The rippling wave its shore doth lave,

The oleander blooms,

Mid verdure seen of richest green,

And fragrant with perfumes;
The palm tree's crest above the rest,
Displays the victor's plumes.

A rich parterre in flank and rear,
Revolving seasons find,

Or plowed or sown, or reaped or mown,
While sheaves the reapers bind;
Then oxen, o'er the laden floor,
Tread corn for humankind.

Chorazin, nor Bethsaida, nor

Capernaum supplies

This story rare and aspect fair,

For travellers' ears and eyes.

Their walls, once reared, have disappeared From underneath the skies.

Their favoured lot they valued not,
When Jesus trod the street,

And bade the dead rise from her bed,
And 'fore them all to eat.
Their ruins now, confused and low,
The seeker's gaze do meet.

Forgiven much and loving much ;
At Cross and Sepulchre,

Lo! one appears, free from those fears
His love has cast from her.

Who ask her name, hear her proclaim,
"Mary of MAGDALA."

"Hunger: it's sharp for awhile; but you buckle your belt a hole tighter, and get over that. But, thirst! It's a terrible thing: Thirst

YOU THINK OF THE WATER YOU ONCE

THREW AWAY."

ROBERT MOFFATT, D.D.

THE African desert or wilderness roaming,
Pursuing his journey, the traveller goes;
He sees not a torrent all gushing and foaming,
But crosses a region where no river flows.
Himself and companions, all weary and thirsty,
No shelter protects from the sun's scorching ray—
The fountain still distant and calabash empty,
He thinks of the water he once threw away.

The African village surprised and surrounded,
The terrified people endeavour to flee;
Their every intention is crossed and confounded,
The slave-hunter takes them his captives to be.
The rope round his neck and his hands tied behind him,
The slave 'neath the whip, as he goes on his way,
In vain sighs for succour which cannot now find him,
And thinks of the water he once threw away.

Outstretched on the field where the foeman has laid him,
With sabre or bullet or splinter of shell;

The soldier, a victim which one moment made him,
In torture and anguish now lies where he fell.
The faintness and stupor the bleeding brought o'er him
The smart of his wounds by departing obey,

And thirsting intensely, no succour before him,
He thinks of the water he once threw away.

A river is flowing of pure living water,

It comes from the temple of God and the Lamb:

The message is issued to every quarter,

For all who are thirsty; who hears should proclaim: Who drinketh shall live and be saved for ever,

Who hears and neglects it draws near to the day, When careless and scorners, where hope cometh never, Shall think of the water they once threw away.

THE THIRSTY TRAVELLERS.

THE sun had set on Palestina's land,
And crescent moon awhile the vigil kept;
As by her light, ere Jaffa's inmates slept,
The travellers, a feeble little band,

Through Jaffa's gardens started on their way.

Horse, mule and ass at roadside fountain drink,
Then on the Ramleh road they keep their way;
Ere Ramleh's reached, the moon, of feeble ray,
Behind the western clouds doth also sink,
And air in coolness, night in darkness grows.

Thus mile succeeds on mile, and hour on hour,
Till Ramleh's walls and towers are far behind;
Then thirst inspires the strong desire to find,
Or well, or fountain, or a prickly pear;

But none there are, or darkness them conceals.

“When shall we quench our thirst ?" "The muleteer
Is searching with a keen and practised eye."
The hope deferred, heart saddening reply,
Again and yet again falls on the ear;
And thirst increasing is, and failing hope.

But now amid the deepest gloom of night,
Eleven becomes the little band of four;
Of Ramoth Gilead the governor,

And Nablus Mufti with their turbans white,

And horsemen five their company unite.

Salutes exchanged, and free enquiries made,

“Whence do you come, and whither are you bound ?” The thirsty hear the soul refreshing sound,

"Would you drink water?" Soon their thirst's allayed From leathern bottle to the girdle joined.

So let the Christian with the Arab vie,

As this with earthly, that with heavenly store,

To fellow travellers to th' eternal shore,

Extend the draught, who drinks shall never die,
And point to CHRIST, THE SAVIOUR OF THE WORLD.

ALMOST ASHORE.

WHEN making your voyage, or outward or homeward,
Though gain and repute would be lost by delay,
Should you see from the deck on your larboard or starboard,
With rudder and anchor both carried away,
A bark in distress and the breakers to leeward,
Already her crew in the sound of their roar ;
Stay not to consider who else may deliver,

But take her in tow for she's almost ashore.

Mid cares and engagements, though never so many,
A neighbour in trouble appears at your door;
Dismiss not his story until you have heard it,

Because he applied not an hour before;

But spare at the least a few moments' attention,

Although you have proved his unkindness of yore; And when you have heard and reviewed his narration, Then lend him a hand if he's almost ashore.

Where the young and the friendless in scenes of temptation, Where children of error together abide,

O! carry the news of a finished salvation,

And tell of His love who for sinners has died.

Where the sick and the dying do wither and languish, Stay not till to-morrow to visit their door;

That the balm of His name may dispel all their anguish, Of Jesus speak thou to the