nt forth to sow,
And at last his joy he found;
For his good seed's generous overflow
Sank deep into gracious ground.

Lord, when we look back on our lives,
With penitent sighs and tears,
Our evil that with Thee strives and strives
In Thy parable's truth appears.

As the wayside hard were our hearts,
Where Thy good seed lightly lay,
For the Devil's flock, as it downward darts,
To bruise and to bear away.

Thy winged words falling nigher
Sprang up in our souls with haste,
But they could not endure temptation's fire
And withered and went to waste.

Within us Thy word once more
Thou sowest, but--sore beset
With worldly weeds--for Thy threshing floor
Shall it ever ripen yet?

Yea, Lord, it shall if Thou please,
In passionate, patient prayer,
To draw the nation upon its knees
And fill it with Heavenly care.

And so shall we all arise
In the joy of a soul's re-birth
To hold a communion with the skies
That shall bring down Heaven to earth.

THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN

(From the Scotch Gaelic)

Tedious grew the time to me
Within the Courts of Blessing;
My secure felicity,
For folly I forswore;
Vain delusion wrought my woe
Till now, in want distressing,
I go begging to and fro
Upon an alien shore.

In my dear old home of peace,
Around my father's table
Many a servant sits at ease
And eats and drinks his fill;
While within a filthy stall
With loathsome swine I stable,
Sin-defiled and scorned of all
To starve on husk and swill.

Ah, how well I mind me
Of the happy days gone over!
Love was then behind me,
Before me, and around;
Then, light as air, I leapt,
A laughing little rover,
Now dull and heavy-stepped
I pace this desert ground.

Sin with flattering offers came;
Against my Sire rebelling
I yielded my good name
At the Tempter's easy smile;
In fields that were not ours,
Brighter blooming, richer smelling,
I ravished virgin flowers
With a heart full of guile.

'Twas thus an open shame
In the sight of all the Noble,
Yea! a monster I became,
Till my gold ceased to flow,
And my fine fair-weather friends
Turned their backs upon my trouble.
Now an outcast to Earth's ends
Under misery I go.

Yet though bitter my disgrace,
Than every ill severer
Is the thought of the face
O