countless throng, personally loved, personally cared for, personally known to the Great Shepherd, and so intimately, that He calls them by their name. To John, as he looked, it was a countless throng, but to the Shepherd's eye each one as precious, as dear as if the only one, to be personally known to Jesus-each one holding communion with Him, and learning in its fullest sense the meaning of the words "Who loved Me, and gave Himself for Me." And now I love to think of that great multitude, and of joining in their one great anthem of praise "To Him who loved us, and washed us from our sins in His own blood, to Him be glory and dominion for ever."

"He knows His sheep,

He counts them, and He calleth them by name;
He goes before;

They follow, as He leads through flood or flame.
O Lamb of God!

True Shepherd and true Lamb Thou both in one,
Us lead, us feed,

Till, all our wanderings done, we reach the throne."

H. C.

The Sower.

HE sultry sun was shining o'er the Galilean hills,

and rills;

An eager crowd had gathered by the calm unruffled lake,
Listening with awe-struck wonder to the words of One who spake.

Into a boat He entered, which lay at anchor near,

And the people, waiting round Him, stood on the shore to hear. The corn was springing fresh and bright beneath the sunny glow, In solemn tones the words He said-"A sower went forth to sow."

But what befel the scattered seed, the sower's goodly grain?
Will it take root, where it may fall, and bring forth fruit again?
Shall "first the blade and then the ear" ere long be seen up-

springing?

And then "the full corn in the ear," the joy of harvest bringing?

Alas! not all will prosper, for on the wayside bare
Some precious seed has fallen, and will be wasted there;
For, hovering overhead, behold the greedy birds of prey
Ready, as soon as it may fall, to carry it away.

Some fell on stony places, and when the sun was high
The blade which sprang up all too soon began to droop and die.
And some fell where the brambles were growing rank and tall,
The thorns came up and choked it, and it bore no fruit at all.

Some fell upon the fertile soil, and striking deep its root
Bore, to make glad the sower's heart, rich stores of golden fruit."
The story then is ended they had listened to that day;
And now the restless multitudes begin to move away.

But some there are who linger, saying in accents low,
"Explain to us Thy story; its meaning we would know."

"To you who seek," the Lord replied, "it surely shall be given To comprehend those hidden things which point from earth to heaven.

Thank God that you have seen them, and that your ears have heard
What others longed to see and hear, whose hope was still deferred.
God's word of truth is likened unto the scattered seed;
To all the message has been sent, but all will not take heed.

Some hearts are like the wayside, where the seed uncovered lay,
And Satan, ever on the watch, snatches it soon away.
Some hear the word with gladness, but when temptations lour,
Having no root within themselves, they fail in danger's hour.

With some it is that earthly cares, with others earthly pleasure, Like thorns that grew among the wheat, have choked the heavenly treasure.

But those whose hearts have been prepared the blessing to receive, With gladness hail the word of truth, accept it and believe; Bringing forth fruit with patience all through their earthly days, Their lives from youth to age show forth their Heavenly Father's praise."

But not alone for those who dwelt beside that silver sea
Did Christ this parable declare; the message is to thee.
And as we read its story o'er, a voice sounds in our ear-

A warning voice that whispers low, "Oh, take heed how ye hear.

Be not like those who built their house upon the shifting sand, Be doers of the word, and build where firm the rock shall stand. So shall your path shine more and more unto that perfect day, The brightness of whose glory shall never fade away."

Y. E. T.

Sacramental Hymn.

E come unto Thy table, Lord,

WR

In sweet remembrance of Thy love;

We come, obedient to Thy Word,
The richness of Thy grace to prove.

We plead the blood that Thou hast shed,
Thy body broken on the tree;

We trust the words which Thou hast said
When Thou didst bid us come to Thee.

Thou hast invited, and we come

With solemn joy to meet Thee here:
The Spirit on our hearts doth move,
And we approach with holy fear.

Our deep unworthiness we own,
Our multitudes of sin confess;

And for acceptance trust alone
Unto Thy perfect righteousness.

The bread and wine before us spread
As emblems of Thy death we see ;
And as our lips by these are fed,

Se feast our souls by faith on Thee.

Oh, gracious Saviour, deign to bless
The mystic emblems we receive;
And let our future lives confess

As saved by Thee by Thee we live.

E. S. H,

NE fine summer evening a little party, consisting of a father and mother, their four children, and the gardener, stood on the lawn in a well-cultivated garden, admiring the flowers that grew on the trimly-kept beds, and enjoying the delicious coolness of the fragrant air.

"Titus," said Mr. Allen, the owner of the property, turning to the gardener, "there will be a great crop of dandelions by-and-by, if you don't take care. Look, what

a number there are in full flower in the paddock!" "Yes, sir, I know there are; but I don't know how to stop their growing."

"They ought to be gathered before they go to seed, or the garden will be full of them," said Mr. Allen; and then turning to his little ones, he continued: "That will be a nice job for you, children; suppose you try and gather them to-morrow."

"Oh, papa!" cried Gracie, "we couldn't gather them all to-morrow; it would be a week's work."

"Well, well," said Mr. Allen; "I do not say that you are to do it; but if you do, it will please me, that's all."

Nothing more was said about the dandelions that night; the children soon went into the house and to bed; but Mr. Allen remembered what he had said, and wondered whether his children would obey his wishes.

The next day old Titus, the gardener, was walking over the lawn as the children came running into the garden after their morning lessons. As they reached the grass plot, Ernest, a boy of eight, began singing, "Here I am, on Titus's ground, and Titus can't catch me," expecting the old man to run after him, for he was usually ready to indulge the children with a bit of play when they felt inclined for it; but there was no promise of play in his face this morning; on the contrary, it looked serious and almost sad as the little boy ran up to him.

"We haven't done anything, have we, Titus, to make you look like that ?" the child asked.

"Like what, Master Ernest ?" inquired the gardener. "Not cross, nor angry exactly," explained the boy; “but you look as if-as if somebody had done something wrong;" and as he spoke he put his little hand into the old gardener's horny palm.

"No, no, Master Ernest, no one has done anything