"Ho! ev'ry one that thirsteth, Come, drink my mercy free; I'll cast away no sinner

That cometh unto me.

"I'll give the burdened comer
An everlasting rest;
The prodigal returning
Is welcome to my breast."
Although the Scriptures thunder
The solemn threats of God
On all who travel onward

The broad and hellward road,

To all who seek salvation,
To all who would not die,
They're full of words of counsel
To Jesus Christ to fly.

They're full of words of comfort
For all who Jesus seek,
However poor and sinful,
However vile and weak.

If

you, my youthful reader,
Are still content to go
Without the blessed Saviour,
You're in the road to woe.

But if, through grace, you're coming
To Jesu's cross for rest,
And, naked, thirst for clothing
In Jesu's righteousness,

He'll never-oh, no, never-
He'll never cast you out;
He'll save your soul for ever;

His Word forbids

your

doubt.

I now must leave my rhyming,
With wishes warm must say
Adieu, my youthful reader,
Until another day.

BIBLE ENIGMA.

HE who was saved when thousands died.
She who went back, although she cried.
What Jesus bids His people do

A child of God's great promise true.
Who Jesus says shall surely find.
What has a neighbour's wealth repined.
What Jesus bids the weary one.
What in the breast of fools has home.
What God in mercy never said.
He who sad doubting words once said.
What Jesus calls the pit of woe.
Who touched, and died for doing so.
What Jesus bade disciples do.

Find the initials all, and then
Acrostic-wise a poem pen;

And there you'll see what has been made
To many a coming "much-afraid ”
A balm worth more than mines of gold,
A joy that never could be told.

WHO hath woe? who hath sorrow? who hath contentions? who hath babbling? who hath wounds without cause? who hath redness of eyes? They that tarry long at the wine; they that go to seek mixed wine. Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth his colour in the cup, when it moveth itself aright. At the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder.-Prov. xxiii. 29-32.

One

THE EAGLE AND THE BABY. AWAY in the highlands of Scotland, a shepherd had built his cot. He had a wife and two children, one a girl of eight, the other a baby-boy. day the mother left home for some hours, committing the charge of baby to her little girl. When he was tired of crowing and kicking, Nancy sang him to sleep.

Not far from the cottage were great cliffs where eagles built their nests. Nancy saw one flying round in great circles, and watched the creature for a good while, wondering if it was going to steal one of her father's lambs; then feeling hungry, she went into the cottage to get some bread. There something attracted her attention, and she forgot the eagle and the cradle where her brother

lay, until she heard a loud scream from her mother, and, rushing out, saw the eagle just rising with her little brother in its great claws.

As the poor mother ran up the hill, she met a party of gentlemen shooting, and told them what had happened. At first they did not think they could do anything for her; then one said he would try to get at the nest if they would fetch some ropes. When these arrived, the young laird made them tie one firmly round him, and began to climb down the face of the cliff. His friends said he would surely be killed, but he looked at the poor weeping mother, and saying, "Almighty God, help me to save her baby," he went boldly down. The two eagles came sweeping past when he sat on a ledge for a moment's rest, nearly striking him with their great wings. Looking over the ledge, he could see the nest a long way below, and the dear little baby playing with the young eaglets. He gave a great shout to tell the mother that he saw the child, and began to descend the cliff again.

When he reached the nest he took up the baby, and tying it round with a plaid, gave the signal to pull him up. But if going down was difficult, the return was far more so, and when he had nearly reached the top he almost fainted, and was pulled up more dead than alive. You may believe how delighted the poor mother was, and how proud all the people were of their brave young laird who risked his life for the shepherd's baby.

Every heart is interested in a noble and heroic deed like this. We feel not only admiration, but love, towards the person who ventures his life to save another. Yet all such heroic acts are but the faintest shadows of the mighty sacrifice of Himself which the Son of God came into this world to make. He was the patient labourer, during the

years of His loving ministry; but the greatest work was done on the tree. He endured the contradiction of sinners against Himself in life, but His suffering was not consummated (until He sweat

the

great drops of blood falling down to the ground in the garden of Gethsemane, and cried, upon cross of Calvary, "My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?"