What would he more? The world his sceptre ownsAloft from column, cupola, and tower,

He views ten kingdoms prostrating their thrones,

Submissive to his delegated power,

The vassal-subjects of his magic name

What would he more to seal a deathless fame?

And yet to reign as king he held as naught,

When from his eye coursed down the bitter tear—

No longer Earth's magnificence he sought,

Or fear'd man's face-sin, sin his only fearTo latest times he shunn'd not to proclaim Jehovah's glory in his own deep shame.

He braved a vow his Master's head to shield,
Or lay his own in willing service down-
He braved a vow the vengeful blade to wield,
And steel his heart against a people's frown;
Yet on his eye when gleam'd the judge's sword,
He would not own the Saviour for his Lord!

Yea, he denied with curses!-thrice the word

Passed unrebuked his lip, with brazen brow ;
The Lord of Hosts, he said, was not his Lord,
Nor carèd he the Nazarene to know.
How in an hour are all his vows entomb'd!
Sifted as corn-but not as chaff consumed.

For lo! the Sufferer turns his wo-worn face,
And on his servant bends his gentle eye-
Pity and love blend in that look of grace,

And to the sinner tell the Saviour nigh—

He heeded not the deadly fight he fought,

Nor his heart's pangs-his wandering sheep he sought :

He sought, and found-the arrow Peter smote,
And forth he stept from out the evil hall,
Bitter the things that 'gainst himself he wrote,
Deadly his sin, and desperate his fall—
He wept to tell how grossly Satan lied-
Man hath no power to stay his heart of pride.

Oh, then! why drag him forth who thus did mourn,
And wish all self deep buried in his grave!
Why bid the crowd besotted toward him turn,
Their souls to save, his own who could not save!
Oh, sight more galling than the lictor's rod,
The humbled saint uprear'd a brazen god!

Bitter the tears! and let them freely flow,

For evil was the hand that placed him there! How would he weep to serve the nation's wo,

By claiming homage in God's House of Prayer! How weep to see his form, from realms above,

Stand 'twixt his fellow-man and Jesus' look of love!

(Original.)

TO THE REV.

ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE OPENING OF ST

EMMELINE DRUMMOND.

CHURCH.

A YEAR has pass'd away since first
Within these courts we stood,
And gave in humble faith and hope
This House of Prayer to God.

And still within these hallow'd walls
Our grateful songs we raise,
And joy for all His mercies past

Swells high our note of praise.

But some since then have pass'd away
To meet with us no more,
Who spend an endless Sabbath-day
Upon a brighter shore!

Before another year is past,

Should we be call'd to die,

Oh, may each vacant place but mark

Another fill'd on high!

And here, as each returning day
We meet for prayer and praise,
Oh, may the Spirit from above
Each heart to Jesus raise-

That those for whom you weep and pray,

And labour here below,

May stand in glory by your side,
Beyond this scene of wo!

And long may you within these walls
The Word of Life make known,
Until with joy you lay your staff

Before your Master's throne.

SONNET. ON WINTER.

DELTA.

ALL things around us preach of Death: yet mirth
Swells the vain heart, darts from the careless eye-
As if we were created ne'er to die,

And had our everlasting home on earth!
All things around us preach of Death: the leaves
Drop from the forests-perish the bright flowers-
Shortens the day's shorn sunlight, hours on hours—
And o'er bleak sterile fields the wild wind grieves.
Yes! all things preach of Death: we're born to die;
We are but waves along Life's ocean driven;
Time is to us a brief probation given,

To fit us for a dread eternity.

Hear ye, that watch with Faith's unslumbering eyeEarth is our pilgrimage, our home is Heaven!