"For ye know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that, though He was rich, yet for your sakes He became poor, that ,. ye through His poverty might be made rich."

What, of all the world could offer,
Savior, could compare with Thee.
Thou the one enduring treasure,
Dearer than all else to me.
Time and change may leave me nothing,
Death pass over all I have;
But there is no power can sever
Me from Christ or from His love.

I am poor, I've naught to give Thee,
Lord, but what Thou'st given to me !
Yet the gift of God hath made
Rich, through Jesu's poverty.
Heir, joint heir with Christ in glory.
Loved e'en as the Father's Son !
He, the Light of Life eternal,
Dwells within the heart He's won !

Holy Spirit, guide and guardian,
Through this dang'rous unknown wild;
Faithful Counselor, Instructor,
Comforter of every child;
Holy Watcher, Dove of Mourning,
Ever bearing up on high,
What no human tongue could utter,
Heeding every prayer-breathed sigh.

Strange with such exhaustless riches,
One could ever stoop to toy
With the worthless gilded playthings
Which perhaps some passing joy
May afford, then quickly vanish;
But no more shall Satan's spell
Bind the soul that once hath tasted
Waters from the living well.

Yet how oft this Holy Watcher
Mourneth as a stricken dove,
Over sins, and frequent failings,
Want of watchfulness and love,
Till the soul in self-abasement,
Bows at Jesu's blessed feet,
In communion, joy, and wonder,
All His praises to repeat.

Wean my heart from every idol,
Lord, which would communion blight,-
Cause my pilgrim feet to falter,
Dull my soul, and dim my sight.
Let no face, however lovely,
Come between thy face and mine ; Let no heart howe'er devoted,
Come between my heart and Thine.

Let no plan of my devising',
Turn my thoughts away from Thee.
Let no earth-born blessing, hindering,
Occupy absorbingly.
Let no human voice be sweeter
Than the one by faith I hear.
Let no name my heart enrapture,
Jesus, like thine own so dear.

Let me, then, in hope rejoicing,
Still in patience Lord abide,
Though I pass through tribulation,
Thou wilt still be at my side.
Let no murmuring escape my
Lips, in moment unaware.
But instead the fervent breathing
Of the ever instant prayer.

H. McD.

Plainfield, November 21st, 1896.