THE CALLING OF THE CHILDREN. * "He shall gather the lambs with his arm, and carry them in his bosom.” -Isaiah xl. II. "Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God."-Mark x. 14. T is the voice of Him IT Who bids the children come They hear that blessed voice; He folds them to His breast; And in His tender keeping rest, For ever young and fair,— Safe from the blight of sin, Where death can never enter in To change their blest estate. * Written upon some little children who died of a fever. Not here, not here below, Are they whose loss ye weep: A morn no mortal eyes can know Has roused them from their sleep. Not in the ground they lie, Not in the churchyard rest; But in the mansions of the sky, Upon the Saviour's breast. I A VISION OF JOY. "And there shall be no more curse."-Revelation xxii. 3. HAD a vision, fair without a stain, Of that sweet rest the ransomed people gain, Where never enters any grief or pain. I watched, when on that region's threshold bright, Upon the eyes hidden till then in night, In beams of beauty burst the living light. Then to the deaf their loving Master spoke : The thankful dumb regained their loosened tongue, While, rising joyfully their Lord to meet, Not one who entered that celestial door THE VILLAGE CHURCH. TH HERE is a little village church, With walls of time-worn stone, Crowned by a square, embattled tower, With ivy over-grown; Half hidden by a grove of trees, Their leaves upon the humble mounds Upon a pleasant hill it stands, And far around are seen Its grey old walls and green old tower, And from that church, o'er distant fields, The lowly dwellings of the poor And, in a cluster at its foot, Their straw-thatched roofs appear. From early youth to hoary age, The villagers have trod Yon path that upward leads the way And there, in one unending train, Have met to join the heartfelt prayer And, while within its ancient walls Oh! there a soothing quiet reigns It smiles amid the mellowed light, No high-born folk in rich attire But none the less sincere are they The preacher's language might to some As simple as his theme: But 'tis the sweet simplicity Of truth's unstudied speech, That enters where no honied words No wondrous anthems there are heard, But hymns with holy music fraught, |