Impress thy signet on my brow,
Thy likeness on my soul!
Be thou the sovereign of my heart,
And make that heart thy throne,
Till I shall see Thee as thou art,
And know Thee as I'm known !

NO EVIL BUT SIN.

Doth sadness in thy soul abide?
Resume the smile of cheer;
And be Jehovah's will thine own :
The light that shines around the throne
Shall make his purpose clear.

Naught is an evil, though it lay
Thy dearest idol low,
Until, contending with the dart,

Thy proud and unsubmissive heart

Decides to make it so.

Count naught an evil, while the breast
From self-reproach is free-

Count naught an evil, save the sin
That, coiling dark the soul within,

Doth hide God's face from thee.

THE DYING CHRISTIAN.

A holy calm was on his brow,
And peaceful was his breath,
And o'er his pallid features stole
The trace of coming death.
We asked, "Art ready to depart?"
He smiled with joy divine,
And spoke the language of his soul,
My Master's time is mine! ·

NEARER TO THEE.

Along the mountain-track of life,

Along the weary lea,

O'er rocks, 'mid storms, in joy, in strife,

Let this my heart-cry be,

"Nearer to Thee!" "Nearer to Thee !"

This pilgrim-path by Thee was trod,
Jesus! my King! by Thee!

Traced by Thy feet, Thy tears, Thy blood,

In love, in death, for me

O bring my soul nearer to Thee

Let every step, let every thought,

Sweet memories bear of Thee! And hear the soul Thy love hath bought, Whose way-cry oft shall be,

Nearer to Thee! "Nearer to Thee !"

Thou wilt! Thou dost! A small still voice
Teacheth of faith in Thee;

Of hope, that might in grief rejoice,
If still the way-cry be,

Nearer to Thee!" "Nearer to Thee!"

Yet a few days to me, perhaps,

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And time no more shall be:

But boundless love can know no lapse;
Thou art Eternity!

Draw thou my soul "Nearer to Thee.!'

Be it the heaven I hope above,
To live and move in Thee!

O by thy past, thy promised love,
Grant these blest words to me,
Ascend, Forgiven !-Nearer to Thee.!"

LITTLE LUCY,

AND THE SONG SHE SUNG.

A little child, six summers old,
So thoughtful and so fair,

There seemed about her pleasant ways
A more than childish air,
Was sitting, on a summer eve,
Beneath a spreading tree,
Intent upon an ancient book,

Which lay upon her knee,

She turned each page with careful hand,
And strained her sight to see,

Until the drowsy shadows slept
Upon the grassy lea;

Then closed the book, and upward looked,

And straight began to sing

A simple verse of hopeful love –

This very childish thing:

* ❝ While here below, how sweet to know His wondrous love and story,

And then, through grace, to see his face, And live with him in glory !”

That little child, one dreary night
Of winter wind and storm,

Was tossing on a weary couch
Her weak and wasted form;

And in her pain, and in its pause,

But clasped her hands in prayer-
(Strange that we had no thoughts of heaven,
While hers were only there)
Until she said, "O mother dear,
How sad you seem to be!
Have you forgotten that He said,
"Let children come to me”?
Dear mother, bring the blessed Book,
Come, mother, let us sing."

And then again, with faltering tongue,
She sung that childish thing:
"While here below, how sweet to know
His wondrous love and story,
And then, through grace, to see his face,
And live with him in glory!"

Underneath a spreading tree

A narrow mound is seen,

Which first was covered by the snow,
Then blossomed into green;

Here first I heard that childish voice
That sings on earth no more;
In heaven it hath a richer tone,
And sweeter than before:

For those who know his love below-
So runs the wondrous story

In heaven, through grace, shall see his face,
And dwell with him in glory!