The Press., 1889-02-21
(For The Press.)
 CHARITY.
ST. LUKE. 1910 1; 1895.

ST. LUKE. 1910; 1855. once attended a service,
 Of simple praise and prayer; had taken some pains to be present. Gods poor were assembled there. And scarce had crossed the threshold, When an instrument standing by Demanded my hand at the keyboard, Through voice could not deny. And song after song was rendered, By chorus untrained but sweet ;- The manner and theme of the preacher Was for such an occasion most meet. His voice was full and melodious, As he dwelt on the Masters grace, Till the text had become home question, Expressed in each listeners face What think ye of Christ ?" and its echoes Seemed rolling from soul to soul, Each countenance seemed as one feature, Of union composed of the whole. Then a hymn was announced, but it's number Seemed unwilling to coincide With the tune that found in the hymnal. Though 1 sought it from side to side. And I hastily searched in the index For title that would not appear, So with growing delay for incentive played it-or thought toby ear. But alas for the charm of the service. One little cratic tone, And the cunning deserted the fingers Thus daring to wander alone. And it seemed that the elves took possession, With rollicking clamor and glee, Before regained self possession,
 And struck, once again, the right key. AS a page of immaculate copy
 Is ruined by one hateful blot, I felt that to spoil that hours rythm
 Had been my lamentable lot. But after the service was ended
 The poor people gathered about, They had had "blessed good meeting,
 And blessed good time, out and out" It was Hong since they d heard such sermon," ''And the music, " one said, "was just swate," .. While heard, here and there, in whispers, 1 Cant she play!" Nov I tell you!" "Fust rate? ?"
 So out of the mouths of the simple
 Came text that carried away: l hat chality's home is the poor house,
 And we are heavens paupers to-day. And thought of frail fel ow mortal Who had sullied beautiful name, And plotted O fair page of virtue
 With blackest dishonor and shame, Because he had let his mind wander
 A moment from duty and right, While he glanced at the quick road to fortune,
 With it's dazzling, enticing light Till down slipped the beautiful model
 By which he had fashioned his life, And now, in the dust of 8 prison,
 Where criminal discords are rife, The fragments seem hopelessly scattered,
 He feels from all mercy debarred, As he reads OCT the door of his dungeon
 "The way of transgressors is hard" And the air seems vibrating with ruin,
 For he knows that his hard fellow-man Is censuring roundly the Justice"
 That pronounced for him ''too light' ban. But alas, that one grave touch of error,
 Though black and disgusting it be, Should cover life's long high endeavor,
 And shadow eternity.
 O Christ, who in infinite pity
 Left Thy home life in mansions above, And died that the penitent erring
 Might cover life's scars with Thy love; Though we know we are wholly unworthy,
 And like lepers should cry out "unclean!" We rejoice that Thy heavenly mission Can make our souls fit to be seen. Accept our devotion, dear Saviour, And lend to repentance Thine ear, Cheer us with beautitude's greeting,
 Our life books from sin stains make clear. Thy numbers and notes all may see, And though rests may seem long in hfe's music, Let our eyes never wander from Thee.