worse; come and have a glass of something, and forget it for the present."

"No," was the reply, "I am going to give all that up now."

"Nonsense, you must come and have something for 'auld lang syne.''

Arthur shook his head, but was finally induced to comply; he could not say No, and that night he again returned to his lodgings in a state of semi-intoxication.

"Mrs. Roberts," he said the next morning to his landlady, "I have written to my mother to say I am going home; be good enough to have my box sent to the station." "Going home, are you, Mr. Fisher?" she replied. "You must pay your rent first, or leave your box."

Arthur cringed, cajoled, and promised alternately, but to no effect; his landlady was inexorable, and he had to depart without his belongings. Who would envy him his feelings? How often, that miserable morning, he thought of his dead father's last words, and wished that he had never forgotten them! He was feeling now, what every one who transgresses against the laws of God must sooner or later feel, that "God is not mocked; for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap."

*

That afternoon Arthur's widowed mother was at the little country station, waiting, oh! how anxiously, the arrival of her son. He had not been home for more than a year; and when he had last left his mother she had been full of dread for his future, although he had partly comforted her with promises of amendment. She was troubled now, and anxious to learn the cause of his unexpected visit, for Arthur had explained nothing.

Presently the train came in sight; in another minute it drew into the station.

"Oh dear, he has missed it!" Mrs. Fisher said to herself, as the train stopped and she saw nothing of her son; but as she turned to leave the station she heard the guard call to

one of the porters, "Jim, bring a shutter, quick; a young man has met with an accident."

"Oh! it cannot be my boy, it cannot be!" cried the widow, as she hastened to the guard. Alas! it was her son. In crossing the line at the previous station he had been struck by the buffer of an engine and dashed to the ground. Although in great pain and very severely shaken, Arthur had been able to finish his journey; but now he was in a state of unconsciousness, having fainted from pain and exhaustion. The shutter was soon brought, and the young man was carried to his mother's house; the poor, almost distracted woman weeping by his side.

The injuries that Arthur had received were more severe than had at first been supposed. For many weeks he was unable to leave his bed, and months passed before he entirely recovered from the shock he had received to his system. During this time the young man had ample leisure to reflect upon the folly of his past conduct and to resolve amendment for the future. But, oh! how dark that future appeared; his character was tarnished, if not altogether ruined, and he saw no probability of again obtaining employment. Meanwhile he knew that he was a burden upon his mother-the loving, patient mother who thought no sacrifice too great to make, so long as she could relieve and comfort her son; the mother who prayed for him every day and almost every hour, and never, by word or look, reproached him for his past folly and sin. The thought of the trouble and grief he had caused was as gall and wormwood to the young man ; but no repentance could obliterate the past, no amount of sorrow and contrition undo the mischief already done.

"If I ever get well again," muttered Arthur to himself on one occasion, "I will lead a different life. I have acted like a madman, like a fool

66

May God help you to live to Him in the future, dear Arthur!" said Mrs. Fisher, who had come into the room unnoticed by the invalid. "You must pray to Him to help you."

"Oh! mother," sighed the penitent son, "I can't pray; I am too bad for that."

"A broken and a contrite heart,' Arthur, 'God will not despise; the Bible tells us that."

"My heart is broken truly enough, mother.” "Then let the Saviour bind it up, my son. to do it, if you will but call upon Him."

He is willing

And did Arthur call upon his mother's God for help? Yes, and found in Him a God willing to save, willing to bless. He found, what all who come to Jesus will find, a loving welcome to the Saviour's breast.

Not much more remains to be told. When Arthur was quite recovered he was a changed man; old things had passed away, and, behold, all things had become new. He soon found employment, and as long as his mother lived he was her stay and comfort. He no longer trusted in his own strength, but ever looked for aid, in time of temptation, to Him who alone is able to keep us from falling. When he thought, as he often did, of the ruin from which he had been saved, he could not but feel that it was the hand of God that had snatched him as a brand from the burning; and he always thought that he had been saved in answer to the fervent prayers of his pious parents.

G. H. S.

44

O Lord, Thou hast searched me, and

known me.

Psalm cxxxix. 1.

"Thou knowest all things; Thou knowest that I love Thee."-John xxi. 17.

I

BLESS Thee, O my God, that Thou dost know

Mine utter helplessness, and want, and woe!

I praise Thee, Thine Omnipotence can scan
The utmost wretchedness and need of man!

That every deep recess of sin doth lie
Open and naked to Thy sovereign eye!

That Thou art more aware than I can be
Of every heinous wickedness in me.

That if I would I could not cloak my sin,
Nor pale the blackened hue of guilt within.

That if I would I could not hide from Thee
The deepest depth of my depravity.

I bless Thee there can never come the day
When Thou wilt turn Thy heart of love away,

Because some dark and unsuspected stain
Appears to mar Thy gracious work again;

Because Thine holy eyes detect in me
Some secret phase of sad iniquity.

I Thank Thee. Thou knewest me at my worst,
Yet-wondrous mercy!-chose me from the first.

That, knowing all, Thou didst not turn aside,
But, "while we were yet sinners," Jesus died;

Died to redeem us from the guilt of sin,
And stay the fatal plague that raged within.

I bless Thee for that all-atoning blood,
By which alone poor rebels come to God.

No other flood could wash our garments white,
Nor free the leper from his awful plight.

No purchase save the ransom Thou hast given
Could e'er redeem a soul to God and heaven:

No love save Thine outlive the crushing weight,
The vile corruption of our natural state:

No heart save Thine could bear the awful pain-
No heart save Thine, which broke beneath the strain.

Thou knowest all, and yet, oh, matchless grace!
The sinless Surety took the sinner's place;.

And, seeing our iniquities' deep hue,

Dost promise yet their power to subdue.

Thou knowest, Lord, how much of real prayer,
Doth underlie petitions vague and fair;

And, when the bitter tears bedew our eyes,
Thou canst discern how deep repentance lies.

I bless Thee, too, that not my guilt alone,
But all my heart's desires to Thee are known ;

Each longing for the noble and the pure,
Each feeble effort meekly to endure;

Each battle with the sin that doth beset,
Each holy wish Thy Spirit doth beget;

Each sigh for hasty words too rashly spoken,
Each tear o'er high resolves too quickly broken.

Each cry for help Thou hearest, though I bring,
Perchance, no uttered word to Thee, my King.

The burdened heart that cannot speak its care,
But only clings to Thee, finds shelter there;

And, long before it can divulge its grief,
Thy loving will ordaineth its relief.

Such knowledge were too wonderful, unless
Thou hadst revealed its utter tenderness,

And taught us all the sympathy that lies
Beneath a Providence profoundly wise.

O Love, surpassing human life as far
As light of sun surpasses light of star.

O Love that knows nor measure, change, nor bound!
O ocean depth, no mortal line can sound!

My heart's desires and wishes, one by one,
Expand to Thee, as blossoms to the sun.

And though, as yet, I know Thee but in part,
Soon, soon these eyes shall see Thee as Thou art-

Shall see Thee in Thy glory, and shall know

The half was never told us here below!

Not half of all Thy beauty and Thy grace,
Not half the glory of Thine open face!

Not half of all the tenderness that drew

Our wayward hearts, and did our wills renew.