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 He who heard our anxious prayer
Will answer as His love deems best:
O that both hopes and fears were still,
Waiting on His mysterious will !

And yet both hopes and fears will crowd
Around that bright and precious child;
And both will speak their thoughts aloud,
Till this distracted heart is wild :
O might they all give place to one
Heart-filling prayer, "God's will be done!"

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
My very heart waits breathless by;
His lips are parted-and I hear-
-My precious babe, thy restless cry!-
E'en Hope, affrighted, flees away,
As if it had no heart to stay.

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
Of being called on to decide,
Here with submissive soul I wait,
By Thy decision to abide-

-Life, with its blessings—and its pain,
Or Death, with its-"To die is gain."

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,
By the unrefreshed bed,

Where disease arrays his powers,
Whence repose is banished,
Where time halteth, sad and slow,
Thou art with me, Lord, I know.

When the vital forces seem
Dwindled to as faint a spark
As the taper's sickly gleam,
Making darkness doubly dark—-
Lord! I bless Thee that Thou art
Near, to stay the sinking heart.

When the flame, reviving, burns
Gently, and at sleep's soft touch
Anguish yields, and hope returns,
Dove-like, to the smoothèd couch—
With an anxious deep-drawn sigh,
Lord, I praise Thee, ever nigh.

In the dim religious gloom,
Where'expressive silence' broods
O'er the closely curtained room,

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,
And the last farewell is said,
And the war of life is o'er-
Lord, both the spirit and the dust
Of our beloved, to Thee we trust.

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
Because for ever blest-and free
From sin, from sorrow, and from pain,
Thy babe shall never weep again ;
Shall never feel, shall never know
E'en half thy little load of woe?

What was thy prayer, when his first smile
Did thy young mother-heart beguile?
When his first cry was in thine ear,
And on thy cheek his first warm tear,
And to thy heart at first were prest
The throbbings of his little breast?