So also the artisan, labouring earnestly for the food that perisheth, but entirely neglecting "The Bread of Life;" and the sailor, preserved by, but regardless of Him whose mercy rebukes the winds and waves in their tumult. If these men, so industrious in their work, fail to secure eternal happiness— alas, for the openly profane, who wilfully transgress the commands of a just and righteous God; alas, for the shortsightedness of the world at large, by whom the great realities of Eternity are neglected!

The maker of the watch has wisely placed inside it a little regulator, which, under proper control, prevents the watch from going wrongly. So the great Designer of our physical and bodily nature has inserted in man a true regulator-Conscience, which under proper management, by following the laws laid down in the Bible, will teach us "so to number our days that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom" and attain everlasting life. The true wisdom of life is to prepare for Eternity. Life is uncertain, and the longest is soon at an end.

Fellow human beings! now in health, attend to the affairs of Eternity in time. We have all sinned-deeply sinned. Christ has died that we might live; if we only come to Him, confess our sins and believe in Him, He will heal all our transgressions, and love us freely. Let us not put it off. We cannot count on a year, a month, a day. Now only is the accepted time. Now is the day of salvation.

"Come to Christ-all sin abandon,
Taste the merits of His blood,

Plead the sinner's only plea,
God be merciful to me.'

And He will have mercy on you. All your doubts and griefs and fears will vanish away, and you will joyfully exclaim:

"My God is reconciled,

His pardoning voice I hear,

He owns me for His child,

I can no longer fear;

With confidence I now draw nigh,
And Father-Abba Father, cry."

God grant it to each and all of us. Amen.

J. R. ROBINSON.

No words can describe the wonderful and continually enlarging blessings in Christ which have been poured into the souls of many of the children of God, through the simple, unreasoning faith which prays confidently and with ever-unceasing trust.

"SHOW ME THY FACE."

SHOW me Thy face-
One transient gleam
Of loveliness divine,

And I shall never think or dream

Of other love save Thine.

All lesser light will darken quite,
All lower glories wane,-

The beautiful of earth will scarce
Seem beautiful again!

Show me Thy face

My faith and love

Shall henceforth fixèd be,

And nothing here have power to move
My soul's serenity.

My life shall seem a trance, a dream,
And all I feel and see
Illusive, visionary,-Thou

The one reality!

Show me Thy face;

I shall forget

The weary days of yore;

The fretting ghosts of vain regret
Shall haunt my soul no more:

All doubts and fears for future years
In quiet rest subside,

And nought but blest content and calm

Within my breast reside.

Show me Thy face

The heaviest cross

Will then seem light to bear;
There will be gain in every loss,

And peace with every care.
With such light feet
The years will fleet,
Life seem as brief as blest,

Till I have laid my burden down,
And entered into rest.

Show me Thy face,
And I shall be

In heart and mind renewed,

With wisdom, grace, and energy
To work Thy work endued.
Shine clear, though pale,
Behind the veil,

Until the veil removed,

In perfect glory I behold

The Face that I have loved!

"MASSA, YOU NO UNDERSTAND IT.”

In one of the large cities in America there once lived a poor coloured woman named Betty, who had been confined nearly twenty years by sickness. Betty had once seen comfortable days, but now she was poor and blind, and was said to be one hundred and five years old.

Mr. B. was a merchant residing in the same city, who, notwithstanding the pressure of business, often found time to drop in to see poor Betty, and say some pleasant words to cheer this lonely pilgrim on her way to Zion.

One day Mr. B. took a friend from the country to see Betty. As he entered the cottage-door, he said, "Ah, Betty, you are alive yet."

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Yes, tank God," said Betty.

Betty," said he, "why do you suppose God keeps you so long in this world, poor, sick, and blind, when you might go to heaven and enjoy so much?"

While Mr. B.'s tone and manner were half sportive, he yet uttered a thought which had more than once come over his mind.

Betty, in a most serious and animated tone, replied, "Ah, massa, you no understand it. Dare be two great things to do for de Church; one be to pray for it, toder be to act for it. Now, massa, God keep me alive to pray for de Church, and He keep you alive to act for it. Your great gifts no do much good, massa, widout poor Betty's prayers.'

For a few moments Mr. B. and his friend stood silent, thrilled and astonished. They felt the knowledge, dignity, and moral sublimity of this short sermon. It seemed to draw aside the veil a little, and show them some of heaven's mysteries. "Yes, Betty," replied Mr. B., "your prayers are of more value to the Church than my alms."

This short sermon preached by poor Betty was never forgotten by the two friends. It made them more prayerful and more submissive in afflictions.

The want of the Church to-day is prayer-faithful, earnest, believing prayer. However useful the gifts of the wealthy may be, they are only so when, in answer to the prayers of His people, the Almighty adds His blessing.

Who will consecrate himself to this service, and plead with God every day for a mighty outpouring of his Holy Spirit ? May multitudes respond, I will.

WHAT WE SHALL BE.

Ir seems to me that much that mars life is what we call infirmity, and that when we die we leave behind us many things that we call faults and foibles and sins, as the trees shed their leaves when winter comes. When the body dies, oh, how much will perish that is the result of the forces of those passions which sleep with the flesh! When we go from this world, how shall we be released from ten thousand things that belong to our physical state, and that tend to hinder our spiritual development! When we come to ourselves in the presence of God, and find ourselves in the image of God, and like Him, of how much shall we be rid that seems to render us unfit for dying or living! And when in departing from earth we shall be stripped of the flesh and all its influences, we shall find in ourselves beauties and glories more than we have ever dreamed that we possessed.

Have you never seen how, when they were finishing the interior of buildings, they kept the scaffolding up? The old Pope, when he had Michael Angelo employed in decorating the interior of that magnificent structure, the Sistine Chapel, demanded that the scaffolding should be taken down so that he could see the glowing colours that with matchless skill were being laid on. Patiently and assiduously did that noble artist labour, toiling by day, and almost by night, bringing out his prophets and sibyls, and pictures wondrous for their beauty and significance, until the work was done. The day before it was done, if you had gone into that chapel and looked up, what would you have seen? Posts, planks, ropes, lime, mortar, slop, dirt. But when all was finished the workmen came, and the scaffolding was removed. And then, although the floor was yet covered with rubbish and litter, when you looked up it was as if heaven itself had been opened, and you looked into the courts of God and angels.

Now, the scaffolding is kept around men long after the fresco is commenced to be painted; and wondrous disclosures will be made when God shall take down this scaffolding-body, and reveal what you have been doing. By sorrow and by joy, by joys which are but bright colours, and by sorrows which are but shadows of bright colours, by prayer, by the influences of the sanctuary, by your pleasures, by your business, by reverses, by successes and by failures, by what strengthened your confidence and by what broke it down, by the things that you rejoiced in, and by the things that you mourned over

-by all these God is working in you. And you are to be perfect, not according to the things that you plan, but according to the Divine pattern. Your portrait and mine are being painted, and God, by wondrous strokes and influences, is working us up to His own ideal. Over and above what you are doing for yourself, God is working to make you like Him. And the simple but wondrous declaration is, that when you stand in Zion and before God, and see what has been done in you, you shall be "satisfied.' O word that has been wandering solitary and without a habitation ever since the world began, and the morning stars sang together for joy! Has there ever been a human creature that could stand on earth while clothed in the flesh, and say, "I am satisfied"? What is the meaning of the word? Sufficiently filled-filled full-filled up in every part. And when God's work is complete, we shall stand before Him, and, with the bright ideal and glorified conception of heavenly aspiration upon us, looking up to God, and back on ourselves, we shall say, "I am satisfied," for we shall be like Him. Amen. Why should we not be satisfied?

THE ONE CATERPILLAR.

A FABLE.

WHILE I was walking in the garden one bright morning, a breeze came through and set all the flowers and leaves fluttering. Now, that is the way flowers talk, so I pricked up my ears and listened. Presently an old elder-tree said, "Flowers, shake off your caterpillars." "Why?" said a dozen altogether, for they were like some children who always say "Why?" when they are told to do anything. Bad children those! The elder said, "If you don't, they'll gobble you up." So the flowers set themselves a shaking till the caterpillars were shaken off. In one of the middle beds there was a beautiful rose, who shook off all but one, and she said to herself, "Oh, that's a beauty! I'll keep that one." The elder overheard her, and called out, "One caterpillar is enough to spoil you." But," said the rose, "look at his brown and crimson fur, and his beautiful black eyes, and scores of little feet, I want to keep him. Surely one won't hurt me." A few mornings after I passed the rose again. There was not a whole leaf on her; her beauty was gone, she was all but killed, and had only life enough to weep over her folly, while the tears stood like dewdrops on her tattered leaves. "Alas, I didn't think one caterpillar would ruin me!" One sin indulged has ruined many.

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