PRAYER FOR A SICK CHILD. Almighty God, and merciful Father, to whom alone belong the issues of life and death; Look down from heaven, we humbly beseech Thee, with the eyes of mercy upon this child now lying upon the bed of sickness: Disit him, O Lord, with Thy salvation; deliver him in Thy good appointed time from his bodily pain, and save his soul for Thy mercies' sake: That, if it shall be Thy pleasure to prolong his days here on earth, he may live to Thee, and be an instrument of Thy glory, by serving Thee faithfully, and doing good in his generation; or else receive him into those heavenly habitations, where the souls of them that sleep in the Lord Jesus enjoy perpetual rest and felicity. Grant this, O Lord, for Thy mercies' sake, in the same Thy Son our Lord Jesus Christ, who liveth and reigneth with Thee and the Holy Ghost, ever one God, world without end. Amen. ℗ Almighty God, and merciful Father, to whom alone belong the issues of life and death; Look down from heaven, we humbly beseech Thee, with the eyes of mercy upon this child now lying upon the bed of sickness : BY THE BEDSIDE OF A SICK CHILD. N 7. S. Monsell. OW all is done, that love, and care, And skilful kindness, could suggest ; And yet both hopes and fears will crowd Sometimes a dream of what may be, Comes like soft sunshine o'er this heart; I hear his prattle at my knee, Feel his warm cheek near mine, and start To find it-ah! so cold and pale That Hope (and well-nigh Faith) doth fail. His And then again the dream returnsChildhood and youth are safely o'er, eye with manhood's ardour burns, Fears hover round his path no more: Hopes, with their buds and blossoms, all Burst where his bounding footsteps fall. He seems to speak-with anxious ear Come, then, my God, and take the place Of these distracting hopes and fears; 'Stablish this trembling heart with grace, Dry with Thine hand these falling tears; And teach me to confide to Thee The treasure Thou couldst trust with me. Happy if, rescued from the straight -Life, with its blessings—and its pain, Look down from heaven, we humbly beseech Thee, with the eyes of mercy upon this child now lying upon the bed of sick ness: WATO THE SICK ROOM. WATCHING, through the silent hours, Where disease arrays his powers, When the vital forces seem When the flame, reviving, burns In the dim religious gloom, Nor a stirring breath intrudes As in silent prayer I kneel, Thou art present, Lord, I feel. When reluctant hope is fled, When the pulses beat no more, Or else receive him into those heavenly habitations, where the souls of them that sleep in the Lord Jesus enjoy perpetual rest and felicity. ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. WHY F. S. Monsell. HY dost thou weep? say can it be What was thy prayer, when his first smile |