Thy God hath not denied thee all,
    Whilst he permits thee but to call. 
    Call to thy God for grace to keep
    Thy vows; and if thou break them, weep. 
  Weep for thy broken vows, and vow again: 
  Vows made with tears cannot be still in vain. 
        Then once again
      I vow to mend my ways;
        Lord, say Amen,
      And thine be all the praise.

GEORGE HERBERT.

* * * * *

NOTHING BUT LEAVES.

  Nothing but leaves; the spirit grieves
    Over a wasted life;
  Sin committed while conscience slept,
  Promises made, but never kept,
    Hatred, battle, and strife;
      Nothing but leaves!

  Nothing but leaves; no garnered sheaves
    Of life’s fair, ripened grain;
  Words, idle words, for earnest deeds;
  We sow our seeds,—­lo! tares and weeds: 
    We reap, with toil and pain,
      Nothing but leaves!

  Nothing but leaves; memory weaves
    No veil to screen the past: 
  As we retrace our weary way,
  Counting each lost and misspent day,
    We find, sadly, at last,
      Nothing but leaves!

  And shall we meet the Master so,
    Bearing our withered leaves? 
  The Saviour looks for perfect fruit,
  We stand before him, humbled, mute;
  Waiting the words he breathes,—­
      “Nothing but leaves?”

LUCY E. AKERMAN.

* * * * *

THE WORLD.

    “And when he is come, he will reprove the world of sin, and of
    righteousness, and of judgment.”—­JOHN xvi. 8.

  The world is wise, for the world is old;
  Five thousand years their tale have told;
  Yet the world is not happy, as the world might be,—­
  Why is it? why is it?  Oh, answer me!

  The world is kind if we ask not too much;
  It is sweet to the taste, and smooth to the touch;
  Yet the world is not happy, as the world might be,—­
  Why is it? why is it?  Oh, answer me!

  The world is strong, with an awful strength,
  And full of life in its breadth and length;
  Yet the world is not happy, as the world might be,—­
  Why is it? why is it?  Oh, answer me!

  The world is so beautiful one may fear
  Its borrowed beauty might make it too dear,
  Yet the world is not happy, as the world might be—­
  Why is it? why is it?  Oh, answer me!

  The world is good in its own poor way,
  There is rest by night and high spirits by day;
  Yet the world is not happy, as the world might be,—­
  Why is it? why is it?  Oh, answer me!

  The cross shines fair, and the church-bell rings,
  And the earth is peopled with holy things;
  Yet the world is not happy, as the world might be,—­
  Why is it? why is it?  Oh, answer me!

  What lackest thou, world? for God made thee of old;
  Why,—­thy faith hath gone out, and thy love grown cold;
  Thou art not happy, as thou mightest be,
  For the want of Christ’s simplicity.