XXXVI.

"Turn not to the right hand or to the left: remove thy foot from evil."

WATCH your way, then, as a cautious traveller, and don't be gazing at the mountain or river in the distance, and saying, "How shall I ever get over them?" but keep to the present little inch that is before you, and accomplish that in the little moment that belongs to it. The mountain and the river can only be passed in the same way, and, when you come to them, you will come to the light and strength that belong to them.

REMINISCENCES OF THOUGHT AND FEELING.

XXXVII.-TRUST.

BETTER trust all, and be deceived,

And mourn that trust and that deceiving, Than doubt one heart, which, if believed, Would bless a life with such believing.

FIRST LIEUTENANT'S STORY.

XXXVIII.

THERE'S not a heath, however rude,

But hath some little flower

To brighten up its solitude,

And cheer the evening hour.

There's not a heart, howe'er opprest,
Or cast by sorrow down,
But hath remembrance of the past
To woo and call its own.

XXXIX.-THE CRUSE THAT FAILETH NOT. "It is more blessed to give than to receive."

Is thy cruse of comfort wasting? rise, and share it with another,

And through all the years of famine, it shall serve thee and thy brother:

Love divine will fill thy storehouse, or thy handful still renew;

Scanty fare for one will often make a royal feast for two.

For the heart grows rich in giving, all its wealth is living grain;

Seeds which mildew in the garner, scattered, fill with gold the plain.

Is thy burden hard and heavy? Do thy steps drag wearily?

Help to bear thy brother's burden, God will bear both it and thee.

Numb and weary on the mountain, wouldst thou sleep amidst the snow?

Chafe that frozen form beside thee, and together both shall glow.

Art thou stricken in life's battle? Many wounded round thee moan;

Lavish on their wounds thy balsams, and that balm shall heal thine own.

Is thy heart a well left empty? None but God its void can fill,

Nothing but a ceaseless fountain can a ceaseless longing still.

Is the heart a living power? Self-entwined its strength sinks low,

It will only live in loving, and by serving, love will grow.

GOLDEN GRAIN.

XL.-NOT NOW.

NOT now, my child, a little more rough tossing,
A little longer on the billows' foam,
A few more journeyings in the desert darkness,
And then the sunshine of thy Father's home.

Not now, for I have wanderers in the distance, And Thou must call them in with patient

love;

Not now, for I have sheep upon the mountains, And Thou must follow them where'er they

rove.

Not now, for I have loved ones sad and weary; Wilt Thou not cheer them with a kindly smile?

Sick ones, who need Thee in their lonely

sorrow;

Wilt Thou not tend them yet a little while?

Not now, for wounded hearts are sorely bleeding,

And Thou must teach those widowed hearts

to sing;

Not now, for orphans' tears are thickly falling; They must be gathered 'neath some sheltering wing.

Not now, for many a hungry one is pining; Thy willing hand must be outstretched and

free;

Thy Father hears the mighty cry of anguish,

And gives His answering messages to Thee.

Not now, for dungeon-walls look stern and gloomy,

And pris'ners' sighs sound strangely on the breeze