers he removed

The swathings, one by one,

And gazed, at last, upon the form
Of Egypt's swarthy son.

And straight arose the fragrant scent
Of spices, oils, and balm;

And grains of corn went rolling down
From off the blackened palm ;—

Grains that perchance were treasured up,
In Canaan's time of dearth:

Dry as they were, we planted them,
In hope, beneath the earth.

The gentle rain of heaven came down,
And soft refreshing dew;

The mummy-wheat their influence felt,
Awoke to life, and grew.

And lo! the springing blades came forth,
As tender, fresh, and green,

As though the parent grain, last year
Within the ear had been.

And now the tall and fragile stem,
Its graceful head uprears;
And see! within the bursting husk,

The yellow corn appears.

Come hither, ye whose patient hands
"Beside all waters" sow;

The lovely crop ye long to view,
In God's good time will grow.

In faith and hope a mother taught
Her lisping babe to pray;
The seed she planted in his heart,
Sprang when his head was gray.

Go forth with courage; still your bread "Upon the waters" cast;

Tho' vainly sought for many days,
It shall be found at last.

MOTHERS' WORDS.

s I crossed the end of a lane in a thickly-peopled town, I

heard a loud and angry voice, and turned to see who spoke.

A knot of women stood talking at one of the doors. The voice came from one of them, who broke off from the conversation, to call to her little boy, who was playing with another child some way down the lane. "Come here, child," cried the mother. The boy looked up, but did not stir. "Come here, this minute," was repeated in a louder tone. Still the child did not come. "Do you hear?" shouted the woman at the full pitch of her voice: "You come when I call, or I'll break every bone in your skin when I catch you." The two children only gathered up their marbles and moved off to a greater distance, out of sight and sound. The mother gave one angry look after them, and then turned round and continued the conversation as if nothing had happened. As for me, I went sadly on my way; and as I went, I thought on "Mothers' words." Here are some of my thoughts. I thought of my own mother, long since gone to her rest. I remembered that her words were always gentle and always minded. No harsh word ever passed her lips-to her children at least. There was love even in her reproofs. But there was truth also. She never said what she did not mean; and what she said, we knew she would do, though sorry to give us pain. And so her children loved her. And long after she was gone from among them, they loved her still. A mother's love kept a deep place in their hearts her words were not forgotten.

I thought to myself, Will that boy love his mother's memory? Does he love her now? Does he respect, or even believe her? Certainly there was no sign of love on either side; on her side,

loud angry words, which meant nothing; on his, cool disobe dience.

A mother's words may be the greatest blessing to a child. John Newton led a most wicked life for many years, but afterwards became a devoted Christian minister. His mother had died before he was seven years old; but he says of her, "She made it the chief business and pleasure of her life to instruct me, and bring me up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord." Who can doubt that this pious mother's words to her little boy had much to do with the happy change that took place in him afterwards? Numberless other cases of the same kind might be named. And I venture to say (for I have done the thing myself) that if anyone will go to a book-shelf, and take down, one after another, the volumes which contain the lives of good men, ministers, missionaries, and others, he will find that the greater part of them had pious mothers, who taught them when young.

opposite of this— We all know too

Alas! no books need be written to show the how many bad men have had bad mothers. well, by what we see and hear, how boys and girls, who have heard little but evil from their parents' lips, turn into ungodly men and women.

Mothers, you are doing good or harm to your children, by your words, every day. Whatever you may think, your words do not Weigh them well.

go for nothing.

Weigh them well. Mind how you speak to your children. Let me give you a few hints about it.

1. Never let your children hear bad words from your lips. Shall a child learn to slander, to lie, and to swear, from its own mother? For their sake, if for no other reason, watch against bad words of every sort. You would not wish them to grow up to swear and lie: take care you do not teach them. These things are easy to teach, but hard to un-teach.

2. Do not speak harshly to your little ones.

I have heard

many mothers do so, who I am sure did not feel harshly; only they had got a habit of speaking so. Remember, children have feelings. It gives pain to a child to be called hard names for the least fault, or for no fault at all. At least it gives pain, till the feelings are blunted by such treatment: but then, remember, love is blunted too; and you would not wish your children not to love you. Children are tender things. They ought to be spoken to gently, not as if they were so many stocks and stones. "Oh, but you don't know my children; they are such plagues, it's of no use speaking gently to them; they wouldn't mind it a bit." Not so fast-are you sure they would not mind it? Have you ever tried it? It is plain your present plan does not answer; for your children, you say, are plagues to you. If you had always spoken kindly to them, instead of roughly, it might have been otherwise. Even now it is worth trying. Come, see what a kind word will do. Show them that you love them. Try leading, instead of driving. Let them hear "mothers' words," such as mothers' words ought to be.

3. But do not think I am all for kindness and petting. Perhaps in some cases I should be more severe than you. I would have you be strict, though kind. When they do wrong, punish them ; not in a passion, so that all they think is, "What a rage mother is in!" but justly, calmly, and firmly. Never threaten them as that woman did. Let us have no nonsense about breaking their bones, and so forth; but tell them what you are going to do, and why, and then do it. One such punishment as this, will do more good than twenty angry threats or hasty blows. More good, did I say? Nay, these last do nothing but harm.

4. Try to make your children love you. A child's love is worth having; and if you do not get it while they are young, you are not likely ever to have it. Love to his mother has helped to keep many a young man right, and been made the means of bringing