y curses now, but at
the last 'biteth like a serpent and stingeth like an adder'--go there.
Where struggling souls are crying for sympathy and help--go there.
Where the youth of our land are being polluted by depraved men and
women among whom they earn their daily bread--go there. Where God seems
unknown, or His claims unheeded for lack of living witnesses--go there.
Go where you may lift up your voice for your Master; go where a helping
hand or kindly words can minister comfort to depressed and hopeless
hearts.

_Hark! for the Master calls,
Child, I have need of thee;
Man in thy pride of strength,
Youth in thy beauteous glee,
Aged and young, and rich and poor,
Trifles and toys no more pursue;
The world is wide, and time is short;
There's work for all to do._

These thoughts have revived in my memory Scott's poem in which he
records an ancient custom found amongst the traditions of Scottish
history. A chieftain desired to summon his clansmen to war in great
urgency. The shrill blast of the bugle called together his immediate
followers, but those at a distance must be summoned by other means.
Before sending out a swift and trusty messenger, the priest was called
and certain rites which had been observed from time immemorial
performed.

A cross was constructed from the branches of the yew tree, and then
held aloft by the priest, whilst he pronounced awful curses on the men
who, at the sight of the signal, failed to obey the summons of their
chief. The cross was then held in the fire until it blazed, was again
uplifted and fresh curses added; then it was plunged in the blood of a
newly-slain sacrifice, and, smoking and reeking with gore, the charred
and bloody cross was given into the hands of a swift messenger, who
leaping away as an arrow sped from a bow, flies along the
mountain-path, and, holding the crimson sign before the eyes of the
clansmen, names the place of assembly, and passes the signal on
throughout the borders.

I have no yew-tree cross, no bleeding sacrifice visible to outward
eyes, but before the eyes of your souls, I lift up the cross of
Calvary, charred by the fires of sin, and reeking with the Blood of the
Divine Victim, and in God's name I charge you to go forth to rescue the
needy souls of men.

_See the brazen hosts of Hell
Art and power employing,
More than human tongue can tell
Blood-bought souls destroying;
Hark! from rui