Where dawn in light unshadowed

The years of God's right hand;
The words of benediction

Thy welcome home shall be,

"Thy deeds of love and mercy

Have all been done to me!"

LITTLE CORPORAL.

IT

THE TWO BANNERS OF AMERICA.

T makes the blood tingle and the cheeks glow to read how men have gone into battle under the inspiration of the "red, white, and blue." It is enough to make the nation weep for joy, their devotion to the dear old flag; "Old Glory," they call it.

I saw a young sergeant in the hospital at Fredericksburg. He was dying there with the "stars and stripes" about him; arms, haversack, canteen, blanket, all were lost; but he had clung to "Old Glory." His lips moved; we stooped to listen. He was making his last charge: "Come on, boys! our country and our flag forever;" and wrapped in stars he went up among the

stars.

Lift aloft, then, the "star-spangled banner." "For ever float that standard sheet." Unfurl it to the breeze that every zephyr may kiss the sacred folds, red with the blood of God's heroes, white with God's jus tice, and blue with heaven's own azure. Bear it onward and onward, O braves of a free people, until over the whole vast extent of liberty's soil shall again be seen the gorgeous ensign of the Republic, once more full high advanced."

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I believe that God has made this whole land a cradle of liberty; and is rocking, rocking it to and fro, to and fro, with omnipotent arms; and as the nations hear the thunder of that rocking, we pray God that it may never cease until liberty shall need rocking no more in her cradle, but shall stand up, fair and young and strong, true liberty, liberty for the body and liberty for the soul, and shall walk as a queen through the land, the daughter of our Christianity, nursling of God and America.

Yet above the banner of the Constitution, above the banners of the American soldiers and sailors, above even the “stars and stripes,” high over all, let us raise the banner of the cross, that we and the world may read its sacred motto: "Immanuel—God with us.”

And then, with the mystic cords of memory stretching from every battle-field and patriot grave, to every living heart and hearthstone over all this broad land, swelling again the chorus of the Union, we shall go on, giving light to the nations and liberty to man and honor to God. REV. HERRICK JOHNSON.

THE WOMAN HEALED.

THE throng was great. Back from the Gaderenes

Who would have none of Him, the Christ had

come

Unto His own again. With what great joy

They welcomed His return! How eagerly

They pressed around His blessed form, sick ones
And sinful, just to feel His healing touch;
The poor, the rich, but all for heart or flesh
In need of saving power.

Among that crowd

A trembling woman stands, irresolute.

Back in her mountain home the tidings came,
That no one coming unto Him was turned
Away, whate'er the malady might be.
Had He not raised the widow's son at Nain,
And healed the slave of the centurion?
And, for a woman clothed about with sin
Reproached the Pharisee, as He forgave
Her all, and bade her "Go in peace and sin
No more?"

Up from her bed of weary pain,
Weak from so many years of suffering,
A new hope taking life in spite of past
Discouragements, she comes at last so near

The Healer.

Can she tell Him all e'en now?
She fears the crowd! She fears to stay the Christ!
What is her woe to Him, and yet, oh, yet,

She cannot turn away! I will but touch
His garment's hem, she whispers low, and so,
With new-born strength, and heart all quivering,
She comes to Him, her hope. With timid hand,
Outstretched, she touches but His robe, when lo!
Her faith hath made her whole!

But hark! He speaks!

"Who touched me?" she can hear the Master say.

Affrighted lest she may have done amiss.

(And yet she dare not but confess her guilt,
If guilt it be), forgetting time or place,
Remembering only what her Christ had done,
Low at His feet she falls, and humbly there
Pours out the story of her troubled life.

Did He rebuke her boldness? Does He now
When to His side a sin-sick sinner comes?
Methinks I see to-day His look of love
Bestowed upon that tired, anxious face,
Uplifted pleadingly before His gaze.
See how He claims her even as His own!
Not with reproach, but with great tenderness;
"Daughter, be of good comfort, go in peace,'
And then, as if to crown still more her faith

And love, He says, "Thy faith hath made thee whole!"
MRS JESSIE F. HOUSER.

REMEMBER BOYS MAKE MEN.

WHEN you see a ragged urchin

Standing wistful in the street,

With torn hat and kneeless trousers,
Dirty face and bare red feet,
Pass not by the child unheeding;
Smile upon him. Mark me, when

He's grown he'll not forget it;
For remember, boys make men.

When the buoyant youthful spirits
Overflow in boyish freak,
Chide your child in gentle accents,
Do not in your anger speak.
You must sow in youthful bosoms
Seed of tender mercy; then

Plants will grow and bear good fruitage

When the erring boys are men.

Have

you never seen a grandsire, With his eyes aglow with joy, Bring to mind some act of kindness Something said to him, a boy? Or relate some slight or coldness, With a brow all clouded, when He said they were too thoughtless To remember boys make men?

Let us try to add some pleasure
To the life of every boy;

For each child needs tender interest
In its sorrow and its joy.

Call your boys home by its brightness;
They avoid a gloomy den,

And seek for comfort elsewhere;

And remember, boys make men.

MARY E. TUCKER.

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A SONG OF PRAISE.

SING unto the Lord a new song:

Sing unto the Lord all the earth.

Sing unto the Lord, bless His name;

Show forth His salvation from day to day.

Declare His glory among the heathen,

His wonders among all people.

For the Lord is great,

And greatly to be praised:
He is to be feared above all gods.