VOL. I.

No. 1.

HYMN.

RUBY

LAMONT.

OH THAT my soul in joy might meet
My lov'd Redeemer's face,
In blessed confidence might greet
The throne of heav'nly grace!
That, as my soul ascends on high,
The happy peans of the sky
Might ring a glad farewell to earth
And welcome to a heav'nly birth.

Oh that my soul might learn to live
The laws that are most high;
Learn sweetly, meekly to forgive
And grandly how to die!

That with its last farewell to earth,
A gem of bright, celestial worth,
"Twould find its mansion 'mong the blest-
The happy souls whom Christ loves best!

Oh teach me, Lord, within my heart,
The law that leads to Thee;

And give me pow'r to choose the part

That leaves the soul most free.

To Thee my dimmed, blurred life would rise

To purer realms beyond the skies;

My every hope and wish shall be
To still live nearer, Lord, to Thee.

bother about me, I'll show you some day."

"What'll ye show? Nothing good I'll be bound, if ye don't leave that crazy nonsense alone."

"Oh, fiddle de dee," imprudently retorted the youth.

"Leonard," called the father from the adjoining room, "come in here, my son." Pointing to a chair and carefully closing the door, the father said, "You speak in a very disrespectful way to your mother, sir, and you must quit that way of answering her. It is her right and duty to check you when you are going wrong."

The lad listened quietly and respectfully. "About this novel reading business, I add my strict injunctions to your mother's pleading. Stop it at

once.

"Why, father, I have often heard you say that novel-reading was no worse than theatre-going."

"It isn't; but your novels and your plays should be of the best and most elevating kinds. And further, they should be only a means of recreation, not comprise a man's whole and sole occupation. You are almost a man, my son, and you must turn over a new leaf."

"Well father," seeking to justify himself, "I don't drink nor swear. I have no bad habits; surely I may read an innocent novel."