They fell upon the desert earth, like drops from heaven on high,
Drops from an ocean tide of love which swells eternally. With love and tenderness Divine those crystal cells o'erflow;
'Tis GOD that weeps through human eyes for human guilt and woe.
That hour has fled; those tears are told; the agony is
The LORD has wept; the LORD has bled; but He has not loved His last?
His eye is downward bent, still ranging to and fro, Wherever in this wilderness there roams the child of
Nor His alone; the THREE in ONE, who looked through JESUS' eye,
Could still the harps of angel bands to hear the suppliant sigh:
And when the sinner chooses wrath, GOD mourns his hopeless lot,
Deep breathing from His heart of love, "I would; but ye would not."
THE little sweep at break of day,
Just roused from strawy bed,
With bag and brush went on his way,
And thus to himself he said:
I've had no parents since my birth,
Brothers and sisters none;
And what to me is all this earth,
Since I am only one.
I wake and see the morning shine,
And all around me gay;
But nothing I behold is mine,
No, not the light of day.
No, not the very breath I draw:
These limbs are not my own;
A master calls me by his law;
My griefs are mine alone.
Hard fare, cold lodging, cruel toil,
Youth, health, and strength consume: What tree could thrive in such a soil? What flower in soot could bloom?
I thought none loved the chimney boy
Until I went one day
Into the Sunday School, and there
I heard the teacher say
"That God loves little boys and girls
And loves the little sweep."
Oh! if I thought that this was true,
How soundly I should sleep!
Said "Heaven was a happy place,
Where JESUS reigns the KING."
Oh! if I could but see His face,
And hear His angels sing!
I wish He'd say, "Come little sweep,
Unto thy GOD draw nigh:"
I'd try, when on some chimney top,
If I could climb so high.
Although I live in soot and dust,
And I can hardly see,
In robes of heavenly white I trust,
With angels I shall be.
THE DYING INDIAN AND HIS BIBLE.
BESIDE the stream, beneath the forest tree,
Where the red Indian wandered wild and free,
The faithful missionary's feet have trod :
With him he bore the Living Word of God.
His Gospel message has with joy been heard,
Nor few from him have learnt that sacred Word.
Beneath a birch-rind cabin's lowly shade,
In dying case an Indian boy was laid;
A heap of fern leaves formed his only bed,
And one rude blanket, as his covering spread.
That sickness on him, which from day to day
Slowly and surely steals the life away,
Yet leaves the mind so clear, the eye so bright,
We scarce believe that death can quench their light.
What were his comforts on his lowly bed?
No mother's hand sustained his sinking head;
No sister's tender sympathizing eye
Watched for his wants, and wept to see him die.
Yet was he not alone: one Friend was near,
To soothe each pain, and calm each anxious fear.
Nought else he seemed to heed, while night and day,
His much-loved, well-read Bible near him lay.
A smile upon his dying features played,
As, holding fast the Word of Life, he said:
""Tis my dear friend. Once on a journey bound,
When half my weary way was passed, I found
That I had left my precious friend behind.
I heeded not the waves and stormy wind,
But turned again, and gladly wandered back,
For nine days tossed upon the watery track;
And felt repaid for all my toil and pain,
When to my breast I clasped my friend again.
It ne'er has left me since, and once I planned
That in my grave it should not leave my hand:
But that was thinking of myself alone—
Let others bless my friend when I am gone."
He ceased exhausted. O'er his dying bed
The setting sun his parting radiance shed;
But o'er his ransomed soul, with beams more bright,
The sun of righteousness had shed his light.
No more he needs the lamp he loved so well,
With CHRIST, the Living Word, for ever gone to dwell.
TO SINCERE ROMAN CATHOLICS.
KNEEL down. Thou hast a lonely hour,
And thou to seek thy GOD art free;
The Name of JESUS still has power:
Ask, and the LORD shall answer thee.
Can'st thou not say, "If I am right,
LORD, keep me in Rome's strictest way;
If I am wrong, O give me light,
To show me where I go astray.
"If I am right, then bid me still
On bended knee the host adore;
If I am wrong, incline my will
To worship wafer gods no more.
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