Oh Saviour mine, how great the love,

That brought Thee from Thy throne above!
That love, what seraph's lyre can tell,
That wondrous love unspeakable!
So infinite, so all divine!

Unlike all other love but Thine,

Like none but Jesu, none but Thee
Thou bleeding Lamb of Calvary !

Give me, Thou glorious Lamb of God,
Daily to walk, where Thou hast trod,
And in adoring rapture grow,
As in Thy lowly steps I go.
Give me to ponder, more and more,
Thy words and Thy example's lore,
That walking here, my God with Thee,
Still as my days my strength may

be.

A. C. COXE.

THE PASSION FLOWER.

ILD Superstition named the
flower

In memory of that awful hour,
When HE whom heaven and

earth adore

The death of shame and sorrow bore.

They called the purple circlet there
The crown of thorns 'twas His to wear;
And every leaf seemed to their eye
Memorial of His agony.

'Tis fancy all-yet do not scorn

The thought of adoration born!

But let each flower that meets our sight
Recall the Lord of life and light.

There's not one flower that decks the vale,
And with its fragrance scents the gale,
That does not bid our hearts arise
To Him who dwells beyond the skies.

In valley lone, on mountain height,
All in one common tale unite :

All speak His love, who died, that we
Might live through all eternity.

ANNA EASTBURN.

BEYOND WHERE CEDRON'S WATERS

FLOW.

EYOND where Cedron's waters flow,
Behold the suffering Saviour go

To sad Gethsemane ;

His countenance is all divine,

Yet grief appears in every line.

He bows beneath the sins of men;
He cries to God, and cries again,
In sad Gethsemane ;

He lifts His mournful eyes above-
"My Father can this cup remove?"

With gentle resignation still,
He yielded to His Father's will
In sad Gethsemane ;

"Behold Me here, Thine only Son;
And, Father, let Thy will be done."

The Father heard; and angels, there,
Sustained the Son of God in prayer,
In sad Gethsemane ;

He drank the dreadful cup of pain—
Then rose to life and joy again.

When storms of sorrow round us sweep, And scenes of anguish make us weep, To sad Gethsemane

We'll look, and see the Saviour there, And humbly bow, like Him, in prayer.

S. F. SMITH.