judgment-there was a sharp struggle-we did leave the path, and" our feet had well-nigh slipped," but an unseen hand led us back, and a voice of love whispered, "This is the way; walk ye in it." A good man once observed that "if we could see the end from the beginning as He sees it, we should choose the very path for ourselves which He chooses for us." Aye, with all its fiery trials, and fierce conflicts, and heavy bereavements, we should choose the same.

What then about the future? From our elevation we can see the past, but the future we cannot see; yet we may trust Him still. There is just one thing we can notice. At the foot of the hill, where the road-way of life begins for the year 1872, there is a house of prayer, and on its doors are inscribed, "Renewal of the covenant to-day." Oh, let us enter there, and afresh devote our lives to Him "to whom our more than all we owe." And that we through the whole year may preserve the spirit of this service, and live daily in this duty of consecration, let the following be accepted as a help to us for the same—

BY THE HELP OF GOD,

1. I will seriously examine my heart and past conduct, and penitently seek until I obtain pardon for all my past unfaithfulness, and a sense of the favour of God.-2 Cor. xiii. 5.

2. I will fervently and believingly seek the enjoyment of the spiritual blessings held out to my hopes in the provisions and promises of the Gospel.-1 Thess. v. 16-18.

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3. I will endeavour, in my thoughts, words, and actions, with exactness to conform to the revealed will of God, which is my reasonable service," shunning not only evil itself, but also all appearance of it.-John xiv. 21; James i. 22; 1 John iii. 71; John v. 3.

4. I will, as much as possible, keep my tongue from speaking what is to the discredit of absent persons, whether it be true or false; because thus to speak is not "doing to others as I would they should do to me." -James iv. 11, 12.

5. In hearing the preached Word, I will judge myself rather than the preacher; remembering that Providence has given me the privilege

of hearing the Gospel, not to amuse me, but to instruct and edify me. -2 Cor. v. 18-20; 1 Thess. v. 12, 13.

6. I will read every day at least one chapter of the inspired Epistles, that my knowledge of my personal and relative duties may be constantly on the increase.-Psalm cxix. 11, 97; John v. 39; 2 Peter iii. 1, 2.

7. I will every day, in secret, pray for the outpouring of the Holy Spirit, upon myself, upon the Church to which I belong, and upon all mankind.-Psalm xxxiv. 15; Matt. vi. 6.

8. As often as possible I will attend the weekly public Prayermeeting, held expressly to seek a blessing upon the Church and upon the world; and when there, I will endeavour to follow with my heart, to the Throne of the Heavenly Grace, all those who audibly call upon God. -Matt. xvii. 19, 20; 2 Thess. iii. 1; 1 Tim. ii. 8; Heb. xii. 18.

9. I will endeavour to persuade. all with whom I have any influence, to attend the house of God. Rom. x. 14.

IS YOUR LAMP BURNING? SAY, is your lamp burning, my brother? I pray you look quickly and see; For if it were burning, then surely

Some beams would fall brightly on me.

Straight, straight is the road, but I falter,
And often fall out by the way;
Then lift your lamp higher, my brother,
Lest I should make fatal delay.

There are many and many around you
Who follow wherever you go;

If you thought that they walked in a shadow,
Your lamp would burn brighter, I know.

Upon the dark mountains they stumble;
They are bruised on the rocks, and they lie
With their white, pleading faces turned upward,
To the clouds of the pitiful sky.

There is many a lamp that is lighted,
We behold them anear and afar;
Dut not many of them, my brother,
Shines steadily on like a star.

I think, were they trimmed night and morning,
They would never burn down or go out,
Though from the four quarters of heaven
The winds were all blowing about.

If once all the lamps that are lighted
Should steadily blaze in a line,
Wide over the land and the ocean,
What a girdle of glory would shine!

How all the dark places would brighten!
How the mists would roll up and away!
How the earth would laugh out in her gladness
To hail the millennial day!

Say, is your lamp burning, my brother?

I pray you look quickly and see;

For if it were burning, then surely
Some beams would fall brightly on me.

ANGER.

A STRIKING STORY FROM ACTUAL LIFE.

"WHAT do you mean by such carelessness ?" exclaimed John Doring to his son William, a young lad of twelve years. "Take that!" he added, striking the boy a heavy blow on the side of the head, "and that, and that!" repeating the blows as he spoke, the last of which knocked the boy over the plough that was standing at his side. "Get up, now, and go into the house," continued the father, "and see if you can't keep out of mischief for a while; and stop that crying, or I'll give you something to cry for!"

The boy started for the house, struggling to suppress his

sobs as he went.

"It is astonishing," said Doring, addressing a neighbour named Hanford, who was near in the barn, and of course had seen and heard all that had passed, "how troublesome boys are! Just see these oats, that I have now got to pick up for that boy's carelessness," and he pointed to a and he pointed to a measure of oats which William had accidentally overturned.

"And was it for that trifle that you assaulted your child, and knocked him down ?" replied Mr. Hanford, in a sorrowful tone. Doring looked up from the oats in surprise, and repeated"Assaulted my child, and knocked him down! Why, what do you mean, neighbour Hanford ?”

"Just what I say. Did you not knock the child over that plough ?"

"Well-well-no. He stumbled and fell over it," doggedly replied Doring. "Do you go against parental authority? Have I not a right to punish my own children ?"

"Certainly you have," responded Mr. Hanford, "in a proper manner and in a proper spirit, but not otherwise. Do you think that a father has a right to revenge himself upon his child?"

"Of course not, but who's talking about revenge?"

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Well, friend Doring, let me ask you another question: for what purpose should a child be punished?"

"Why, to make it better-to do it good, of course," quickly answered Doring.

"For any other purpose?" asked Mr. Hanford.

"Well, no, not that I can think of just now," replied Doring thoughtfully.

"And now, friend," kindly continued Mr. Hanford, “do you suppose your treatment of your son, a few moments ago, did him any good, or has increased his respect and affection? The boy, I venture to say, is utterly unconscious of having done any wrong, and yet you suddenly assaulted him with anger and violence, and gave him a beating which no convicted felon can be subjected to without having the outrage inquired into by a legislative committee. But let me tell you a story. You know my son Charles ?"

"The one that is now preaching in Charlestown ?”

"Yes; you have probably noticed that he is lame ?"

"I have noticed it," said Doring, "and asked how it happened, and he told me he was hurt when a boy."

"Yes," responded Mr. Hanford with emotion, "the dear boy never could be made to say that it was occasioned by his father's brutality. But listen," he continued, as he saw that Doring was about to speak.

"When Charles was about the age of your son William, he was one of the most active and intelligent boys I had ever seen. I was proud of him, and especially of his physical beauty and prowess. But, unfortunately, I was cursed with an irritable and violent temper, and in the habit of punishing my children under the influence of passion and vengeance, instead of from the dictates of reason, duty, and enlightened affection.

"One day Charley offended me by some boyish and trifling misdemeanour, and I treated him almost exactly as you treated your son a few moments ago. I struck him violently, and he fell upon a pile of stones at his side, and injured his left side so badly that the result was he was crippled for life," said Mr. Hanford, in tones of deepest sorrow and remorse, and covered his face with his hands.

A short period of oppressive silence followed, which was at last broken by Mr. Hanford's saying

“When I found that my boy did not rise from the stones on which he had fallen, I seized him by the arm, and rudely pulled him to his feet, and was about to strike him again, when some

thing that I saw in his face-his look, arrested my arm, and I asked him if he was hurt.

"I'm afraid that I am, pa,' he mildly answered, clinging to my arm for support.

"Where?' I asked, in great alarm; for, notwithstanding my brutality, I fairly idolised the boy.

"Here,' he replied, laying his hand upon his hip.

"In silence I took him in my arms, and carried him to his bed, from which he never arose the same bright, active, glorious boy that I had so cruelly struck down on the pile of stones. But after many months he came forth, a pale, saddened little fellow, hobbling on a crutch!"

Here Mr. Hanford broke down, and wept like a child, and tears also rolled down Doring's cheek. When he resumed, Mr. Hanford said

"This is a humiliating narrative, neighbour Doring, and I would not have related it to you had I not supposed you needed the lesson that it contains. It is impossible for me to give you any adequate notion of the suffering that I have undergone on account of my brutal rashness to my boy. But, fortunately, it has been overruled to my own good, and to that of my family also. The remedy, though terrible, was complete, and no other child of mine has ever been punished by me, except when I was in the full possession and exercise of my best faculties, and when my sense of duty has been chastened and softened by reason and affection.

"I devoted myself to poor Charley from the time he left his bed, and we came to understand one another as I think but few fathers ever do; the poor boy never blamed me for blighting so much happiness for him, and I have tried to think that his life is happier, on the whole, than it would have been had I not been taught my duty through his sacrifice.

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." Still, neighbour Doring, I should be very sorry to have you and your son William pass through a similar ordeal."

"I trust that we shall not," emphatically and gravely responded Doring.

I TAKE it that a state of preparedness to meet our Lord, or in other words, a state of Christian watchfulness, consists in the faithful and conscientious daily performance of our several duties towards God and man, in the fear and love of God.