"Dear fellow-workers, let us watch and pray, and labour on, 'till He come.'" "Till He come!". It is sweet with these words to close this imperfect record of the labours of the Lord's beloved handmaid; especially when we look back to the time twenty years' before, when the "blessed hope" was first made the source of new strength and power to her soul. May not the words of the letter quoted above be adopted with little alteration by every Christian labourer? Our stay can be but brief,--perhaps not one working hour is yet left to us, and how emphatically do the words now come to us, "Redeeming the time _because_ the days are evil;" so evil, that were it not for the sure word of prophecy, we should lie down in despair. If we looked to present agency to change the scenes of sin and sorrow around us, all hope would vanish. But we have "a hope that maketh not ashamed," and "that blessed hope" is an "anchor of the soul" "The work is great," great it has always been, but how much greater now that doors hitherto closed are open in every part of the world; from every country the cry is, "Come over and help us." Many a solitary pioneer has fallen, oh! that others might come forth to fill up the ranks. "Strength is small;" "Without me ye can do nothing;" "Is there not an appointed warfare (margin) to man upon earth?" He, who has appointed the warfare will not send any at their own charges. The "blessed hope" strengthens the weak hands and confirms the feeble knees. He will give the grace, the wisdom, the strength, all that is needed, day by day. _"Till He come."_ Three little words--no more--but who can tell the comfort, the strength, the sweetness this hope brings to those who are watching for the coming of their King? * * * * * The following deeply affecting lines are from the same pen as those before quoted. Miss Geldard, the gifted writer, was for a time a much valued fellow-labourer both in England and Canada:-- A HOME AND A HEARTY WELCOME. All day has the air been busy, As the daylight hours went by, With the laugh of the children's gladness, Or their pitiful, hopeless cry. But now all is hushed in silence, They are lying in slumber deep: While I ask, in this solemn midnight, _Where_ do the children sleep? We know there are children sleeping In many a happy home, Where sickness rarely enters, Where want may never come. Their hands in prayer were folded Ere they laid them down to rest, And on rosy lip and soft white brow Were a mother's kisses pressed. They sleep and dream of angels; Ah! well may their dreams be fair!-- Their home is now so like a heaven, They seem already there. But where are the children sleeping In these wretched streets around, Where sin, and want, and sorrow Their choicest haunt have found?