Another year of service,
Of witness for Thy love;
Another year of training

For holier work above.

Another year is dawning,
Dear Master, let it be,
On earth, or else in heaven,
Another year for Thee!

I wish to quote another composition from the heart and brain of Miss Havergal. It is not a hymn, but a charming and suggestive sacred poem. She wrote a number of hymns of high quality, but I think she produced nothing that is finer than “Not Lost":

Where are the countless crystals,

So perfect and so bright,

That robed in softest ermine

The winter day and night?
Not lost! for, life to many a root,
They rise again in flower and fruit.

Where are the mighty forests,

And giant ferns of old,

That in primeval silence

Strange leaf and frond unrolled?

Not lost! for now they shine and blaze,

The light and warmth of Christmas days.

Where are our early lessons,
The teachings of our youth,
The countless words forgotten

Of knowledge and of truth?
Not lost! for they are living still,
As power to think and do and will.

Where is the seed we scatter,
With weak and trembling hand,
Beside the gloomy waters,

Or on the arid land?

Not lost! for after many days

Our prayer and toil shall turn to praise.

Where are the days of sorrow,

And lonely hours of pain,
When work is interrupted,

Or planned or willed in vain ?
Not lost! it is the thorniest shoot
That bears the Master's pleasant fruit.

Where, where are all God's lessons,
His teachings dark or bright?
Not lost! but only hidden,

Till, in eternal light,

We see, while at His feet we fall,

The reasons and results of all.

Poetic afflatus is as inconstant as the wind; and like all other writers of many

hymns or other sacred verse, Miss Haver

gal wrote a larger number of the former than the churches will ever sing. There are perhaps some twenty or twenty-five of her productions in use in the United States, and these, with many that are not quite suitable for public worship, remain as a transcript of her daily life. From her consecrated girlhood to the hour of her departure, her prayer was that her life might be one anthem unto her Redeemer.

MARGARET ELIZABETH SANGSTER

TH

HIS delightful poet-justly called "America's household friend," and

whose maiden name was Munson

was

born in New Rochelle, New York, in 1838; and at the age of twenty was married to George Sangster. In her girlhood days she gave evidence of uncommon literary ability, and ever since her young womanhood she has been known and loved as a poet.

That Mrs. Sangster has led a remarkably busy life can be seen from the large number of magazines and journals to which she has been a voluminous contributor during the past thirty years. She has filled editorial positions on the old "Hearth and Home," "The Christian at Work," " Harper's Young People," and from 1889 to 1899 she was editor of " Harper's Bazar." Mrs. Sangster has written much for such high class publications as "The Independent," "The Christian Union " (now "The Outlook "), "The Congregational

ist," "The Christian Herald,” and “The Ladies Home Journal."

Among Mrs. Sangster's prose works are several volumes of stories for children, and "Little Jamie was written when she was seventeen years old.

"Hours with Girls"

and "Winsome Womanhood" are her most popular works. Her poetry in book form includes "Poems of the Household," "Home Fairies and Heart Flowers,' » « On the Road Home," and "Easter Bells."

A hymn which appeals strongly to lovers of sacred song is her "Te Deum Laudamus," found in "Easter Bells published by the Harpers. It is an expression of the deepest religious feeling, and breathes the very spirit of a heart song:

We praise Thee! We bless Thee!

O Saviour, risen to-day!

Thou who didst drain the bitter cup,
Thou who Thy life didst offer up,
To take our sins away!

We praise Thee! We bless Thee!
O Lord of death and life!

We follow where Thy feet have gone,
Through deepest night to fairest dawn,
To peace through stubborn strife!