"Return unto the Lord, For He will have mercy; and to our God, for He will abundantly pardon " (Isa. 55:7).

I had a rare and costly vase, fresh cast,
And graven by the Master's hand;
It bore the impress of His glorious touch;
'Twas bound by love's sweet silken band.
The world's rude hand, alas,
Its blighting touch did pass,
And thus it had well nigh effaced
The richness of the pattern traced.

I had a bright and sparkling gem, God's gift,
In answer to much fervent prayer;
I loved to mark its ever varying flash
Of glory, in the Sun's full glare.
By earthly dust soon soiled,
My brilliant gem was spoiled,
The brightness I had loved, grown dim,
My jewel shone no more for Him.

I had a pure and tender flower, so sweet,
'Twas whiter than the fresh fall'n snow;
I tried to shield it from the blight of earth,
It was His gift, I loved it so,
But soon earth's withering blast
Had o'er its petals past,
It drooped and hung its graceful head,
The beauty of my flow'ret fled.

I found a wayward, wilful soul, that loved
In bitter unbelief to roam ;
I pointed to the cross, and told of Him
Who loved to lead such wand'rers home.
I plead with God, to give
This soul, that it might live
The very reflex of His face,
A glowing witness to His grace.

He granted the desire of my heart,
Another soul now reconciled,
My heart was full, as when a mother looks
With joy upon her new born child.
This storm for ever passed,
The goal was reached at last;
God's love alone, such need could meet,
And bring this soul to Jesus' feet.

Alas! how soon the dust and soil of earth,
Had marred this vessel of His grace;
My jewel lusterless, had ceased to give
The bright reflection of His face.
My pure white flower had lost
Its fragrance by earth's frost,
This flaunting world so soon, could move
A blood bought soul from Jesus' love.

O, foolish soul, entrapped by Satan's wiles,
How quickly thou art off thy guard;
And turned aside from Him who won thy heart,
Thou art that beauteous vessel marred.
That jewel lusterless;
The world hath soiled thy dress,
Communion's golden cord is slack,
The wounded Spirit woos thee back.

How soon thou'st learned to wander from thy rest!
The Shepherd's voice is faintly heard,
By reason of the distance from the fold,
Unheeded is His precious Word;
And prayer grows wearisome,
And heart and lips are dumb;
The conscience sleeps uneasily,
The heart is full of misery.

Return to Him who sought thee in the waste,
And set thy heart on things above;
Thou canst not satisfy thy craving soul
With aught henceforth, but Jesus love.
The world hath many snares
To catch thee unawares;
The Shepherd only, can restore,
And satisfy, forevermore.

He hath not ceased to love, tho' thou art cold,
He grieveth that thy light is dim;
He marketh every wayward step
That leads thy heart away from Him.
Yet thou canst cast thy lot
With those who love Him not!
What heartless, strange ingratitude,
To One who only seeks thy good!

Then let me plead thy Father's tender love,
The mourning Dove, thy heavenly guest,
The pierced hands and feet, the riven side;
The cleft where Jesus bids thee rest.
Thy peace is more to thee
Than worldly smiles could be,
Thou'rt bartering eternal gain,
For what must bring thee bitter pain.

I'll tell thee just the secret of it all,
Thy heart hath never found its home
In Jesus' love, its blessed hiding place,
And so thy feet have learned to rove.
But as thou'rt dear to God,
He'll surely use the rod ;
And though He let thee have thy way,
Thy will must break thy heart, some day.

H. McD.