March 11

9 After this I beheld, and, lo, a great multitude, which no man could number, of all nations, and kindreds, and people, and tongues, stood before the throne, and before the Lamb, clothed with white robes, and palms in their hands.

10 And cried with a loud voice, saying, Salvation to our God which sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb.

11 And all the angels stood round about the throne, and about the elders and the four beasts, and fell before the throne on their faces, and worshipped God.

12 Saying, Amen, Blessing, and glory, and wisdom, and thanksgiving, and honour, and power, and might, & unto our God for ever and ever. Amen.

13 And one of the elders answered, saying

unto me, What are these which are arrayed in white robes? and whence came they?

14 And I said unto him, Sir, thou knowest, And he said to me, These are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.

15 Therefore are they before the throne of God, and serve him day and night in his temple; and he that sitteth on the throne shall dwell among them.

16 They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat.

17 For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters; and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.

A minister of the Gospel was one day visiting a pious old woman who was in the poor-house. While conversing with her on the comforts, prospects, and rewards of religion, he saw an unusual lustre beaming from her countenance, and the calmness of Christian triumph glistening in her eye. Addressing her by name, he said: "Will you tell me what thought it was that passed through your mind which was the cause of your appearing so

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joyful?" The reply was, "Oh, sir, I was just thinking what a change it will be from the poor-house to heaven!"

"No man can guard himself against suffering in a world that is sin-smitten and shrouded with troubles; in a world where God educates men by trials and afflictions; in a world where there is an endless funeral march, and where sorrow beats the drum to which all men in the procession keep step. In such a world men must suffer, and suffer to the end. But oh, the cleansing of suffering! God grant that we may have the cleansing, and not the baptism alone. God grant that there may be such a cleansing that by-and-by, in some future world, another revelator shall stand and see you and yours shouting in the throng of ineffable glory, and, being asked, 'Who are these, and whence came they?' shall say of them and you, 'These are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.'"—H. W. Beecher.

Closet Promise.—In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also.—John xiv. 2, 3.

My heart is turning homeward. Each red sun That sets behind the mountains, brings to mind

My Father's house; where, when the journey's done,

These pilgrim footsteps shall sweet resting find;

Oh! sunless, moonless city!—yet so bright! Thy Maker and thy Builder is thy light!

Often, in blessed dreams, I hear the flow Of the life river thro' thy golden street;

I hear the voice of harpers, with their harps Forever praising at Jehovah's feet;

I see thy jasper walls, so high and fair,

Thy twelve pearl gates—the angel watchers there.

All thy foundations are of precious stones, Thou wondrous dwelling of the saved and blest!

Where saints and martyrs blend in joyous tones Great triumph sings of glory and of rest; City of many mansions! 'tis in thee Mine Elder Brother keeps a place for me.

He, who went down to darkest depths of woe, Who left the Father's bosom for my sake; Whose matchless love no seraph tongue may show, Who slept in death that I to life might wake, My risen Lord, my Saviour, and my King, Shall His redeemed unto His city bring.

Oh! blessed thought of comfort; each swift day But brings me nearer to my heart's dear home;

They shall the former things have passed away. To that high noon no evening shadows come, Pass on, brief earthly hours!—or dark or bright I question not—the end is peace and light —Mrs. Lizzie Fenner Baker.