RIGHT LIVING.

More of practice, less profession,
More of firmness, less concession,
More of freedom, less oppression,

In the church and in the state;
More of life, and less of fashion,
More of love, and less of passion,
That will make us good and great.

When true hearts, divinely gifted,
From the chaff of error sifted,
On their crosses are uplifted,

Shall the world most clearly see
That earth's greatest time of trial
Calls for holy self-denial,

Calls on men to do and be.

But forever and forever

Let it be the soul's endeavor

Love from hatred to dissever,
And in whatsoe'er we do,
Won by truth's eternal beauty
To our highest sense of duty,

Evermore be firm and true.

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208

PASSING PLEASURES.

PASSING PLEASURES.

THESE blessed passing pleasures;
We need not let them waste;
We need not leave their treasures
Behind us in our haste.

We need not doubt their fitness

Where earth's deep shadows fall;

God giving, He is witness

That we shall want them all.

Amid the old sad story

Of human shame and sin,
If He gives gleams of glory,
We ought to let them in.
And oh, when brought before us
Where heart and soul can see,

How mighty to restore us

Love's little signs may be!

A bird, a tree, a flower,

A creature just as frail,
Will take us in His power

To Him within the veil;

PASSING PLEASURES.

Will come, if He has bidden,
Amidst the dark'ning fight,

And leave us safely hidden

Behind a shield of light.

Perhaps His angels see us
Disquieted in vain;

Perhaps His watch would free us
From some ensnaring pain;

But only He can measure,

Who sees our nature through,
The good that in His pleasure
A passing joy may do.

If but for one bright minute

Through gathering clouds it break,

There is a token in it

That He would have us take.

And His least sign obeying,

No wealth our hearts shall miss,

E'en when we hear Him saying, "See greater things than this."

For He, the dull ear gaining,
Meeting the dim, weak sight,
Our faith is gently training
To bear the perfect light.

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The whole house feels the racket;
Behold the knee of Harry's pants,

And weep o'er Berdie's jacket!

But never mind, if eyes keep bright,
And limbs grow straight and limber;
We'd rather lose the tree's whole bark
Than find unsound the timber.

Now hear the tops and marbles roll!
The floors-oh, woe betide them!

And I must watch the banisters,
For I know boys who ride them!

Look well as you descend the stairs,
I often find them haunted

THE BOYS.

By ghostly toys that make no noise
Just when their noise is wanted.

The very chairs are tied in pairs,

And made to prance and caper;
What swords are whittled out of sticks!
What brave hats made of paper!

The dinner bell peals loud and well,
To tell the milkman's coming;

And then the rush of "steam-car trains"

Sets all our ears a-humming.

To keep these children quiet?"

If I could find a good receipt

I certainly should try it.

But what to do with these wild boys
And all their din and clatter,

Is really quite a grave affair

No laughing, trifling matter.

"Boys will be boys"-but not for long; Ah, could we bear about us

This thought-how very soon our boys

Will learn to do without us,

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