The first, a youth with soul of fire,
Held in his hand a golden lyre ;

Through groves he wander'd, and by streams,
Playing the music of our dreams.

The second, with a bearded face,
Stood singing in the market-place,

And stirr'd with accents deep and loud
The hearts of all the listening crowd.

A gray old man, the third and last,
Sang in cathedrals dim and vast,
While the majestic organ roll'd
Contrition from its mouths of gold.

And those who heard the singers three
Disputed which the best might be ;
For still their music seem'd to start
Discordant echoes in each heart.

But the great Master said, "I see
No best in kind, but in degree;
I gave a various gift to each,

To charm, to strengthen, and to teach.

"These are the three great chords of night,

And he whose ear is tuned aright
Will hear no discord in the three,
But the most perfect harmony."

The Two Voices.

79

The Two Voices.'

ERNEST WATMOUGH.

EVER are two voices speaking,

With a solemn strain to me,

And to them my heart is beating,
Silently, responsively.

Thus the first to me is telling,
And its tones so low, so clear,
Fall with slow and measured accent
On my anxious listening ear.

"Life away is swiftly fleeting;

Seize it while 'tis yet thine own;
Thou canst not recall a moment,
When away from thee 'tis flown.

"Why then should a load of sorrow
Ever cloud thy brow with gloom?
When on earth awakes the morrow
Thou mayst sleep within the tomb.

"Taste of life while yet the power
To enjoy its charms are thine;
For to all must come an hour

When life's sun no more will shine."

But the second voice is breathing,
Truly 'tis a "still small voice,"
And its whispers softly wreathing,
Bid my sinking soul rejoice.

"Life is ever short and fleeting,
Ever hasting to the grave:
Still it is a cause of greeting
To the virtuously brave.

"Look not back upon the hours
Which in youth and folly fled,
For thou never canst recall them
From the dim and shadowy dead.

"Thou hast but the present moments
Given to thee as thine own;

Use them, live, and act within them,
That thou mourn'st not when they're gone.

"Manfully go meet the future,

Though around dark clouds may lower; Thou shalt conquer, if thy creed be

In the word 'EXCELSIOR.'

"LIFE is but a Field of Battle

That to every man is given,

Where he may, by fighting upwards,
Win the path that leads to heaven."

L

Little Sins.

REV. J. KEBLE.

OOK westward, pensive little one, How the bright hues together run, Around where late the waning sun

Sank in his evening cloud.

Or eastward turn thee, and admire
How linger yet the showers of fire,
Deep in each fold, high on each spire
Of yonder mountain proud.

The Mother's Advice.

Thou seest it not: an envious screen,
A fluttering leaflet, floats between
Thee and that fair mysterious scene,

A veil too near thine eye.

One finger's breadth at hand will mar
A world of light in heaven afar,
A mote eclipse a glorious star,
An eyelid hide the sky.

81

The Mother's Advice.

J. E. CARPENTER.

AKE your Bible with you, dear one,

TAK

Come what will-till life shall end,

Still be guided by its precepts,

Then the Lord will be your friend: Mother's voice no more may cheer you, But our Father dwells above.

In the hour of thy affliction

Think how boundless is His love.

Deep may be thy bitter anguish;
Christ who died our souls to save,
He was scourged, but suffer'd meekly,
Now he's risen from the grave:
Win thy right to share redemption
By thy faith in Jesus' love ;-
There's no toil, but endless freedom,
In the boundless realms above.

F

Evening Prayer.

JOHN DUFF.-Music by E. L. Hime

WHEN through the day we meet with care,

WHEN

And struggle on in this brief life,

When oft we see fierce passions rise,

And friends are mingled in the strife; How sweet it is to look on high,

To seek for consolation there,

How blest the tranquil hour we feel
When we invoke our evening prayer.

'Tis then the heart's with sorrow press'd By trials that we meet with here, Forget their grief, and fondly hope

For solace in a brighter sphere:

We feel no more the heavy cloud

That would have brought us to despair;

But calmly trust in Him on high,

To whom we raise our evening prayer.

The Two Angels.

H. W. LONGFELLOW.

WO angels, one of Life, and one of Death,

Pass'd o'er our village as the morning broke;

The dawn was on their faces, and beneath

The sombre houses hearsed with plumes of smoke.

Their attitude and aspect were the same,

Alike their features and their robes of white ;. But one was crown'd with amaranth, as with flame, And one with asphodels, like flakes of light.