Well, wife, l've found the model church ! I worsliipeil there day; It made me think of good oíd times, befoio my hairs were gray. ïhe meetin'-house was fiuer built than they were years ago ; But then I found, whon I went in, it wasu't bmlt for show. The sexton didn't Beat me 'way back by the door ; He knew that t was old and deaf , as well aB old and poor, He must have been a Christian, for he led me boldly tfarongh The long aisle of that pleasant church to flnd a pleaBant pew. I wish you'd heard the eiugin'- it had the old-time ring - The preacher paid with trumpet voice, " Let all the people Bing ;" The tune was " CoronatioD," and the music upward roUed TUI I thought I heard the angels striking all their harps of gold. My deaf ness seemed to melt away, my spirit eaught the fire, I joined my feeble, trembling voice with that nielodious choir, And sang, as in my youthful days, "Let angels prostrate fall, Bring forth the royal diadem and crown Him Lord of all." I teil you, wife, it did me good to sing that hynin once more ; I feit like some wrecked mariner who gets a glimpso of Bhore ; I almost want to lay aside this weathor-beaten form And anchor in the blessed port forever from the storm. The nreachin' ! well, I can't juBt tel! all that the ") reacher said ; I know it wasn't written, I know it wasn't road ; He hadn't time to read, for tho iightnin' of kis eye Went passing 'long from pew to pew, nor passed a sinner by. The sermón wasn't flowery, 'twas simple gospel truth. It fitted poor old men like me, it fltted hopeful youth. 'Twas full of consolation for weary hearts that bleed, 'Twas full of invitotions to Christ - and not to creed. The preacher made sin bidcous in Gentiles and in Jews ; He shot the golden sentences straight at the flnest pews. And, tliough I can't see very well, I saw the falling tear That told me he'J was some way off, and heaven very near, How swift the golden moments fied within that holy place ; How brightly beameil the light of heaven from every happy face ! Agaúl I longed for that sweet time when friend shall meet with friend, When congreeations ne'er break up and Sabbalhs have no end. I hope to meet that minister, the congregation, too, In the dear home beyond the Bkies, that shines from heaven's blue, I doubt not ril remember, beyond life's evening gray, The face of God's dear servant who proclaimed His word to-day. Dear wife, tho fiht will soon be fought, the victory be won, The shining goal is just ahead, the race is nearly run. O'er the river we are nearin' they are throngm' to the shore To shout our Bafe arrival where the weary weep no more.