A song of blessings never sere,
Of love beyond compare;

And life so vexed and troublous here,
So calm and perfect there.

And hearing thus, a peace divine
Soon shuts each sorrow out,
And all is hopeful and benign
Where all was fear and doubt.

Oh, ever then will brighter grow
The light that round me lies;
I see from life's beclouded flow
A crystal stream arise!

Little While.

GREVILLE.

A LITTLE While, and every fear
That o'er the perfect day
Flings shadows dark and drear,
Shall pass like mist away;
The secret tear, the anxious sigh,
Shall pass into a smile;
Time changes to eternity,-

We only wait a little while.

A little while, and every charm
That steals away the heart,

And earthly joys that warm

And lure us from our part,

Shall cease our heavenly views to dim;
The world shall not beguile
Our ever-faithful thoughts from Him

Who bade us wait a little while.

A little while, and all around,

The earth, and sea, and sky,

The sunny light and sound
Of nature's minstrelsy,

Shall be as they had never been,
And we, so weak and vile,
Be creatures of a brighter scene,-
We only wait a little while.

The Fruitless Tree.

JOHN M. LOWRIE, D. D.

"NOTHING but leaves;" so the Saviour said,
And then he blasted the fruitless tree;
And I ponder his curse with trembling dread,
Lest just such a word he might speak of me:
I have known his name from my early youth,
And my outward homage his cause receives;
Yet his judgment upon my life in truth

Might render the verdict, "Nothing but leaves."

"Nothing but leaves," though the ground was choice;
In the Lord's own garden the tree was set;
And loving parents by life and voice

Gave cheerful care to nurture it; yet,
Though of rapid growth and comely form,
No answering fruit their toil retrieves ;
The blossoms fell off in the first spring storm,

And autumn found on it "nothing but leaves."

"Nothing but leaves;" yet the church of God Wide open her doors every Sabbath threw ;

And faithful preachers proclaimed aloud
His fearful wrath and his mercy too;
And the showers of grace, as dew, came down,
And the Spirit called who never deceives;
How many the blessings my life has known!

And still my returns are "nothing but leaves.”

"Nothing but leaves;" yet I might have won

More hearts than my own to taste his grace; But the world's gay rounds my feet have run, Ever prone to the broad and downward ways; Had I entered with zeal his harvest field,

And now filled my arms with gathered sheaves, What happy reflections my life would yield!

How fearful the contrast, "Nothing but leaves!"

"Nothing but leaves;" though it has been so,
Yet a remnant still of life remains;

Great God, thy renewing mercy show-
I plead by the dying Saviour's pains!
May my zeal be warm, may my life be new,
While every power of heart believes,

And holy influences ever show,

That I give no longer "nothing but leaves."