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THE EVERLASTING LOVE.

THE EVERLASTING LOVE.

“The Lord hath appeared of old unto me, saying, Yea, I have loved thee with an everlasting love: therefore with lovingkindness have I drawn thee."-JER. XXXI, 3.

How TENDER is Thy love, O Lord!
How free and full the grace
That bids the poor and needy come,
And fearless seek Thy face;

To come to Thee, their Priest and King,
Without a fear or care-

Just as they are, in mean array,
And in Thy bounty share!

Not to the rich and great alone,
Of old, Thy servants went;
But into "lanes" and "highways," forth
Thy messengers Thou sent,

To bring the outcast wanderers in,
The poor, the lame, the blind;

For these the banquet Thou prepared,
The highest seats assigned.

With gracious words Thou welcomed them,

Clothed them in garments meet;

For those Thou'd chosen for Thy guests,

And bade with Thee to eat.

Well may their "joy be full," who thus
Have known Thy table spread

For them, and from Thy hand, O Lord,
Received the Heavenly bread;

Partaken of the oil and wine

Known every want supplied;

And with th' "abundance of Thy house"
Been fully satisfied."

To

sup with Thee, O gracious One! How honored they and blest,

Who know Thy loving favor, shown

As to a royal guest!

Such wondrous grace, so freely shown,

y?

How can we e'er repay!

What gift can we, Thy little ones,

Upon Thy altar lay?

Thou hast done all, O King of saints,

And marvelous Thy ways;

To Thee be all the honor given,

The glory and the praise?

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A. R. PAUL.

34

AN INVITATION TO THE COUNTRY.

AN INVITATION TO THE COUNTRY.

ALREADY, close by our summer dwelling,
The Easter sparrow repeats her song;
A merry warbler, she chides the blossoms—
The idle blossoms that sleep so long.

The blue-bird chants from the elm's long branches,
A hymn to welcome the budding year;

The south wind wanders from field to forest,
And softly whispers, The spring is here.

Come, daughter mine, from the gloomy city,
Before those lays from the elm have ceased;
The violet breathes by our door as sweetly
As in the air of her native East.

Though many a flower in the wood is waking,
The daffodil is our door-side queen;

She pushes upward the sward already,
To spot with sunshine the early green.

No lays so joyous as these are warbled

From wiry prison in maiden's bower;

No pampered bloom of the green-house chamber Has half the charm of the lawn's first flower.

MY CREED.

Yet these sweet sounds of the early season,
And these fair sights of its sunny days,

Are only

sweet when we fondly listen, And only fair when we fondly gaze.

There is no glory in star or blossom,

Till looked upon by a loving eye; There is no fragrance in April breezes,

Till breathed with joy as they wander by.

Come, Julia dear, for the sprouting willows,
The opening flowers and gleaming brooks,
And hollows, green in the sun, are waiting
Their dower of beauty from thy glad looks.

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W. C. BRYANT.

MY CREED.

I HOLD that Christian grace abounds
Where charity is seen; that when
We climb to heaven, 'tis on the rounds

Of love to men.

I hold all else named piety

A selfish scheme, a vain pretense;
Where center is not, can there be

Circumference?

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MY CREED.

This I moreover hold, and dare

Affirm where'er my rhyme may go:
Whatever things be sweet or fair,
Love makes them so;

Whether it be the lullabies

That charm to rest the nestling bird,
Or that sweet confidence of sighs,
And blushes without word;

Whether the dazzling and the flush
Of softly sumptuous garden bowers,
Or by some cabin-door or bush
Of ragged flowers.

'Tis not the wide phylactery,

Nor stubborn fast, or stated prayers,

That make us saints; we judge the tree
By what it bears.

And when a man can live apart
From work, on theologic trust,

I know the blood about his heart

Is dry as dust.

ALICE CARY.