Part 53

Subdued by love that is stronger Than was ever an arméd band, He became once more to the Father A child to feel for His hand.

Subdued by a love that is stronger Than a world full of terrors and fears, He returned to the House of the Father Athrough the baptism of tears.

Such is the beautiful legend Come down from ancient days, Of love that is young forever; And is he not blind who says

That charity ever faileth, Or doth for a moment despair, Or that there is any danger Too great for her to dare;

When John, the beloved disciple, With the faith of the Gospel shod, Went forth in pursuit of the robber, And brought him back to God?

O Church, whose strength is the doctrine Of the blessed Evangelist, This doctrine of love undying Which the world can not resist!

Put on thy beautiful garments In this sordid and selfish day, And be as of old a glory To turn us from Mammon away;

Until to the prayer of thy children, The sweetly simple prayer, That bathed in the light of Heaven Thy courts may grow more fair,

There comes the eternal answer Of works that are loving and grand, To remain for the generations The praises of God in the land.

O Church, whose strength is the doctrine Of the blessed Evangelist, The doctrine of love undying Which the world can not resist!

Go forth to the highways and hedges To gather the sheep that are lost, Conveying the joyful tidings, Their redemption at infinite cost.

Proclaim there is hope and a refuge For every wanderer there; For every sin there is mercy-- Yea, even the sin of despair!

O, then will thy beautiful garments, As once in the prime of thy youth, Appear in celestial splendor, Thou pillar and ground of the Truth!

* * * * *

XLII.

JOHN PLOUGHMAN AGAIN

THE PITH AND MARROW OF CERTAIN OLD PROVERBS.

The Rev. C.H. Spurgeon, of London, who has furnished our readers with several specimens of "John Ploughman's Talk," has also published "John Ploughman's Pictures," some of which we present in pen and ink, without any help from the engraver. John thus introduces himself:

IF THE CAP FITS, WEAR IT.

Friendly Readers: Last time I made a book I trod on some people's corns and bunions, and they wrote me angry letters, asking, "Did you mean me?" This time, to save them the expense of a halfpenny card, I will begin my book by saying--

Whether I please or whether I tease, I'll give you my honest mind; If the cap should fit, pray wear it a bit; If not, you can leave it behind.

No offense is meant; but if any thing in these pages should come home to a man, let him not send it next door, but get a coop for his own chickens. What is the use of reading or hearing for other people? We do not eat and drink for them: why should we lend them our ears and not our mouths? Please then, good friend, if you find a hoe on these premises, weed your own garden with it.

I was speaking with Will Shepherd the other day about our master's old donkey, and I said, "He is so old and stubborn, he really is not worth his keep." "No," said Will, "and worse still, he is so vicious that I feel sure he'll do somebody a mischief one of these days." You know they say that walls have ears; we were talking rather loud, but we did not know that there were ears to haystacks. We stared, I tell you, when we saw Joe Scroggs come from behind the stack, looking as red as a turkey-cock, and raving like mad. He burst out swearing at Will and me, like a cat spitting at a dog. His monkey was up and no mistake. He'd let us know that he was as good a man as either of us, or the two put together, for the matter of that. Talk about him in that way; he'd do--I don't know what. I told old Joe we had never thought of him nor said a word about him, and he might just as well save his breath to cool his porridge, for nobody meant him any harm. This only made him call me a liar and roar the louder. My friend Will was walking away, holding his sides; but when he saw that Scroggs was still in a fume, he laughed outright, and turned round on him and said, "Why, Joe, we were talking about master's old donkey, and not about you; but, upon my word, I shall never see that donkey again without thinking of Joe Scroggs." Joe puffed and blowed, but perhaps he thought it an awkward job, for he backed out of it, and Will and I went off to our work in rather a merry cue, for old Joe had blundered on the truth about himself for once in his life.

The aforesaid Will Shepherd has sometimes come down rather heavy upon me in his remarks, but it has done me good. It is partly through his home-thrusts that I have come to write this new book, for he thought I was idle; perhaps I am, and perhaps I am not. Will forgets that I have other fish to fry and tails to butter; and he does not recollect that a ploughman's mind wants to lie fallow a little, and can't give a crop every year. It is hard to make rope when your hemp is all used up, or pancakes without batter, or rook pie without the birds; and so I found it hard to write more when I had said just about all I knew. Giving much to the poor doth increase a man's store, but it is not the same with writing; at least, I am such a poor scribe that I don't find it come because I pull. If your thoughts only flow by drops, you can't pour them out in bucketfuls.

However, Will has ferreted me out, and I am obliged to him so far. I told him the other day what the winkle said to the pin: "Thank you for drawing me out, but you are rather sharp about it." Still, Master Will is not far from the mark: after three hundred thousand people had bought my book it certainly was time to write another. So, though I am not a hatter, I will again turn capmaker, and those who have heads may try on my wares; those who have none won't touch them. So, friends, I am,

Yours, rough and ready, JOHN PLOUGHMAN.

BURN A CANDLE AT BOTH ENDS, AND IT WILL SOON BE GONE.

Well may he scratch his head who burns his candle at both ends; but do what he may, his light will soon be gone and he will be all in the dark. Young Jack Careless squandered his property, and now he is without a shoe to his foot. His was a case of "easy come, easy go; soon gotten, soon spent." He that earns an estate will keep it better than he that inherits it. As the Scotchman says, "He that gets gear before he gets wit is but a short time master of it," and so it was with Jack. His money burned holes in his pocket. He could not get rid of it fast enough himself, and so he got a pretty set to help him, which they did by helping themselves. His fortune went like a pound of meat in a kennel of hounds. He was every body's friend, and now he is every body's fool.