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A CHRISTIAN'S CREED.

"Good Words."

[Earnest and boldly.]

I believe in dreams of duty

Warning where they can't control,
Fragments of the glorious beauty
That once filled th' unfall'n soul:
In the godlike wreck of nature
Sin did in the sinner leave,
That may still regain the stature
It hath fall'n from-I BELIEVE.
I believe in human kindness

Large amid the sons of men,
Nobler far in willing blindness
Than in censure's keenest ken:
In the gentleness that slowly

Sanctions what would others grieve
In the trust that, deep and holy,
HOPETH ALL THINGS-I BELIEVE
I believe in self-denial,

And its secret throb of joy :
In the love that lives through trial
Dying not, though death destroy:
In those fond and full believings
That though all the world deceive,
Will not let its dark deceiving
Wake suspicion-I BELIEVE.
I believe in man's affection,
Tender, true, unselfish, high,
Infancy's almost perfection,
And in woman's purity:
In HIS lofty soul sustaining
That can to ONE purpose cleave,
In HER gentle uncomplaining
Peace and patience-I BELIEVE
I believe in self-devotion,
The long sacrifice of years,

Noblest fruits of deep emotion,

Man's blood shedding, woman's tears

In the pure prevailing passion

Human hearts by God conceive,

And, DESPITE THE WORLD'S COLD FASHION LIVE AND DIE FOR-I BELIEVE.

I believe in human weakness

Trying to be strong and; rue,

Owning in impassioned meekness

WHAT IT WOULD, BUT COULD NOT DO.

In its consciousness of failing,
Which the less it doth perceive,
Doth the more leave unavailing
All its efforts-I BELIEVE.
I believe in love renewing
All that sin hath swept away,
Leaven-like its work pursuing
Night by night and day by day:
In the power of its remoulding,
In the grace of its reprieve,
In the glory of beholding

ITS PERFECTION-I BELIEVE.

I BELIEVE IN LOVE ETERNAL

FIXED IN GOD'S UNCHANGING WILL, THAT BENEATH THE DEED INFERNAL, HATH A DEPTH THAT'S DEEPER STILL : In its patience, its endurance

To forbear and to retrieve,

IN THE LARGE AND FULL ASSURANCE
OF ITS TRIUMPH-I BELIEVE.

BY THE STREAMLET.

[With vigour and cheerfully.]

I know a little mossy dell,
Within a verdant glade;
Where happy songbirds love to dwell,
Beneath the cooling shade;
Where, as the sunbeams play among
Its spreading leafy sheen,
They twitter out their happy song
Of gladness in the green.

And there the modest violets bloom,
With perfume ever sweet;

As fragrant in the twilight gloom,
As in the noontide heat.
And there a streamet ripples out
Its music rich and free;
With shiny face it winds about,
Toward the brimming sea.

In summer's noon I love to sit
That tiny rill beside;

And watch those happy songbirds flit,
To drink its crystal tide,

That bubbles on so bright and clear
Between the velvet sod;

I love to feel there's no one near,
Myself alone with God.

Away from all the world of care,
In tranquil hours of rest,
Often as I sit watching there,

A sweet thought fills my breast.
I think of how, through all the hours,
Singing a cheery song,

Refreshing all the drooping flowers,
The streamlet moves along.

How, in the Spring-time, by its banks,
The wee birds find a rest,
And, twittering a thousand thanks,
Each builds his little nest.
How all along its pebbly bed

It carries naught but good;
Out where the sunlight rays are shed,
Or through the shady wood.

It never tires or stays its course,
Through all the flow'ry lea;
But ever rippling from its source,
It glides on to the sea.
Until at last, its mission done,
Lost in a mighty wave,
No more to rove the way alone,
Each ripplet finds a grave.

So may our lives move sweetly through,
Full of pure loving deeds,

And kindly words and actions true,
Wherever duty leads.

And so may we life's little day

Each changing hour employ;

To others proving in the way
A blessing and a joy.

And far away from danger's brink,
Unfettered, light, and free;

No habit forging, link by link,
A chain for you or me.
A glad example of the right
To erring ones who roam;
A pointing hand, a beacon light,
To guide them safely home.

Until at last, our mission o'er,
We reach that surging sea,
Rolling between us and the shore
Of great Eternity.
Until we pass on to abide
Where Jesus is above,

Borne heavenward in that brimming tide
The ocean of His love.

WORK.

[Earnest and vigorous.]

Work, for the night is coming,
Work, through the morning hours,
Work, while the dew is sparkling,
Work, 'mid the springing flowers;
Work, when the day grows brighter,
Work, in the glowing sun;
Work, for the night is coming,
When man's work is done.

Work, for the night is coming,
Work, through the sunny noon;
FILL BRIGHTEST HOURS WITH LABOUR,
Rest comes sure and soon;
Give every flying minute

Something to keep in store;

Work, for the night is coming,

When man works no more.

Work, for the night is coming,

Under the sunset skies;

WHILE THEIR BRIGHT TINTS ARE GLOWING, WORK, FOR DAYLIGHT FLIES;

WORK, till the last beam fadeth,—

Fadeth to shine no more;

WORK, while the night is dark'ning,
When man's work is o'er.

TRANSLATED.

"And Elijah went up by a whirlwind into heaven." [Earnest and serious.]

And thus all things by God are made,
To serve the people He has bless'd :
The SHOWERS, the SUNSHINE, lend their aid,
And adverse things come with the rest ;
The fearful whirlwind here we see,
A swift wing'd minister to be.

By this the prophet soared aloft,
Encircled by a living flame,

And love's own fire within his heart,
That glowed at the eternal Name
Borne swiftly up the skyward road,
HE REACHED HIS FATHER'S LOV'D ABODE.
A stranger on the earth he dwelt,
His native home the azure sky;
One with his God in mind and will,
From Him he drew a rich supply
Of grace and strength for all his need,
And realized His power indeed.
His last day came, he knew it well,

And spent it as we all should spend,
In DUTIES DONE WITH SINGLE EYE,

AND PATIENT LABOUR TO THE END;
Thus spent, the call to come away
WILL NEVER STRIKE US WITH DISMAY.

No fitter preparation, NONE,

For working in a higher sphere,

Than with untiring zeal TO DO

The work our God may give us here; The "LITTLE" DONE WITH FAITHFUL CARE Shall gain an added portion there.

A PSALM OF LIFE.

BY H. W. LONGFELLOW.
[Cheerful and vigorous.]

Tell me not in mournful numbers,
"Life is but an empty dream!"
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

C

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