IN THE STREETS OF LONDON.

T

HERE'S a voice that I hear crying,

Crying in the street,

High amid the roar of traffic

And the rush of feet.

There's a voice that I hear crying,

Crying in the street,

When above the sleeping city
Night and morning meet.

'Tis a voice of solemn warning,
Mighty, clear, and loud,
Rising far above the tumult
Of the busy crowd.

'Tis a voice of supplication
And of deep distress,

That no tongue can ever utter
And no words express.

'Tis a voice by lips unspoken,

And by ears unheard;

But no less distinct the meaning

Of each burning word.

'Tis the voice of vice's victims

And privation's slaves,

And it cries aloud for pity,

And for help it craves.

From the pale and care-worn features,
Want's accustomed seat;

From the torn and tattered garments,
feet;

And the weary

From the lines of youth and beauty
In some lovely face,

Where pure heart and better motive
Still have left their trace;

From the helpless, hopeless outcast,
Sounds the bitter cry,

While the world to toil or pleasure

Passes careless by.

Oh! thou great and mighty city,
Great in wealth and pow'r !
Hearest thou that cry of anguish,

Calling every hour?

Naught are all thy wealth and greatness,

Naught but empty show,

If that voice of want and sorrow

Long unheeded go.

In thine ears 'tis ever calling

From its depths of pain;

And God grant its cry of anguish
May not sound in vain!

A PLEA FOR EARLY CLOSING.

(What the Young Men and Women said to their Employers.

H

OT and dusty has the day been-cool and fresh is

evening now,

And the soothing scent of flowers floats on all the winds that blow.

Through the day's long hours we've laboured, in the close and noisy town:

We would see the fields and meadows ere the sinking sun goes down.

We long to wander through the woodland, underneath the pleasant trees,

To climb the hills, and breathe once more the pure and health-renewing breeze;

To gaze upon the golden glory of the slowly setting sun, And watch the stars come twinkling forth upon the heavens one by one.

They say in wood and meadow green the flowers are blooming fair,

And that the merry song of birds is sounding everywhere ; That the air along the river-side is blowing soft and cool, And that the snow-white lilies float in many a quiet pool. They say that all around is naught but joy and loveliness, And that the earth looks beautiful decked in her summer

dress;

That the fields are tinged with brightest green, the heavens with deepest blue,

And that the new-mown hay smells sweet beneath the falling dew.

There's many a sport to tempt us, too, into the open air, And many a friend that would be glad to ramble with us there.

We only ask to leave our work before the day is done, And taste the pleasures that were meant to be denied to

none.

'Tis not that we are idle; for we all would strive our best To work the harder with the strength won from these hours of rest;

And, while our gain would be so great, your loss would be but small,

And the thanks of many a grateful heart would far outbalance all.

THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW.

HE Old Year rises up from his seat,

THE

And his heart beats sad and slow :

His hair is white with length of days,

And his head is hanging low,

As he moves to the door with tottering feet, For he knows that he must go.

The New Year comes with a buoyant step,
That scarcely treads the ground:
His limbs are light, and his merry laugh
Re-echoes far around,

As he greets the threshold of his realm,
And clears it at a bound.

The Old Year bears many joys away

That once we counted dear; And faces that we loved to see

Are now no longer near;

While hopes that stirred our inmost soul
Lie in the grave of the year.

But the New Year's time is yet to come

His tale is yet to be told

So we'll trustfully wait the scenes he'll show And the treasures he'll unfold;

For it may be the joys the New Year brings Will fulfil the hopes of the Old.