BY THE REV. JAMES GILBORNE LYONS, LL.D.


Vain is the blood of rare and spotless herds,
Pastured in meads where blue Clitumnus shines;
Vain are sweet gums from lands that Indus girds,
Or diamonds sought in deep Brazilian mines;
Vain are Iberian fruits, and perfumed flowers,
Rich as a Grecian sunset's purest dyes,
If deemed, when worship claims thy holiest hours,
For HIM IN HEAVEN fit gift or sacrifice.

The flocks that roam on thrice ten thousand hills,
Each living thing that moves on shore and sea,
The gems and gold which gleam in caves and rills,
Saba's low shrub, and Lebanon's proud tree,
The fragrant tribes that spring on cliff and field,
That flush the stream, or fringe the smooth lake's brim,
Breathe, burn, and bloom, at His high will revealed,
And own with joy their Light and Lord in Him.

Our gains are His, and, laid before the Cross,
These must of our oblations form a part,
But oh! the choicest ores and gems are dross,
If brought without that pearl of price--THE HEART.
The poorest serf who fears a tyrant's nod,
Whose inmost soul hard bondage racks and wrings--
That toil-worn slave may send unseen to God
An offering far beyond the wealth of kings.