4 If love to God and love to men Be absent, all my hopes are vain: Nor tongues, nor gifts, nor fiery zeal, The works of love can e'er fulfil. 770. C. M. Mrs. Sigourney. The Sower and the Seed. 1 All hail! ye servants of the Lord! On mercy's mission bound; Who, like the sower of the word, Strew precious gifts around. 2 What though your seed 'mid thorns be sown, Where tares and brambles thrive, Still One is able, One alone, To save its germ alive. 3 Ye fear, what falls on stony earth Will mock your prayerful toil; But sometimes plants of holiest birth Bear fruit in sterile soil. 4 The seed that by the way-side fell, Perchance you counted dead; Yet birds, that sing in heaven, may tell, They on its sweetness fed. 5 And some a hundred fold shall bear, To glorify the Lord; How blessed, then, will be your care! How glorious your reward! 771. 8s. & 7s. M. Hastings. The Sower and his Sheaves. 1 He, that goeth forth with weeping, Bearing still the precious seed, Never tiring, never sleeping, Soon shall see his toil succeed: Showers of rain will fall from heaven, Then the cheering sun will shine, So shall plenteous fruit be given, Through an influence all divine. 2 Sow thy seed, be never weary, Let not fear thy mind employ; Though the prospect be most dreary, Thou may'st reap the fruits of joy: Lo! the scene of verdure bright'ning, See the rising grain appear; Look again! the fields are whit'ning, Harvest-time is surely near. 772. S. M. Montgomery. Active Effort to do Good. 1 Sow in the morn thy seed; At eve hold not thy hand; To doubt and fear give thou no heed; Broadcast it o'er the land;-- 2 And duly shall appear, In verdure, beauty, strength, The tender blade, the stalk, the ear, And the full corn at length. 3 Thou canst not toil in vain; Cold, heat, and moist, and dry, Shall foster and mature the grain For garners in the sky. 773. L. M. Drummond. Faith without Works is Dead. 1 As body when the soul has fled, As barren trees, decayed and dead, Is faith; a hopeless, lifeless thing, If not of righteous deeds the spring. 2 One cup of healing oil and wine, One tear-drop shed on mercy's shrine, Is thrice more grateful, Lord, to thee, Than lifted eye or bended knee. 774. C. P. M. Blacklock. Christian Beneficence. 1 Hail, love divine! joys ever new, While thy kind dictates we pursue, Our souls delighted share, Too high for sordid minds to know, Who on themselves alone bestow Their wishes and their care.