ord.

His charity was like a flood,
It seemed to have no bound,
But reached the evil and the good,
Wherever want was found.

The poor and needy sought his door,
The wretched and distressed,
He blessed them from his ample store,
With shelter, food and rest.

Giving his substance to the poor,
He lent it to the Lord;
While each returning harvest brought
Him back a rich reward.

Thus passed his useful life away,
Dispensing good to all,
Till on the evening of his day,
He heard his Master call.

"Brave soldier of the cross, well done,
You've fought a noble fight;
Come up, and claim the victor's crown,
And wear it as your right."

"For all your works of christian love
And heaven-born charity,
Are registered in Heaven above
As so much done to Me."

STANZAS

WRITTEN ON THE FLY LEAF OF A CHILD'S BIBLE.

Dear Mollie, in thy early days,
While treading childhood's dreamy maze,
Peruse this book with care:
Peruse it by the rising sun;
Peruse it when the day is done,
Peruse it oft with prayer.

Search it for counsel in thy youth,
For every page is bright with truth
And wisdom from on high.
Consult it in thy riper years,
When foes without and inward fears
Thy utmost powers defy.

And when life's sands are well nigh run
And all thy work on earth is done,
In patience wait and trust,
That He whose promises are sure
Will number you among the pure,
The righteous and the just.

CHRISTMAS GREETING, 1877.

Read before the Jackson Hall Debating Society.

The rolling seasons come and go,
As ebbs the tide again to flow,
And Christmas which seemed far away
A year ago, is near to-day.
And day and night in quick succession,
Are passing by like a procession.
While we like straws upon a stream,
Are drifting faster than we deem,
To that unknown, that untried shore,
Where days and nights will be no more,
And where time's surging tide will be,
Absorbed in vast eternity.
Where then shall we poor mortals go?
No man can tell, we only know
We are but strangers in the land.
Our fathers all have gone before,
And shortly we shall be no more.
This hall where we so often meet
Will soon be trod by other's feet,
And where our voices now resound,
Will other speakers soon be found.
And thus like wave pursuing wave,
Between the cradle and the grave
The human tide is prone to run,
The sire succeeded by the son.
May we so spend life's fleeting day,
Th