SUNDAY READING.

New Zealand Mail, 29 January 1902, Page 66

SUNDAY READING.

Clergymen and all interested in relL gioug work are incited to send new* items and other contributions suitable for publication in this column, to “Mizpah,” care of Editor “New Zealand Mail,” Wellington. GOOD CHEEK, Have you had a kindness shown? Pass it on. . Twas not given for you alone— Pass it oh. Let it travel down the years. Let it wipe another’s tears, lill in heaven the deed ajipears— Pass it on. GIVE ME CONTENT. Dear Lord, to Thee niy knee is bent, Give me content I' ull-pleasured with what comes to me Whate’er it be; A humble roof—a frugal board. And simple hoard; The wintry fagot piled beside The chimney wide, V hile the enwreathiug flames up-sprout And twine about The brazen dogs that guard my hearth And household worth; Tinge with the ember’s ruddv glow The rafters low; And let the sparks snap with delight, As fingers might That mark deft measures of some tune The children croon; Then, with good friends, the rarest few, Thou holiest true, Ranged round about the blaze to share My comfort there, Give me to claim the service meet That makes each seat A place of honour, and each guest Loved as the rest. —James Whitcomb Riley. LET THERE EE LIGHT. God said “Let there be light,’’ Grim darkness felt His might And fled away. The startled seas, and mountains cold, Shone forth all bright in blue and gold, And cried “’Tis day, ’tis dav; Hail holy light!” Then rained the tlumd’rous cloud, That flamed o’er daisies white, And lo! the rose, in crimson dressed, Leaned gently o’er the lily’s breast, And blushing, murmured* “Light.” SUPPOSE. Suppose that we were told some summer’s eve. Told in some town that looks upon the sea, Told by sure token all men must believe That sunset they beheld the last should 1)0. V hich ever in the golden west would leave Promise of dawn; and never more with glee Should birds make twittering, as tbe first beams cleave The trembling darkness of the eastern lea— Oh ! how along the quay at every, door, Would all the people'stand, silent and pale, Staring with eyes amazed at sea and shore, And on each other—how their hearts would fail; How new and strange familiar things would seem, ° By the last sunset’s last departing gleam ! —M.A.M. COMING INTO PORT. Who, sighing, deems the voyage a pleasure all too short: When once the laden vessel is gliding into port— Ah! not tho gallant captain, liis haven safely found, Nor yet the sturdy sailor whose heart is homeward bound; Nor yet the earnest Christian, who knows his life’s work done, And sees by faith’s clear vision the land of promise won. V ith store of gathered riches the fruit of righteousness— He envies not the sunshine voutli only can possess. And though the storms of manhood have made his bark their sport. What matter when at even lie’s comin® into port.