The Builders.

Beautiful Cloud.

J. E. CARPENTER.-Music by J. H. Thomas.

EAUTIFUL cloud in purest ether sleeping,

BEAUTIF

Why should we sigh for a cloudless summer day? But for the tears of heaven that thou art weeping,

Should we have flowers to beautify our way? Earth far beneath, the fadeless blue above thee, Throned 'mid the stars, still.lowly was thy birth; Not for thy beauty only do I love thee,

Giver of blessings to the grateful earth.

Beautiful cloud, all lovely shapes assuming,
In thy embrace the white-wing'd angels sleep;
Why else the silvery light thy form illuming?

Sure there their watch our guardian angels keep.
Thine is the land from mortal vision shrouded,
Thou, lovely dream, the cloud-wall of the skies,
Hidest alone the million spirits crowded

Round the bright throne thou shrin'st from human eyes.

The Builders.

W. H. LONGFellow.

LL are architects of Fate,

AL

Working in these walls of time;

Some with massive deeds and great,
Some with ornaments of rhyme.

Nothing useless is, or low,

Each thing in its place is best;
And what seems but idle show,

Strengthens and supports the rest.

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For the structure that we raise,
Time is with materials fill'd;
Our to-days and yesterdays

Are the blocks with which we build.

Truly shape and fashion these ;

Leave no yawning gaps between ; Think not, because no man sees, Such things will remain unseen.

In the elder days of art,

Builders wrought with greatest care Each minute and unseen part,

For the gods are everywhere.

Let us do our work as well,

Both the unseen and the seen : Make the house where gods may dwell Beautiful, entire, and clean.

Else our lives are incomplete,
Standing in these walls of time;
Broken stairways, where the feet
Stumble as they seek to climb.

Build to-day, then, strong and sure,
With a firm and ample base,

And ascending and secure,

Shall to-morrow find its place.

Thus alone can we attain

To those turrets, where the eye Sees the world as one vast plain,

And one boundless reach of sky.

Saving Help.

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Speak Gently.

G. W. LANGFORD.-Music by Miss Lindsay.

PEAK gently! it is better far

SP

To rule by love than fear;

Speak gently! let not harsh words mar

The good we might do here.

Speak gently to the little child;

Its love be sure to gain :
Teach it in accents soft and mild,
It may not long remain.

Speak gently to the young, for they

Will have enough to bear:

Pass through the world as best they may,
'Tis full of anxious care.

Speak gently to the aged one,
Grieve not a careworn heart;
The sands of life are nearly run,
Let such in peace depart.

Speak gently! 'tis a little thing,
Dropp'd in the heart's deep well;
The good, the joy that it may bring,
Eternity shall tell.

Saving Help.

MRS CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER.

THEN wounded sore the stricken soul

WHEN

Lies bleeding and unbound,

One only hand, a piercèd hand,

Can salve the sinner's wound.

When sorrow swells the laden breast,
And tears of anguish flow,
One only heart, a broken heart,
Can feel the sinner's woe.

When penitence has wept in vain
Over some foul dark spot,

One only stream, a stream of blood,
Can wash away the blot.

'Tis Jesus' blood that washes white, His hand that brings relief,

His heart that's touch'd with all our joys And feeleth for our grief.

Lift up Thy bleeding hand, O Lord;

Unseal that cleansing tide;

We have no shelter from our sin,
But in Thy wounded side.

I

Nature and Heaven.

BISHOP HEBER.

PRAISED the earth, in beauty seen
With garlands gay of various green;

I praised the sea, whose ample field
Shone glorious as a silver shield;
And earth and ocean seem'd to say,
"Our beauties are but for a day."

I praised the sun, whose chariot roll'd
On wheels of amber, and of gold;

Angel of Charity.

I praised the moon, whose softer eye
Gleam'd sweetly through the summer sky;
And moon, and sun, in answer said,
"Our days of light are numberèd."

O God! O good beyond compare !
If thus Thy meaner works are fair,
If thus Thy bounties gild the span
Of ruin'd earth, and sinful man,
How glorious must the mansion be,
Where Thy redeem'd shall dwell with Thee!

Death of a Christian.

FELICIA HEMANS.

ALM on the bosom of thy God,

CAL

Fair spirit, rest thee now!

E'en while with ours thy footsteps trod,

His seal was on thy brow.

Dust, to its narrow house beneath!

Soul, to its place on high!

They that have seen thy look in death
No more may fear to die.

A

NGEL of Charity, who, from above,

Comest to dwell a pilgrim here,

Thy voice is music, thy smile is love,
And Pity's soul is in thy tear.

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