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CHRIST OUR EXAMPLE.
JESUS CHRIST, my Lord and Saviour,
Once became a child like me; O that in my whole behaviour
He my pattern still might be.
All my nature is unholy;
Pride and passion dwell within ; But the Lord was meek and lowly,
And was never known to sin.
While I'm often vainly trying
Some new pleasure to possess, He was always self-denying,
Patient in his worst distress.
Let me never be forgetful
Of his precepts any more ; Idle, passionate, and fretful,
As I've often been before.
Lord, though now thou art in glory,
We have thine example still:
And obey thy holy will.
Every word and every thought;
TAYLOR. TEACHING FROM THE STARS.
STARS, that on your wondrous way
Travel through the evening sky, Is there nothing you can say
To such a little child as I ? Tell me, for I long to know, Who has made you sparkle so ? Yes, methinks I hear you say,
“Child of mortal race, attend; “While we run our wondrous way,
“ “Listen; we would be your friend; Teaching you that Name Divine, “By whose mighty word we shine. “ Child, as truly as we roll
“Through the dark and distant sky, “You have an immortal soul,
“Born to live when we shall die. “Suns and planets pass away: “Spirits never can decay.
“When some thousand years, at most,
“All their little time have spent, “One by one our sparkling host
“ Shall forsake the firmament. “We shall from our glory fall; “You must live beyond us all.
“Yes, and God, who bade us roll,
"God, who hung us in the sky,
“Stoops to watch an infant's soul
“With a condescending eye;
O then, while your breath is given,
• Let it rise in fervent prayer;
“To receive your spirit there,
JESUS CHRIST is risen to-day,
Hymns of praises let us sing
But the pains which he endured,
PART THE SECOND.
THE LAST MINSTREL.
The way was long, the wind was cold,
A wandering harper, scorned and poor,
T'HE feast was over in Branksome Tower,
The tables were drawn, it was idlesse all ;
Knight, and page, and household squire Loitered through the lofty hall,
Or crowded round the ample fire : The stag-hounds, weary with the chase,
Lay stretched upon the rushy floor, And urged, in dreams, the forest race,
From Teviot-stone to Eskdale-moor.
Nine-and-twenty knights of fame
Hung their shields in Branksome Hall;
Nine-and-twenty yeomen tall