Nothing too great for Him to do,
Nor small to Him one thing;
And I-what evil shall I fear-
A Daughter of This King?

The Prince, my Elder Brother is ;
When tempted, or dismayed
At all the foes that throng around
And make my soul afraid;
Close to His loving side I press,
And to His hand I cling,
For He, my Elder Brother is,
Our Father is The King.

'Tis but a little longer yet,
I hope, that I may roam,
Sore longing for my Father's house,
Sore longing for my home;
Till I hear the joyous summons,
While the bells of heaven ring,

To welcome home from exile
"A Daughter of The King."

Methinks when safely home at last,
All eager though I be,

The golden streets and jasper walls
And pearly gates to see—
To hear the golden harps of God,
To list the seraphs sing
The praises of the Crucified,

The glories of The King.

I'll pass all by; nor sighs nor sound
Shall bid my footsteps stay;
Right to my Father's loving arms
My soul shall find its way.

Safe home at last! safe home at last!
Ah! sure, death hath no sting!
Safe home, all sin and sorrows past,
In the palace of The King.

Unknown.

THE PATRIARCH SAT ALONE.

The patriarch sat alone. Before him lay
The coat of many colors, stained with blood,
Which he forsooth believed was of his boy-
The one on whom he placed his highest hopes,
On whom he hoped to lean in ripe old age.
His fancy told him, as he sat and wept,
His fondly-cherished hopes were at an end.
So other men have wept: their radiant hopes
Are changed to clouds of darkness and despair;
The robe so many-colored, stained and torn.
The patriarch's evening came. He saw God's
hand

Had placed the bitter cup for him to drink,

That he might look beyond earth's transient hopes,

And put his trust in God. Let others trust;

And when their earthly hopes shall fail, look up
With faith in God, and in all patience-wait,
Till for their mourning He shall give them joy;
And for the spirit sad, the robe of praise,
Not many-colored, but of spotless white.

I KNOW NOT THE WAY I AM GOING.

I know not the way I am going,

But well do I know my Guide;

With a childlike trust I give my hand
To the mighty Friend by my side.
The only thing that I say to Him,
As He takes it, is-"Hold it fast!
Suffer me not to lose my way,

And bring me home at last."

As when some helpless wanderer,
Alone in an unknown land,

Tells the guide his destined place of rest,

And leaves all else in his hand;

'Tis home, 't is home that we wish to reach,

He who guides us may choose the way;

Little we heed what path we take,

If we 're nearer home each day.

FRAGMENT.

I hear Hope singing, sweetly singing,
Softly in an under-tone,

And singing as if God had taught her,
"It is better farther on."

Still farther on! Oh, how much farther ? Count the milestones one by one.

No! no counting, only trusting 'It is better farther on !"

THE END.