Thou sorrowful, yet sinless Man-
Tempted in all things like as we,
Treading with tender, human feet,
The sharp, rough way of Calvary;

We do remember how, by Thee,

The sick were healed, the halting led ; How Thou didst take the little ones

And pour thy blessings on their head.

We know for what unworthy men

Thou once didst deign to toil and live; What weak and sinful women Thou Didst love, and pity, and forgive.

And, Lord, if to the sick and poor
We go with generous hearts to-day,
Or in forbidden places seek

For such as wander from the way;

And by our loving words or deeds

Make this a hallowed time to them; Though we ourselves be found unmeet, For sin, to touch thy garment's hem;

Wilt Thou not, for thy wondrous grace,
And for thy tender charity,

Accept the good we do to these,

As we had done it unto Thee?

And for the precious little ones,

Here from their native heaven astray,

Strong in their very helplessness,

To lead us in the better way;

PRODIGALS.

If we shall make thy natal day

A season of delight to these,
A season always crowded full
Of sweet and pleasant memories ;

Wilt Thou not grant us to forget

Awhile our weight of care and pain,
And in their joys, bring back their joy
Of early innocence again?

O holy Child, about whose bed
The virgin mother softly trod ;
Dead once, yet living evermore,
O Son of Mary, and of God!

If any act that we can do,

If any thought of ours is right, If any prayer we lift to Thee,

May find acceptance in thy sight,

Hear us, and give to us, to-day,

In answer to our earnest cries,

Some portion of that sacred love,

That drew Thee to us from the skies!

PRODIGALS.

AGAIN, in the Book of Books, to-day
I read of that Prodigal, far away

In the centuries agone,

Who took the portion that to him fell,

And went from friends and home to dwell
In a distant land alone.

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And when his riotous living was done,
And his course of foolish pleasure run,
And a fearful famine rose,

He fain would have fed with the very swine,
And no man gave him bread nor wine,

For his friends were changed to foes.

And I thought, when at last his state he knew, What a little thing he had to do,

To win again his place :

Only the madness of sin to learn,
To come to himself, repent, and turn,
And seek his Father's face.

Then I thought however vile we are,
Not one of us hath strayed so far

From the things that are good and pure,

But if to gain his home he tried

He would find the portal open wide,
And find his welcome sure.

My fellow-sinners, though you dwell
In haunts where the feet take hold on hell,
Where the downward way is plain;
Think, who is waiting for you at home,
Repent, and come to yourself, and come
To your Father's house again!

Say, out of the depths of humility,

"I have lost the claim of a child on Thee,

I would serve Thee with the least!" And He will a royal robe prepare,

He will call you son, and call

you

And seat you at the feast.

heir ;

ST. BERNARD OF CLAIRVAUX.

Yea, fellow-sinner, rise to-day,

And run till He meets you on the way,
Till you hear the glad words said,
"Let joy through all the heavens resound
For this, my son, who was lost is found,
And he lives who once was dead."

ST. BERNARD OF CLAIRVAUX.

IN the shade of the cloister, long ago -
They are dead and buried for centuries
The pious monks walked to and fro,
Talking of holy mysteries.

By a blameless life and penance hard,
Each brother there had proved his call;
But the one we name the St. Bernard
Was the sweetest soul among them all.

And oft as a silence on them fell,

He would pause, and listen, and whisper low, "There is One who waits for me in my cell; I hear Him calling, and I must go!"

No charm of human fellowship

His soul from its dearest love can bind ;

With a "Jesu Dulcis" on his lip,

He leaves all else that is sweet behind.

The only hand that he longs to take,

Pierced, from the cross is reaching down;

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And the head he loves, for his dear sake
Was wounded once with a thorny crown.

Ah! men and brethren, He whose call
Drew that holy monk with a power divine,
Was the One who is calling for us all,

Was the Friend of sinners

yours and mine!

From the sleep of the cradle to the grave,
From the first low cry till the lip is dumb,
Ready to help us, and strong to save,

He is calling, and waiting till we come.

Lord! teach us always thy voice to know,
And to turn to Thee from the world beside,
Prepared when our time has come to go,
Whether at morn or eventide.

And to say when the heavens are rent in twain, When suns are darkened, and stars shall flee,

Lo! Thou hast not called for us in vain,

And we shall not call in vain for Thee!

OLD PICTURES.

OLD pictures, faded long, to-night

Come out revealed by memory's gleam ;

And years of checkered dark and light
Vanish behind me like a dream.