And he must hear that "still, small voice," Nor tempt it to depart,-- The Spirit, great and wonderful, That whispers in his heart. He must be pure, and good, and true; Must strive, and watch, and pray; For unresisted sin, at last, May drive that Dove away. TEACH US TO PRAY. Teach us to pray Oh, Father! we look up to Thee, And this our one request shall be, Teach us to pray. Teach us to pray. A form of words will not suffice,-- The heart must bring its sacrifice: Teach us to pray. Teach us to pray. To whom shall we, Thy children, turn? Teach Thou the lesson we would learn: Teach us to pray. Teach us to pray. To Thee, alone, our hearts look up: Prayer is our only door of hope; Teach us to pray. DEEDS OF KINDNESS. Suppose the little cowslip Should hang its tiny cup, And say, "I'm such a little flower, I'd better not grow up." How many a weary traveler Would miss the fragrant smell? How many a little child would grieve To miss it from the dell! Suppose the glistening dew-drop, Upon the grass, should say, "What can a little dew-drop do? I'd better roll away." The blade on which it rested, Before the day was done, Without a drop to moisten it, Would wither in the sun. Suppose the little breezes Upon a summer's day, Should think themselves too small to cool The traveler on his way: Who would not miss the smallest And softest ones that blow, And think they made a great mistake If they were talking so? How many deeds of kindness A little child may do, Although it has so little strength, And little wisdom, too. It wants a loving spirit, Much more than strength, to prove, How many things a child may do For others by his love. AN EVENING SONG. How radiant the evening skies! Broad wing of blue in heaven unfurled, God watching with unwearied eyes The welfare of a sleeping world. He rolls the sun to its decline, And speeds it on to realms afar, To let the modest glowworm shine, And men behold the evening star. He lights the wild flower in the wood, He rocks the sparrow in her nest, He guides the angels on their road, That come to guard us while we rest When blows the bee his tiny horn, To wake the sisterhood of flowers, He kindles with His smile the morn, To bless with light the winged hours. O God! look down with loving eyes Upon Thy children slumbering here, Beneath this tent of starry skies, For heaven is nigh, and Thou art near. BE KIND TO THE POOR. Turn not from him, who asks of thee A portion of thy store; Poor though in earthly goods thou be, Thou yet canst give,--what's more, The balm of comfort thou canst pour Into his grieving mind, Who oft is turned from wealth's proud door, With many a word unkind.