The souls of little children Are vessels for thy grace, Thy spirit makes their bodies His chosen dwelling-place. The minds of little children Yearn for immortal truth, And thou hast deigned to make us The guardians of their youth. Oh, fill our hearts with wisdom, With love and tenderness, And in all Christ-like patience Let us our souls possess; So shall the overflowing Of hearts that own thy grace, Reflect to little children Their heavenly Father’s face. And they shall learn the wisdom That cometh from above, Our tenderness shall make them Obedient to thy love; Our patience shall encourage The hope that never faints, And give them perseverance, The triumph of the saints. The simple love of goodness, The fear to do a sin, The life that through temptation Keeps innocence within, The strength to win the battle, The knowledge that is might, Is all we need to teach them That they may learn aright. Their souls and minds and bodies Thus trained and fit for thee, Shall rise to endless service, Throughout eternity; For they will know the Father Through Jesus Christ his Son, By God the Holy Spirit, Eternal Three in One! MORALS AND SORROWS OF BORROWING AND LENDING. By A. DENBAR. Not the borrowing and lending of money, be it understood, but only such trifling things as books, umbrellas, and little personal belongings essential to ease. It is questionable whether the loan of these things does not involve more discomfort than the more costly loan of money. If you lend money, it is to be assumed that you can afford the loss of it, or that you see a strong probability of receiving it again. But your favorite umbrella! What other can possibly accommodate itself so comfortably to your carrying? Is not its familiar hook exactly the shape you like? Or perchance you prefer a smoothly rounded knob, and have made a careful choice, so that any other handle feels strange and foreign. To some persons these little matters make all the difference between ease and discomfort. Yet good-nature will not permit you to see a careless caller start out into the rain umbrellaless, although the clouds have threatened all the morning, and the least weather-wise might have foreseen the need of an umbrella. So you say hospitably, “Oh! you must have one; take mine!” and then, with a prophetic failure of courage, add entreatingly, “You will be sure to return it, will you not?” You close the door, after watching your umbrella down the street—yours no longer, alas! for it never returns.