FAREWELL TO A MISSIONARY.

HOME, kindred, friends, and country,—these
Are things with which we never part;
From clime to clime, o'er land and seas,
We bear them with us in our heart;
And yet 'tis hard to feel resign'd,
When they must all be left behind.

But when the pilgrim's staff we take,
And follow Christ from shore to shore,
Gladly for Him we all forsake,

Press on, and only look before;

Though humbled nature mourns her loss,
The spirit glories in the cross.

It is no sin, like man, to weep,

Even Jesus wept o'er Lazarus dead; Or yearn for home beyond the deep,He had not where to lay his head; The patriot's tears will He condemn, Who grieved o'er lost Jerusalem ?

Take up your cross, and say- "Farewell:"
Go forth without the camp to Him,
Who left heaven's throne with men to dwell,
Who died his murderers to redeem:

Oh! tell his name in every ear,

Doubt not, the dead themselves will hear,

Hear, and come forth to life anew;

Then while the Gentile courts they fill, Shall not your Saviour's words stand true? Home, kindred, friends, and country still, In earth's last desert you shall find, Yet lose not those you left behind.

AN AFTER-THOUGHT.

I CANNOT call affliction sweet,
And yet 'twas good to bear;
Affliction brought me to Thy feet,
And I found comfort there.

My weaned soul was all resign'd
To Thy most gracious will;
Oh! had I kept that better mind,
Or been afflicted still!

Where are the vows which then I vow'd,
The joys which then I knew?
Those vanish'd like the morning cloud,

These like the early dew.

LORD, grant me grace for every day,

Whate'er my state may

be;

Through life, in death, with truth to say,

"LOVEST THOU ME?"

JOHN, xxi. 15—17.

"LOVEST thou me ?" I hear my Saviour say:

Would that my heart had power to answer—
"Yea;
Thou knowest all things, LORD, in heaven above,
And earth beneath; Thou knowest that I love."

But 'tis not so; in word, in deed, in thought,
I do not, cannot love thee as I ought;

Thy love must give that power, thy love alone;
There's nothing worthy of thee but thine own;
LORD, with the love wherewith thou lovedst me,
Reflected on thyself, I would love thee.

"THE PRISONER OF THE LORD."

A SABBATH HYMN FOR A SICK CHAMBER.

THOUSANDS, O LORD of Hosts! this day,
Around thine altar meet;

And tens of thousands throng to pay
Their homage at Thy feet.

They see Thy power and glory there,

As I have seen them too;

They read, they hear, they join in prayer, As I was wont to do.

They sing Thy deeds, as I have sung,
In sweet and solemn lays;

Were I among them, my glad tongue
Might learn new themes of praise.

For Thou art in their midst, to teach,
When on Thy name they call;
And Thou hast blessings, LORD, for each,
Hast blessings, LORD, for all.

I, of such fellowship bereft,
In spirit turn to Thee;