NOTHING LIKE THE TRUTH.

"Lying lips are abomination to the Lord."
WHY should you fear the truth to tell?
Does falsehood ever do as well?
Can you be satisfied to know

There's something wrong to hide below?
No; let your fault be what it may,
To own it is the happy way.
So long as you this fault conceal,
You cannot light or gladsome feel;
Your heart will ever be oppressed,
As if a weight were on your breast;
And e'en your mother's eye to meet
Will tinge your face with shame and heat.
Then, child, remember in your youth,
That golden are the words of truth!

BABY-LAND.

SOMEWHERE Out by Dreamland,

In the world of sleep, Lies the land of Infants

Veiled in mystery deep. None but babes and angels

Live in that bright place, Brightened with the sunshine

Of the Father's face.

That is why we sometimes

Wail, though not in pain;
Longing for the realms of
Baby-land again.
That is why you see us
Gazing into space,
Catching far-off glimpses
Of our native place.

Suns are always shining,
Skies are always blue,
And our foster-angels

Send us thence to you.
When we learn your language,
Straightway we forget
That bright home; for mortals
May not know it yet.
But when by our coffins

Tearfully you stand,
Know that we are angels
Back in Baby-land;
Far removed from sorrow,
Sin, and shame, and vice,
In the land of Infants,
Earth-named Paradise.

C. M. DAVIES.

"BEHOLD, I STAND AT THE DOOR AND KNOCK !”

ALONE in the darkness, 'mid wind and rain,

A gentle sound comes again and again—

A sound not of earth in its tender tone

A voice that would melt a heart of stone!

A figure stands at a fast-closed door,

With choking weeds and thorns covered o'er;
The damp night-dews stream down from His hair :
Oh, wherefore stands He so patiently there!

With a sweet sad look on His loving face,
He knocks, in the depth of His matchless grace,
And rising above the night's wild din,
His voice is pleading, "Oh, let me in!"

"O heavenly Knocker! wherefore hast Thou
That sharp thorn crown twisted round Thy brow?
Say, wherefore Thy hands are pierced and scarred,
And Thy face with a wondrous sorrow marred?"
"My child, these scars and this crown of thorn,
For thee, in My heart of love, I have worn;
I passed through the depth of a woe untold
To bring My wandering lambs to the fold.
"And now I stand and I knock at thy door,
And fain would My feet pass thy threshold o'er.
Without, it is dark, and fierce is the night;
Behold, I bring with Me a heavenly light.
"Then, open, O child, that I may come in,
And rouse thee from out of thy sleep of sin;
The night wears on; behold, I still wait:
When I turn away, it will be too late!"
"O heavenly Stranger, my heart is stirred
To its very depths at each tender word!
With hot loving tears I open wide :
Enter, O Lord, and with me abide !"