Love is the eternal childhood;

Hither all must come
Who the kingdom would inherit
Of the Heavenly Home.

364. CHILDREN, Advice to.

Do no sinful action,
Speak no angry word;
Ye belong to JESUS,

Children of the Lord.

CHRIST is kind and gentle,
CHRIST is pure and true,
And His little children
Must be holy too.
There's a wicked spirit
Watching round you still,
And he tries to tempt you
To all harm and ill.

But ye must not hear him,
Though 'tis hard for you
To resist the evil,
And the good to do.

C. F. Alexander.

365. CHILDREN, Eenefit of.
A dreary place would be this earth
Were there no little people in it;
The song of life would lose its mirth
Were there no children to begin it.
No little forms, like buds to grow,

And make the admiring heart surrender; No little hands on breast and brow,

To keep the thrilling love-chords tender.

No babe within our arms to leap,

No little feet toward slumber tending; No little knee in prayer to bend,

Our lips the sweet words lending.

What would the mothers do for work, Were there no pants or jackets tearing? No tiny dresses to embroider?

No cradle for their watchful caring.

No rosy boys, at wintry morn,

With satchels to the school-house hasting; No merry shouts as home they rush,

No precious morsel for their tasting;
Tall, grave, grown people at the door,
Tall, grave, grown people at the table:
The men on business all intent,

The dames lugubrious as they're able;
The sterner souls would get more stern,
Unfeeling natures more inhuman,
And man to stoic coldness turn,

And woman would be less than woman.

For in that clime toward which we reach, Through Time's mysterious dim unfolding, The little ones with cherub smile

Are still our Father's face beholding. So said His voice in whom we trust, When in Judea's realm a preacher,

He made a child confront the proud,
And be in simple guise their teacher.

Life's song, indeed, would lose its charm,
Were there no babies to begin it;
A doleful place this world would be,
Were there no little people in it.

366. CHILDREN, Blessing upon.

66 Suffer that little children come to Me, Forbid them not." Emboldened by his words,

The mothers onward press; but, finding vain The attempt to reach the Lord, they trust their babes

To strangers' hands; the innocents, alarmed
Amid the throng of faces all unknown,
Shrink, trembling, till their wandering eyes
discern

The countenance of Jesus, beaming love
And pity; eager then they stretch their arms,
And, cowering, lay their heads upon His
breast.
James Grahame.

367. CHILDREN, Christ Blessing.

I think when I read that sweet story of old, When Jesus was here among men, [fold, How He called little children as lambs to His I should like to have been with them then. I wish that His hands had been placed on my head,

That His arms had been thrown around me, And that I might have seen His kind look when He said,

Let the little ones come unto me.

Yet still to His footstool in prayer I may go,
And ask for a share in His love;
And if I thus earnestly seek Him below,
I shall see Him and hear Him above.

In that beautiful place He is gone to prepare,
For all who are washed and forgiven;
And many dear children are gathering there,
For of such is the kingdom of heaven.
Mrs. J. Luke.

368. CHILDREN, Death and the.
There is a Reaper, whose name is Death,
And, with his sickle keen,
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,

And the flowers that grow between.

"Shall I have nought that is fair?" saith he; "Have nought but the bearded grain? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to I will give them all back again." [me,

He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes,
He kissed their drooping leaves;

It was for the Lord of Paradise

He bound them in his sheaves.

"My Lord hath need of these flow'rets gay," The Reaper said, and smiled; "Dear tokens of the earth are they,

Where He was once a child.

Ye are better than all the ballads
That ever were sung or said;
For ye are living poems,
And all the rest are dead.

H. W. Longfellow.

375. CHILDREN, Prayers of
In the quiet nursery chambers,
Snowy pillows yet unpressed,
See the forms of little children

Kneeling, white-robed for their rest;
All in quiet nursery chambers,

While the dusky shadows creep, Hear the voices of the children"Now I lay me down to sleep."

On the meadow and the mountain
Calmly shine the winter stars,
But across the glistening lowlands
Slant the moonlight's silver bars:
In the silence and the darkness,

Darkness growing still more deep,
Listen to the little children

Praying God their souls to keep.

"If we die "—so pray the children, And the mother's head drops low; (One from out her fold is sleeping

Deep beneath the winter's snow;)
"Take our souls: " and past the casement
Flits a gleam of crystal light,
Like the trailing of his garments,
Walking evermore in white.
Little souls that stand expectant
Listening at the gates of life,
Hearing, far away, the murmur

Of the tumult and the strife;
We who fight beneath those banners,
Meeting ranks of foemen there,
Find a deeper, broader meaning
In your simple vesper prayer.

When your hands shall grasp this standard,
Which to-day you watch from far,
When your deeds shall shape the conflict
In this universal war:

Pray to Him, the God of battles,

Whose strong eye can never sleep, In the warring of temptation

Firm and true your souls to keep.
When the combat ends, and slowly

Clears the smoke from out the skies,
Then far down the purple distance
All the noise of battle dies.
When the last night's solemn shadows
Settle down on you and me,
May the love that never faileth
Take our souls eternally.
376. CHILDREN, Talents of.
God entrusts to all
Talents few or many;
None so young or small
That they have not any.
Though the great and wise
Have a greater number,

"Now I lay "—say it, darling;

66

Lay me," lisped the tiny lips Of my daughter, kneeling, bending,

O'er her folded finger-tips.

"Down to sleep"-"to sleep," she murmured,

And the curly head drooped low; "I pray the Lord," I gently added, "You can say it all, I know."

"Pray the Lord "—the words came faintly,
Fainter still-"My soul to keep,"
Then the tired head fairly nodded,
And the child was fast asleep.

But the dewy eyes half opened

When I clasped her to my breast, And the dear voice softly whispered, "Mamma, God knows all the rest."

Oh, the trusting, sweet confiding

Of the child-heart! Would that I Thus might trust my Heavenly Father, He who hears my feeblest cry.

Think not too meanly of thy low estate; Thou hast a choice; to choose is to create! Remember whose the sacred lips that tell, Angels approve thee, when thy choice is well;

Remember, One, a judge of righteous men, Swore to spare Sodom, if she held but ten! Use well the freedom which thy Master gave, (Think'st thou that Heaven can tolerate a slave?)

And He who made thee to be just and true Will bless thee, love thee,-ay, respect thee Oliver Wendell Holmes.

too!

To make my earthly bliss complete,
Than oft my Lord unseen to meet;
For sight I wait till tread my feet
Yon glistering shore.

Alone with Thee! alone with Thee!
There not alone,

But with all saints, the mighty throng,
My soul unfettered, pure, and strong,
Her high communings shall prolong
Before Thy throne. Ray Palmer.
384. CHRIST, Clinging to.

O Holy Saviour, Friend unseen,
Since on Thine arm Thou bidst me lean,
Help me throughout life's varying scene
By faith to cling to Thee.

Blest with this fellowship divine,
Take what Thou wilt, I'll ne'er repine;
E'en as the branches to the vine,

My soul would cling to Thee.

Far from her home, fatigued, oppressed.
Here she has found her place of rest;
An exile still, yet not unblessed,

While she can cling to Thee.
Without a murmur I dismiss
My former dreams of earthly bliss;
My joy, my consolation this,

Each hour to cling to Thee.

What though the world unfaithful prove,
And earthly friends and joys remove;
With sure and certain hope of love,
Still would I cling to Thee.

Oft when I seem to tread alone
Some barren waste, with thorns o'ergrown,
Thy voice of love, in gentle tone,

Whispers "Still cling to Me."

Though faith and hope may oft be tried,
I ask not, need not aught beside:
How safe, how calm, how satisfied,

The soul that clings to Thee!

They fear not Satan, nor the grave,—
They feel Thee near and strong to save;
Nor dread to cross e'en Jordan's wave,
Because they cling to Thee.

Blessed is my lot, whate'er befall;
What can disturb me, who appall,
While as my Strength, my Rock, my All,
Saviour, I cling to Thee?

Charlotte Elliott.

For me He left His home on high;
For me to earth He came to die;
For me He in a manger lay;
For me to Egypt fled away;
For me He dwelt with fishermen ;
For me He slept in cave and glen;
For me abuse He meekly bore;
For me a crown of thorns He wore:
For me He braved Gethsemane;
For me He hung upon a tree :
For me His final feast was made;
For me by Judas was betrayed;
For me by Peter was denied;
For me by Pilate crucified;

For me His precious blood was shed;
For me He slept among the dead;
For me He rose with might at last;
For me above the skies He passed;
For me He came at God's command;
For me He sits at His right hand.

387. CHRIST, Friendship of

Rest of the weary,
Joy of the sad,
Hope of the dreary,
Light of the glad;
Home of the stranger,
Strength to the end,
Refuge from danger,
Saviour and Friend!

Pillow where, lying,

Love rests its head;
Peace of the dying,
Life of the dead;