Ay! well the Saviour knew that weeping one;
Had all her wanderings watched; and in her heart
His own right hand had cast the tiny seed
Of pure and holy faith; and thriftily,

And strong, the plant had grown, till its ripe fruit,
Deep penitence and love, she now hath brought,
And with her wealth, her sorrows, and her sins,
Her heart, herself, a living sacrifice,
She weeping casts before the Saviour's feet!
Oh, priceless offering! sweeter far than all
Arabia's gems; more rich than precious oil;
More welcome than the breath of balmiest flowers.
He, to whom hearts are known, whose eye
omniscient

Beholdeth every secret, hidden thought,
Thus calmly spoke :-

"Simon, I have somewhat to say to thee."
He answered, "Lord, say on." "A creditor
Had debtors two; one owed five hundred pence;
The other, fifty; neither had to pay;

And he forgave them both: now, tell me, Simon, Which of the twain thou thinkest most should love?"

"Lord, surely he to whom was most forgiven!"

"Well hast thou answered, Simon; hearken now;

Way-worn and travel-stained, I came to thee,
Thine own invited guest,-thou gavest me
No water for my feet; but she hath washed
My dusty feet with tears, and with her hair
Hath wiped those tears away. Thou gavest me
No kiss of love or welcome,-hath she ceased
To press her lavish kisses on my feet?
No oil thou offerest me, no perfumed oil;
But she, this precious ointment hath poured out!"
Then turning to the weeping one, he spake,
"Woman! arise, depart,-thou art forgiven!"

Hath earth one other weeping Magdalene?
Sad penitent! lift up thy drooping head;
Bring here thy perfumed ointment; pour it forth!
What! not one drop? And hast thou only tears?
Tears, gushing from the fountain of a heart
Bruised, broken, loathsome, with a thousand stains!
Well; come to Jesus;-hark! He calleth thee;-
Come with thy sinking heart, thy streaming tears,
Thy helplessness, thy wretchedness, thy sins;
And He, who pardoned outcast Magdalene,
May stretch his golden sceptre out to thee!

LVIII.

CHRIST ANSWERING THE SCRIBE.

DID the reader ever undertake, in the presence of a large company, to give a definition which would embrace all that is necessary and nothing more which would be perfect and complete? It often requires the highest kind of mental discipline, and it is a very difficult thing. And what a definition of the true relation between God and man, embracing all the feelings and duties which we owe, or ever can owe, to our Maker, or to our fellow-men, does Christ give us! It makes religion to consist in love; it defines the

extent of it, and the sacrifices it should make. What a comprehensive definition-embracing every son and daughter of Adam, and equally applicable to all worlds, and to all orders of created, intelligent beings! Had a heathen philosopher uttered this sentiment, it would have made him more than immortal; his name would have been carved in letters of gold, and the world, in all ages, would have gathered round and admired it. Whatever Christ touches is thus made beautifully perfect. No human sagacity could have answered the Scribe, and in words so few, have told him what are the first and second great commandments, and those, indeed, which embrace all

others. On the first hearing the announcement, you instantly feel that this includes all the teachings of the laws and the prophets, and all that is contained in the Word of God. You feel that you have a description of religion, which no intellect can scorn, which no mind can improve, which no conscience can escape, and against which no heart dare cavil.

The adoption of this principle in our every-day life, would renovate and change the face of the whole of human society. It would make every heart an altar, from which incense, and praise, and supplication would continually ascend; it would subdue and take away the selfishness of the heart, and would unite men in a delightful brotherhood. It would remove the necessity of gallows and prison, fetters and locks, courts and punishment, bonds and notes; it would take away

covetings and jealousies, envyings and injuries, from among men, and it would, in a great measure, turn the earth back from the curse of sin, and cause it to be almost like heaven. Temples and altars, sacrifices and burnt offerings, may help the penitent to express his feelings, and to utter his prayers, and to subdue his heart; but if we have the principles that Christ lays down here, we should have something far superior to forms, "to whole burnt-offerings, and sacrifices." And we may rejoice that while we are far, very far, from loving God "with all the heart, and with all the soul, and with all the mind, and with all the strength, and our neighbour as ourselves," yet the blessed Redeemer allows that when the heart really approves of this as the standard of the soul, and as the goal at which we should aim, that heart is "not far from the kingdom of Heaven."

POOL of Siloam, whose pellucid waters,
Silently springing from their rocky deep,
Beneath Moriah's tall and sacred steep,
Through the green valley ever softly glide;
The starlight mirrored in thy silver tide!
Long, long ago, when Zion's dark-eyed daughters
Wandered along thy marge, their white feet laving
Where envious lilies, bending, kissed the brink,
And graceful willows, in the night-wind waving,
Bowed their soft verdure to thy breast to
drink-

Long, long ago, thy storied waters welling
Forth from their mountain chambers, poured
abroad

A stream of life and joy for every dwelling
Within the city of the living God.

Hither, when Earth was young, the Patriarch

came

To sacrifice upon thy mountain shrines. Amid these rocks, and darkly shadowing pines, The lurid flashing of his altar-flame

Shot up to Heaven; while the dear victim, panting From his long, weary march, bowed down to

dip

In the cool wave, his dry and burning lip. Here, oft, the pilgrim laid aside his staff, And knelt awhile thy sparkling tide to quaff; Then rose refreshed-his hymn of gladness chanting;

The secret stirrings of his spirit rife,

As with a foretaste of that hidden well, That pours its waters with undying swell, And springeth up to everlasting life. Fount of Siloam-pure and ever flowing! Neath the dark rock whence thy cool waters burst,

We stoop in fancy to assuage our thirst, Where kings and prophets and apostles stood, And drank the blessing of thy crystal flood; Yet more we love thee, as of old foreshadowing

"Is not this the very proof that you adduce to show that Moses and the prophets were divinely

TO SIGHT.

THERE was a crowd in the streets of Jerusalem. Multitudes had gathered around a man who had just come up from the pool of Siloam, exulting and shouting because he could now see. A man that had been born blind, has for the first time gazed upon his native city with delight. The very face of the fact carries evidence of a miracle. They all knew that a poor blind beggar had sat in one spot for years, and they knew he was not there now, and they knew that this man resembled him. Some were ready to testify that it was he, others said he was like him; but he declared, I am he. There were two ways of proving his identity, viz.: his own testimony and that of his parents. These both agree. How was the miracle accomplished? He testifies that "a man called Jesus made clay and opened my eyes, simply by my washing off the clay in the pool of Siloam."

But how can this be? What is the philosophy, the explanation of it?"

"I can give no explanation," says the man. "I only know that he anointed my eyes with clay, and bade me wash. I did so, and am healed. I only know that I was blind a few hours ago, but I now see. I cannot, however, explain the miracle."

"But this Jesus, of whom you speak, must be an impostor and a sinner; for this is the Sabbathday, and none but a sinner would dare break the Sabbath thus."

"He a sinner! Why, since the world was created, was there ever a case known that the eyes of one born blind were opened? This proves it to be a miracle."

"But a miracle must be the exertion of a divine power-the work of God. God is holy, and he hates deception and fraud. Would he give power to an impostor to work such miracles?"

even greater wonders, must we not receive him?" "O blind and sinful one! is it for such as thou art to instruct us, the teachers of the law-thou who was born in bodily and mental and spiritual darkness? We cast thee out of the Synagogue." They did cast him out from being numbered with them. But Christ found and comforted him; and there his brief story stands to show all future generations, that those whom Christ illumines by opening their eyes, feel sure that it is done, though they can give no explanations how it is done; and if need be, they can bear to be despised by men, for Christ will find them and cheer them, and unto Him they will bestow their homage and love.

LXI.

THE SHUT DOOR. BY CAROLINE MAY.

WHAT mean these fearful sounds at Heaven's high gate

These loud entreaties and vehement cries? Who are these angry souls that stand and wait With livid faces, and with flashing eyes, Trembling with wounded pride and huge surprise?

These are the haughty hypocrites, who put Strong confidence in their self-flattering lies,

Secure that Heaven would hail their presence, but They came up to the door-and lo! the door was shut.

Indignant and affrighted, hear them ask"Lord, have we not in Thy name plainly wrought

Many a wondrous work and heavy task?

Have we not prophesied and prayed and taught, While listening throngs their homage due have brought?

Have we not had from early youth a claim

To that our fasts and alms-deeds quickly bought,
Distinction among men and godly fame,
Have not our names been known and honoured
through thy name?"

Then with authority they boldly knock,
"Open to us, Lord, Lord!" they shouting call:
But no hand touches the eternal lock,

Whose iron clasp shall keep their hearts in thrall,

Until, in dumb despair, they sink and fall.

"Open to us!" they shriek, and then implore, "Lord, Lord!" in softened tones; but vain is all. The knock, the shriek, the prayer, can never

more

Ye had not now condemned and wretched been." The dread voice ceased, and unseen spirits bore The doomed away to realms of wailing din, Far off from heaven; where they could knock

no more,

Nor vainly supplicate to enter the shut door.

LXII.

CHRIST A VINE.

door.

Yet are they answered; for a voice, as clear As the shrill trumpet's on a gathering day, But far more startling,-falls upon the ear:

66

Depart from me; your false and vain display Can stand no test where Truth alone holds sway. I know you not; I never knew you, though My name you boasted on life's little way;

Your temple-services were outside show, That veiled your secret rites of passion base and low.

"Not every one that saith to me 'Lord, Lord,'

Shall enter into heaven, but they who smite Their sorrowing breasts, repentant, self-abhorred; Whose hidden prayers are holy in my sight, Because they burst from hearts sincere and right; The cast-out sinner and the publican, Whose oft-trimmed lamp of quenchless love burns bright,

Shall welcomed be, before the proud, hard

in the dusty road, and passing by the garden of lilies, he points to their gorgeous array, superior to all the regal robes of Solomon, and says to his disciples that He who thus adorns the frail flowers and the withering grass will not forget them. He watches the sower scattering wheat, and he shows how it is that but a part of what falls from the preacher's lips is fruitful. He sees the fisherman drawing the net to the shore, and teaches that there is to be a final judgment, and that then the good and the evil will be for ever separated. The harvest waves white in the field, and he urges upon his disciples that the world is ripe for reaping and gathering into the garner of his mercy. He walks under the trellised vine, beautiful as a shade and rich in clusters, every branch holding up its cluster, and yet itself clinging to the vine from which it draws its food and nou

rishment, and teaches them that He is the Vine, And pointing to one and they are the branches. broken off and withered, he shows them that

cut off from him, they can neither bear fruit nor live. Small rivulets and mountain rills may feed a river, and the river depends on them, but the branches feed not the vine thus.

The vine is an emblem of beauty and fertility. When the spies returned to the camp of Israel, they could bring no higher evidence of the fruitfulness of the land than the ripe clusters from the

vines of Eshcol. We cannot tell how it is that the branches draw their strength and the fruitfulness from the vine, but we know that it is so. We cannot tell how it is that the disciple draws all his spiritual life from Christ. Nor is this necessary, any more than it is necessary that the child should know how the milk he drinks nourishes him. The vine lifts up the branch from the ground into sunshine; it shelters it from the storm, and lends it all his strength. The branches know no other office or duty of the vine. It is noticed, too, that those branches whose clusters are nearest the vine, are the fullest and ripest in their fruits. Beautiful imagery! The nearer His disciples live to Christ and the more directly they draw from him, the richer and fuller the fruits which they yield.

Nor does one branch have to complain that another is fed and he is left uncared for, for the vine has nutriment enough for all, and none need languish so long as they abide in the vine.

THE LAMENT.

BY SUSAN W. JEWETT.

THE dreary winter had gone by, the breath
Of the south wind swept o'er hill and plain,
Awakening from the spell of mimic death,
The bloom of earth again.

The air, song-laden, trembled in its bliss,
The mist bowed low, the mountain tops to kiss ;
The unchained brooks, with shout and song,
Hurried through wood and wold along;
The earth looked bright, as on Creation's morn,
And Hope, to human hearts, seemed newly born;
So beautiful, in its first blossoming,
Was the o'erflowing bounty of the Spring:
And, with the birds, and flowers, and all things
fair,

To our dear home there came a gift most rare.
God's love around it smiled,

Our innocent little child :

It brought the heaven of blessedness and joy
Close to our hearts, to look upon the boy.

Three years,-how short they seemed!-three sunny years,

His Heavenly Father left him to our care, And then, despite our agony and tears,

Bore him to Paradise, to blossom there. Oh! twice those years our sorrowing hearts have told,

Since our dear lamb was gathered to the fold;
The child of God-but, oh! no longer ours.
Yet seems he born to us with early flowers;-
And, when the autumn leaves bestrew the plain,
We seem to live the parting o'er again.
And wild November winds, with hollow moan,
Seem seeking for the bright one who has flown.
Oh! where art thou, sweet song-bird, tell me

where?

And I will lift once more my weary wing, And follow thee. Dost thou not need my care? Can my deep love no added rapture bring To thy enfranchised spirit in its home? Say, dost thou never long for me to come, That I may share with thee thy new-found joy? Thou, who so late lived only in my sight, Seeking my sympathy with thy delight, Hast thou no longer need of me, dear boy? Thy little toys-thy garments trim and neat, The half-worn shoes that graced thy dainty feet, The velvet cap, from whence thy golden hair Fell, like twined sunbeams, o'er thy forehead fair. All that was thine remains,-a mockery! Part of thyself-but, oh! my child, not thee! The pleasant thoughts I taught thy heart to cherish, Of angels hovering round our earthly way, I strive to make my own:-Oh, bitter day! That saw this credulous faith decline and perish. The love that mourns thy loss with ceaseless pain, Hath not one spell to bring thee back again. Yet, if, by thinking of thee as thou art, Striving to blend with thine the nobler part Of our own being, brings us nearer thee, That through thine eyes the Father we can see, We may yet live to bless the darkened hour That hid thee from our sight-our life's first

flower.