to be, let us not be faint-hearted, but meet the foe, steadily advancing, raising our standard-"The Lord is my banner," and, underneath that banner, I will fight against sin, the world, the flesh, and the devil, and come off more than conqueror.

This is a beautiful motto for the Christian Church.

While Joshua was fighting, Moses was praying, and it was this combination that brought deliverance to Israel in the discomfiture of Amalek. God's ministers are every day standing as leaders to meet an advancing foe-a foe with tremendous power. They need the prayers of all God's children. They need their hands upheld by fervent, earnest prayer. Therefore while the conflict lasts-Pray; pray!

(3.) The watchword for the Future is in Gen. xxiv. 14. "Jehovah-jireh." "The Lord will provide."

It was God's purpose to try Abraham's faith, and therefore He did so by calling upon him to offer up his only son Isaac as a sacrifice, even he in whom all the promises were centered.

Abraham went out to do God's bidding; and it was not till he was in the very act of stretching out his hand to take the knife to slay his son that the Lord called to him, and pointed out to him the lamb provided for the burnt offering. Then it was that Abraham called the name of the place "Jehovah-jireh."

It is well when the Christian can confidently feel that his heavenly Father has the ordering of all events, and that therefore his future prospects will be all ordered by God, whatever darkness may seem to hang over the future. Feeling this, he can say: "My Father lives on high, and He will provide that which is best for me, and at the time when it is best for me to receive it. I will not be over-anxious, but will have confidence, for surely The Lord will provide.'”

And thus we keep in active exercise these three Christian graces-faith, hope, love.

Faith looks back on the Past, and says,

the Lord helped me."

"Hitherto hath

Hope looks to the Future, and says, "The Lord will provide for me." And this draws out our

Love for the present, "The Lord is my banner."

Many have been called to the eternal, unseen world during this year, and we have been spared. Reader, did you ever ask yourself, Why am I spared? We might see a reason for gratitude in another text of Scripture. "It is of

the Lord's mercies."

Lay your hand on your heart, and answer this question as in the sight of God, Am I prepared to die?

A solemn question this; but we ought not to be happy unless we can safely answer it.

Oh, to live in the fear of God! To feel His kind watchful eye always upon us for good; His hand always stretched out for our aid. To realise His presence wherever we go, and feel sure nothing can happen to us without His will.

Let us not rest till we can say Yes, at any moment, I am ready! Then if death come and summon us away in the bloom of youth, or leave us to old age, we shall be able to exclaim: "I have done with this world and all it contains. I find nothing here that can satisfy the cravings of my inmortal spirit. Come, Lord Jesus. Come, take me to Thyself, for nothing can satisfy me but Thee." Then you will be in possession of that for which all the saints of God labour, strive, and pray-"a crown of life" which the Lord Jesus will give to His redeemed people at that great day.

Reader, may it be yours and mine. Remember the words of Jesus: "Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life."

'Firm in His footsteps may we tread,

Learn every lesson of His love,

And be from grace to glory led,

From heaven below to heaven above."

Our Pet Fern.

UCH a glorious, healthy, spreading hart's
tongue fern!
It would have graced a fern-
case in a queen's palace. It might have
been the pride of a skilful gardener in a
fern-house; but it is not here that our pet
flourishes.

No, at the end of a little garden, in the town of A, in the beautiful province of Normandy, is a deep, dark well.

There are twenty-five feet of solid stone-work, down, down, ever so far, before you get to the water; and no one knows how deep is the well below that calm surface, which no passing breeze ever ruffles. But what about the fern?

Let me tell you. Inside the well, about a foot from the top, striking its roots deep into the damp crevices of the inhospitable walls, extending its long delicate fronds with a graceful droop, grows our fern.

There it lives, unseen save by the few who go for the special purpose of looking at it. There it flourishes; the very darkness and damp are its nourishment.

Gazing down into the unknown depths beneath, it fears not, for its roots are wrapped about the place of stones.

There is no morbidness about it; it has been planted there by God's own hand, and without a misgiving it makes itself at home; contented, trusting, healthy, happy. But this is not all. Life craves worth, and to be contented and happy, one must also be useful. Look down into the well. See, growing lower and lower still, those little clumps of delicate green, nestling among the stones nearer the water.

Whence have they come?

It is easy to see. Life has begotten life. The ripe seeds that fell from the great fern at the well's mouth have lodged in the crevices farther down, and have grown, until now the

dark hole is tenanted by some of the fairest of Nature's children.

Surely there is a lesson in all this?

Are

Are there none of us whose lot is cast in darkness? there not some amongst us who fare hardly, and have to cling, as it were, to the very stones for a foothold? And have we never complained and asked, "Why should these things be?"

Supposing we took up the ferns that grow in the well, and planted them carefully in the brightest and sunniest part of the garden, where the rich light would bathe them all day long, and soft summer airs would fan and woo their lovely leaves. What then? Would they flourish? Alas! no. The life of flowers and fruit is the death of ferns. God knew what He was doing when He planted them in the damp and the dark.

Well, wherever we are, it is God who has planted us too. If we bask in the sunshine, it is because He sees that the sun will ripen and perfect us. If we lie in the damp and the shadow, it is because these are the conditions which will best develop our spiritual life.

What then remains for us to do? Why, of course, to make the best of life, whatever it brings. True happiness and contentment come not from without. They are the fruit of Christ's love and the Spirit's work in the soul. We may be at rest in our own consciences, and at work for others wherever we are; and then the joys and sorrows of the outer life, while they discipline and teach us, will not touch our inward peace.

Nothing can move us, nothing can really injure; and we can truthfully say, with one of our sweetest hymn-writers:

"My heart is resting; oh, my God,

I will give thanks and sing;

My heart is at the secret source
Of every precious thing."

M. E. R.

SIMPLE and touching song tells the secret of a

happy home:

"Hearts and homes! sweet words of pleasure,

Music breathing as ye fall;

Making each the other's treasure:

Once divided, losing all.

Homes, ye may be high or lowly,
Hearts alone can make ye holy;
Be the dwelling e'er so small,
Having love it boasteth all."

True love, the love of God shed abroad in each heart, a tender, forbearing love one for the other, it is this which brings real blessings to the home. Such a home was that at Nazareth, where Joseph and Mary and the holy child Jesus dwelt.

Such a home was that of the sisters of Bethany, where the love of Christ knit together in one holy bond the heart of Martha and Mary and their brother Lazarus.

But, alas! there are many homes the very reverse of this picture. They are dwellings, but can scarcely be called homes. There is so much of evil, so much of misery, so little of family affection, so little of anything that is holy and pure and lovely, that it seems strange how men and women are content to live in such a condition.

Take the drunkard's home. In too many cases we find the curse of drink has utterly destroyed all the comfort and peace that might once have been in the house. The husband becomes a terror to his wife and children. She often fears his return, for the man who once promised to love and to cherish her has become cruel and unfeeling whenever under the power of the cup. The house presents, not seldom, a picture of desolation. No well-kept furniture, no bright and happy faces; but filth, and misery, and poverty, and rags, bear witness to the habits of those who dwell there. I went into such a home one day. I saw a woman weeping bitterly. I asked her the cause of her sorrow.