Sunday School Selections.

PATHWAYS IN PALESTINE.

THE pathways of Thy land are little changed

Since Thou wert there;

The busy world through other ways has ranged, And left these bare.

The rocky path still climbs the glowing steep
Of Olivet;

Though rains of two millenniums wear it deep,
Men tread it yet.

Still to the gardens o'er the brook it leads,
Quiet and low;

Before his sheep the shepherd on it treads;
His voice they know.

The wild fig throws broad shadows o'er it still,
As once o'er Thee;

Peasants go

home at evening up that hill
To Bethany.

And as when gazing Thou didst weep o'er them, From height to height

The white roofs of discrowned Jerusalem

Burst on our sight.

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These ways were strewed with garments once, and palm,
Which we tread thus;

Here through Thy triumph on Thou passedst, calm,
On to Thy cross.

The waves have washed fresh sands upon the shore
Of Galilee;

But chiselled in the hill-sides evermore

Thy paths we see.

Man has not changed them in that slumbering land,
Nor time effaced;

Where Thy feet trod to bless, we still may stand;
All can be traced.

Yet we have traces of Thy footprints, far
Truer than these;

Where'er the poor, and tired, and suffering are,
Thy steps Faith sees.

Nor with fond, sad regrets, Thy steps we trace;
Thou art not dead!

Our path is onward and we see Thy face,
And hear Thy tread.

And now,

wherever meets Thy lowliest band

In praise and prayer,

There is Thy presence, there Thy "Holy Land "

Thou, Thou art there!

WHY I SING.

SING because I love to sing,

Because instinctive fancies move; Because it hurts no earthly thing, Because it pleases some I love.

Because it cheats night's weary hours. Because it cheers the brightest day; Because, like prayer and light and flowers, It helps me on my heavenly way.

Because with peals of happy words
I would exorcise morbid care;

Because a touch of deeper chords

May tune a heart to love and prayer.

Because all sounds of human fate
Within my heart an echo find;
Because whate'er is good or great
Lets loose the music of my mind.

Because above the changing skies
The Spirit saith good angels sing;
Because wherever sunshine lies

The woods and waves with music ring.

Because amid earth's Babel noise

All happy things that go or come Give to their grateful hearts a voice; Then why should I alone be dumb!

THE ROSARY OF MY YEARS.

NOME reckon their age by years,

SOME

Some measure their life by art—

But some tell their days by the flow of their tears, And their life by the moans of their heart.

The dials of earth may show

The length, not the depth, of years.

Few or many they come-few or many they go-
But our time is best measured by fears.

Ah! not by the silver gray

That creeps through the sunny hair,

And not by the scenes that we pass on our way— And not by the furrows the finger of care

On the forehead and face have made;
Not so do we count our years.

Not by the sun of the earth, but the shade
Of our souls, and the fall of our tears.

For the young are ofttimes old,

Though their brow be bright and fair; While their blood beats warm their heart lies coldO'er them the springtime-but winter is there.

And the old are ofttimes young,

When their hair is thin and white;

And they sing in age as in youth they sung,
And they laugh, for their cross was light.

But bead by bead I tell

The rosary of my years;

From a cross to a cross they lead-'tis well!
And they're blessed with a blessing of tears.

Better a day of strife

Then a century of sleep;

Give me instead of a long stream of life,

The tempest and tears of the deep.

A thousand joys may foam

On the billows of all the years;

But never the foam brings the brave bark home;

It reaches the haven through tears.

FATHER RYAN.

THE BLESSINGS OF TO-DAY.

F we knew the woe and heartache

IF

Waiting for us down the road,

If our lips could taste the wormwood,
If our backs could feel the load,
Would we waste the day in wishing
For a time that ne'er can be;
Would we wait in such impatience
For our ships to come from sea?

If we knew the baby fingers

Pressed against the window-pane
Would be cold and stiff to-morrow-
Never trouble us again-