May we our sisters of the past
    In life and character revere,
    Like them be faithful to the last,
    Like them be loving and sincere.

    First must the gospel plan of love
    To every land and tribe be given,
    Ere He’ll return who from above
    Is God’s best gift to earth from heaven.

THAT JEWISH LAD

There is a lad here which hath five barley loaves, and two small fishes.—­John 6:9.

    He must have been a thoughtful youth,
    His name the record has not given,
    But if his heart imbibed the truth,
    ’Tis written in the books of heaven. 
    A cipher in the multitude,
    He followed with his meager store,
    And far from his perception crude
    The miracle that made it more.

    With loaves and fishes few, this lad
    By power and aid of one divine
    Has made the hungry thousands glad
    And God’s providing power to shine. 
    When at the midweek hour of prayer
    Ye faithful mourn your number few,
    Pray He who fed that throng be there
    Your faith and vigor to renew.

    He will your meek petitions hear
    Which, like those loaves and fishes small,
    Will cause his glory to appear
    In showers of blessing that will fall. 
    The centuries are sweeping by,
    Bearing their millions gay and sad,
    And wafting those to realms on high
    Who follow with that Jewish lad.

IN SINCERITY

Grace be with them that love our Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity.—­Ephesians 6:24.

    Thou saddened one whose longing eyes
      Seek quickening thoughts to glean,
    Whose views of Christ, the Heavenly prize,
      Clouds often veer between,
    That rapture which may be expressed
      By others constantly
    Is not thine own; in truth confessed,
      Where is the mystery?

    Ask now these questions of thy soul: 
      My heart, is it sincere? 
    Do I his holy name extol,
      And is He truly dear? 
    Like Peter can I, too, record
      And urge his earnest plea,
    “Thou knowest all things, gracious Lord;
      Thou knowest I love Thee”?

    There is no music like his voice: 
      To this can’st thou attest? 
    No message makes thee so rejoice
      As “Come to me and rest”? 
    If there’s been left within thine heart
      By word or deed a thorn,
    Can prayer extract the cruel dart
      And heal it ere the morn?

    Does prayer cast out disquietude
      And every bitter thought;
    All hate and enmity exclude
      By Love with patience fraught? 
    Or, if perchance there may be found
      A hurt that festers still,
    Is this the balm that soothes the wound—­
      “’Twas needed; ’tis God’s will”?