s^..-.:. §mvi^i ^n Slielf...i,Z:> UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. SONGS IN THE NIGHT-WATCHES I / ; 5 Songs in the Night- Watches From Voices Old and New COMPILED / HELEN H. STRONG THOMPSON "And the night shall be filled with music** .. ALL is of God ! If He but wave His hand The mists collect, the rains fall thick and loud, Till with a smile of light on sea and land Lo ! He looks back from the departing cloud. God sets some souls in shade, alone ; They have no daylight of their own : Only in lives of happier ones They see the shine of distant suns. 38 Songs in SDarkness. God knows. Content thee with thy night, Thy greater heaven hath grander light. To-day is close ; the hours are small ; Thou sitt'st afar, and hast them all. Mrs. a. D. T. Whitney. " You have said That God is just, and I have looked around To seek the proof in human lot, in vain. The rain falls kindly on the just man's fields, But on the unjust man's more kindly still ; And I have never known the winter's blast, Or the quick lightning, or the pestilence, Make nice discriminations when let slip From God's right hand." " 'Tis a great mystery; Yet God is just, and blessed be His name ! Is loving, too. I know that T am weak. And that the pathway of His Providence Is on the hills where I may never climb. Therefore my reason yields her hand to Faith, And follows meekly where the angel leads. I see the rich man have his portion here, And Lazarus, in glorified repose, Sleep like a jewel on the breast of Faith In Heaven's broad light. I see that whom God loves He chastens sorely, but I ask not why. I only know that God is just and good : w gongs in SDatkness. 39 All else is mystery. Why evil lives Within His universe I may not knov^. I know it lives, and taints the vital air ; And that in ways inscrutable to me — Yet compromising not his soundless love And boundless power — it lives against His will." J. G. Holland, in '''Bitter-Sweet:^ THE clouds may rest on the present, And sorrow on days that are gone, But no night is so utterly cheerless That we may not look for the dawn ; And there is no human being With so wholly dark a lot, But the heart by turning the picture May find a sunny spot. Phcebe Gary. THE stars are in the sky all day : But when the sun has gone away And hovering shadows cool the west And call the sleepy birds to rest, And heaven grows softly dim and dun. Into its darkness one by one Steal forth those starry shapes all fair — We say steal forth, but they were there ! 4o Songs in JDarkness. There all day long, unseen, unguessed, Climbing the sky from east to west. The angels saw them where they hid, And so, perhaps, the eagles did. For they can face the sharp sun-ray, Nor wink, nor need to look away; But we, blind mortals, gazed from far, And did not see a single star. I wonder if the world is full Of other secrets beautiful. As little guessed, as hard to see. As this sweet starry mystery ! Do angels veil themselves in space, And make the sun their hiding place ? Do heavenly wings flash as spirits go On heavenly errands to and fro — While we, down-looking, never guess How near our lives they crowd and press ? If so, at life's set we may see Into the dusk steal noiselessly. Sweet faces that we used to know. Dear eyes like stars that softly glow. Dear hands stretched out to point the way, ~ And deem the night more fair than day. Susan Coolidge. II. SONGS IN HEAVINESS. **Down, thou climbing sorrow ! thy element is below ! ** Then come the gloomy hours, when the fire wHl neither burn on our hearths nor in our hearts, and all without and within is dismal, cold and dark." ** Who ne'er his bread in sorrow ate, Who ne'er the mournful midnight hours Weeping upon his bed hath sate, He knows ye not, ye Heavenly Powers ! " ** Grief within our hearts grows strong With passionate meaning, till thou come And turn it to a song." SONGS IN HEAVINESS, Strike ! Thou the anthem, we, Thy keys I ' I THINK we are too ready with complaint In this fair world of God's. Had we no hope Indeed, beyond the zenith and the slope Of yon gray blank sky, we might grow faint To muse upon Eternity's constraint Round our aspirant souls. But since the scope Must widen early, is it well to droop For a few days consumed in loss and taint ? O pusillanimous heart, be comforted. And, like a cheerful traveler, take the road Singing, beside the hedge. What if the bread Be bitter in thine inn, and thou unshod To meet the flints ? At least it may be said, "Because the way is short, I thank thee, God ! " E. B. Browning. \ 44 Songs in ^eat)iness WHEN the song*s gone out of your life, That you thought would last to the end- That first sweet song of the heart, That no after days can lend — The song of the birds to the trees, The song of the wind to the flowers, The song that the heart sings to itself When it wakes in life's morning hours — You can start no other song ; Not even a tremulous note Will falter forth on the empty air ; It dies in your aching throat. It is all in vain that you try, For the spirit of song has fled — The nightingale sings no more to the rose When the beautiful flower is dead. So let silence softly fall On the bruised heart's quivering strings, Perhaps from the loss of all ; / You may learn the song that the seraph sings, I , A grand and glorious psalm / \ That will tremble and rise and thrill, And fill your breast with its grateful rest, And its lonely yearnings still. f / ^ Songs in ^cavincBB. 45 NOT so hopeless, drooping spirit, Yon clouds at length will rise ; And beyond them in the distance Spreads a realm of sunny skies. God's promise standeth fast. And the glory breaks at last ; Peace is rising out of strife. Death is dying into life. Up springs the eternal sun. Heaven and earth will soon be one. HORATIUS BONAR. IS thy cruise of comfort failing ? Rise and share it with another, And through all the years of famine It shall serve thee and thy brother ; Love divine will fill thy storehouse, Or thy handful still renew ; Scanty fare for one will often Make a royal feast for two. Mrs. Charles. I REMEMBER best The good time when we were unhappy ; then When we were full of sorrows and unrest, Without a friend among the sons of men. 46 Songs in ^eamness. We found " the Comforter," we found " the Light," We found " the Strength " beyond our doubts and fears ; We met with angels both by day and night, And touched " the Hand " that wiped away our tears. Amelia E. Barr. OUR course is onward, onward, into light : What though the darkness gathereth amain ? Yet to return or tarry both are vain. How tarry, when around us is thick night ? Whither return ? What flower yet ever might, In days of gloom and cold and stormy rain, Inclose itself in its green bud again — Hiding from wrath of tempest out of sight ? Courage ! we travel through a darksome cave. But still, as nearer to the light we draw, Fresh gales will reach us from the upper air And w^holesome dews of heaven our foreheads lave ; The darkness lighten more, till, full of awe, We stand in open sunshine — unaware. Trench. THERE is always sunrise somewhere Though the night be 'round thee drawn, Somewhere still the east is bright'ning With the rosy flush of dawn. Bongs in ^eamness. 47 What though near the bat is flitting And the raven croaks his lay, Somewhere still the sun-bird's greeting Hails the rising of the day ! Let us lay to heart the comfort In this sweet reflection found, That however dense our darkness Somewhere still the world around Dews are glistening, flowers uplifting, Wild birds warbling, as reborn, Lakes and streams and woods and mountains Melting in the kiss of morn ! Ne'er was night, however dismal. But withdrawn its wings of gloom. Ne'er was sorrow, but a day-star Hinted of the morrow's bloom ! Ne'er was woe, but in its bosom Was the seed of hope impearled ; There is still a sunrise somewhere. Speeding, speeding round the world ! THESE saddened years ! These saddened years ! Pain, parting, sin — so much for tears ; So many failings that I mourn. So many loved ones from me torn, 48 QouQB in ^eamness. The griefs of others on me pressed ; Yet Lord, since thou hast thought it best, I thank thee for these saddened years. These toilsome years ! These toilsome years ! Whose work like sunlight disappears Awhile ! The toil of heart and mind To help the weak, to lead the blind, To guide the strong with zealous care ; — Yes, Lord, in many an earnest prayer I thank thee for these toilsome years. Rev. W. R. Cochrane. O WEARY hearts that languish With heavy grief oppressed, Say to your dreary anguish There's One who knoweth best. Our short, scant lines, ne'er measure His purpose reaching far. Look upward through the azure, Where shines the polar star ! Adelaide George Bennett. Songs in ^eamness. 49 .... On every morrow are we wreathing A flowery band to bind us to the earth, Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth Of nobler natures, of the gloomy days, Of all the unhealthy and darkened ways Made for our searching ; yes, in spite of all. Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits. Keats. GOD lifts the soul or casts it down. And schools it in His own wise way. And fits it to receive a crown, In some great Coronation Day. Hope cries, " Rejoice ! thou shalt be blest 1 ** Faith cries, " Whate'er befalls is best ; " Come ! drink the sweet or bitter cup, And suffer on and struggle up. Abraham Perry Miller. W E, ignorant of ourselves, Beg often our own harm, which the Wise Powers Deny us for our good : so find we profit By losing of our prayers. Shakespearh. 4 50 Songs in ^^eatJiness. IN the dusk of our sorrowful hours, The time of our trouble and tears, With frost at the heart of the flowers, And blig-ht on the bloom of the years, Like the mother-voice tenderly hushing The sound of the sob and the moan. We hear when the anguish is crushing, " He trod in the wine-press alone." How sudden soe'er the disaster. Or heavy the hand that may smite. We are yet in the grace of the Master, We never are out of his sight ; Though the winnowing w^inds of temptation May forth from all quarters be blown, We are sure of the coming salvation, — The Lord will remember his own. From him, in the night of his trial. Both heaven and earth fled away ; His boldest had only denial. His dearest had only dismay. With a cloud o'er the face of the Father, He entered the anguish unknown ; But we, though our sorrows may gather. Shall never endure them alone. We bend in the human frail fashion. And sway 'neath the weight of the rod. But swift in its blessed compassion Still hastens the help of our God. Songs in ^tavincBs. 51 And the sigh of the spirit faint-hearted Goes up in a song to the throne, Such strength in its need is imparted : — ** He trod in the wine-press alone." And therefore he knows to the utmost, The pangs that the mortal can bear ; No mortal hath pain that the Master Refuses to heal or to share. And the cries that ascend to the Loving Who bowed Him for us to atone. Are hushed at the gentle reproving, "He trod in the wine-press alone.'* Margaret E. Sangster. CRUSH the dead leaves under thy feet. Gaze not on them with mournful sigh ; Think not earth has no glory left. Because a few of its frail things die ; Springtime will bring fresh verdure as sweet — Crush the dead leaves under thy feet. Look not back with despairing heart, Think not life's morning has been in vain, Rich, broad fields lie before thee yet. Ready to yield their golden grain ; 52 Songs in i^eammss. Autumn may bring thee a fruitage sweet- Crush the dead leaves under thy feet. Murmur not, if shadows fall Thick and dark on thy earthly way ; Hearts there are which must walk in shade. Till they reach the light of eternal day; Life is not long, and the years are fleet, Crush the dead leaves under thy feet. AS torrents in summer, Half dried in their channels Suddenly rise, though the Sky is still cloudless, For rain has been falling Far off at their fountains : So hearts that are fainting Grow full to o'erflowing, And they that behold it Marvel, and know not That God at their fountains Far off has been raining. From "The Nun of Nidaros.' Songs in ^cavincBQ. 53 EVERY clay is a fresh beginning, Every morn is the world made new, You who are weary of sorrow and sinning. Here is a beautiful hope for you ; A hope for me and a hope for you. All the past things are past and over, The tasks are done and the tears are shed. Yesterday's errors let yesterday cover ; Yesterday's wounds which smarted and bled, Are healed with the healing which night has shed. Yesterday now is a part of forever ; Bound up in a sheaf which God holds tight, With glad days and sad days and bad days which never Shall visit us more with their bloom and their blight, Their fullness of sunshine or sorrowful night. Let them go, since we cannot re-live them, Cannot undo and cannot atone ; God in His mercy receive, forgive them ; Only the new days are our own. To-day is ours and to-day alone. Every day is a fresh beginning ; Listen, my soul, to the glad refrain. And spite of old sorrow and older sinning, And puzzles forecasted and possible pain, Take heart with the day, and begin again. Susan Coolidgb. 54 Songs in ^^eamness. TAKE unto Thyself, O Father, This folded day of thine, This weary day of mine. Its ragged corners cut me yet, — Oh still the jar and fret ! Father do not forget That I am tired With this marred day of thine, This erring day of mine ! Forget not but forgive. AS on wrecked battle grounds, Some black-robed piteous nun Binds up the bleeding wounds When the day's fight is done, So, stealing o'er the way Where garishly has passed The heated, burdened day To wither, bruise and blast, Night comes in sable dress, With soothing, soft caress To heal and sweetly bless. Sad eyes, which long do weep, Hearts heavy, sick and worn. Praying for peaceful sleep, Hands weary, brier-torn. Songs in ^cavintBB. 55 Feet that for courted rest Halt by the sunset gate, Welcome this dark-robed guest And for her coming wait. Bird of the broken wing Cease now thy sorrowing, Night-time doth healing bring. Adelaide George Bennett. RAISE it to heaven when thine eye fills with tears, For only in a watery sky appears The bow of light ; and from the invisible skies Hope's glory shines not, save through weeping eyes. Frances Kemble Butler. IN my right hand I clasp to-morrow's grief, And in my left hand is held the present woe ; No other hand have I wherewith to grasp The needed strength and wearily I go Weighed down by these two loads, and aching sore ; And sore dismayed, because no help I see ; And sore perplexed, because my greater load Doth make me lean and walk unevenly. 56 Songs in ^camncBB. I lean towards my right, — to-morrow's load Is so much greater than the present grief; But lo ! at last, for my right hand I find A wondrous strength, a marvelous relief. God takes this right-hand load ; I need not hold To-morrow's woe ; and now my hand is free To grasp the strength I so much need to-day. I grasp it, Christ, whene'er I cling to thee. Anna Temple. BLESSED are they who are homesick, for they shall come again to their Father's house. Heinrich Stilling. LIKE a thorn in the flesh, like a fly in the mesh, Like a boat that is chained to shore, The wild unrest of the heart in my breast Tortures me more and more. I know not why it should wail and cry. Like a child that is lost at night ; For it knows no grief but has found relief, And it is not touched with blight. Songs in ^eamness. 57 It has had of pleasure full many a measure, It has thrilled with love's red wine ; It has hope and health, and youth's rare wealth — O rich is this heart of mine ! Yet it is not glad — it is wild and mad, Like a billow before it breaks ; And its ceaseless pain is worse than vain, Since it knows not, only it aches. It longs to be like the waves of the sea. That break from control, and beat, And dash, and lunge, and hurry and plunge, And die at the gray rock's feet. It wearies of life, and it sickens of strife ; And yet it tires of rest. Oh, I know not why it should ache and cry — Tis a troublesome heart at best. Though not understood, I think 'tis a good And god-like discontent. It springs from the soul that longs for its goal, The source from which it was sent. Then surge, O breast ! with thy wild unrest — Cry, heart ! like a child at night — Till the mystic shore of the evermore Shall dawn on the soul's glad sight. Ella Wheeler. S^ Bongs in ^eamnesa. Tired ! well, what of that ? Didst fancy life was spent on beds of ease ? Fluttering the rose leaves scattered by the breeze ? Come, rouse thee, while it is called to-day ! Coward, arise ! go forth upon thy way. Lonely ! and what of that ? Some must be lonely ! 'tis not given to all To feel a heart responsive rise and fall ; To blend another life into its own. Work may be done in loneliness. Work on. Dark ! well, what of that ? Didst fondly dream the sun would never set } Dost fear to lose thy way ? Take courage yet ! Learn thou to walk by faith and not by sight. Hard ! well, what of that ? Didst fancy life one summer holiday ? With lessons none to learn, and naught to pay ? Go, get thee to thy task. Conquer or die ! It must be learned. Learn it then, patiently. No help ! Nay, 'tis not so ! Though human lielp be far, thy God is nigh, Who feeds the ravens, hears His children's cry. He's near thee, whereso'er thy footsteps roam, And he will guide thee, light thee, help thee home. Songs in ^camneBG. 59 OSOUL of mine, when tasks are hard and long, And Hfe so crowds thee with its stress and strain That thou, half fainting, art too tired to pray, Drink thou this wine of blessing and be strong ! God knows ! what though the lips be dumb with pain, Or the pen drops ? He knows what thou would'st say ! TEARS are not always fruitful ; their hot drops Sumetimes but scorch the cheek and dim the eyes ; Despairing murmurs over blackened hopes. Not the meek spirit's calm and chastened cry. Oh, better not to weep, than weep amiss ; Full hard it is to learn to weep aright ; — To weep wise tears, the tears that heal and bless, The tears which their own bitterness requite. Oh, better not to grieve tiian waste our woe. To fling away the spirit's finest gold. To lose, not gain, by sorrow, to overflow The sacred channels which true sadness holds. 6o Songs in ^camncBQ. To shed our tears as trees their blossoms shed, Not all at random, but to make sure way For fruit in season, when the bloom lies dead, On the chill earth, the victim of decay : — This is to use the grief that God has sent. To read the lesson, and to learn the love, To sound the depths of saddest chastisement, To pluck on earth, the fruit of realms above. Weep not too fondly, lest the cherished grief Should into vain, self-pitying weakness turn ; Weep not too long, but seek divine relief. Weep not too fiercely, lest the fierceness burn. Husband your tears ; if lavished, they become Like waters that inundate and destroy, For active, self-denying days leave room, So shall you sow in tears and reap in joy. HORATIUS BONAR. LATE on me weeping, did this whisper fall : " Dear child, there is no need to weep at all ! Why go about to grieve and to despair ? Why weep now through thy Future's eyes, and bear In vain to-day to-morrow's load of care ? Songs in i^eamness. 6i •* Mine is thy welfare. Yea, the storms fulfill On those who love me, none but my decrees. Lightning- shall not strike thee against my will ; And I, thy God, can save thee, when I please, From quaking earth, and the devouring seas. " Why be so dull, so slow to understand ? The more thou trustest me, the more will grov/ My love ; and thou, a jewel in my hand, Shalt richer be ; whence thou canst never go So softly slipping but that I shall know. " If thou dost seem to fall ; if griefs and pains And death prevail ; for thee there yet remains My love which sent them, and which surely will Thee reinstate, where thou shalt thenceforth fill A place still warmer, and more steadfast still.'* Father ! (I said) I do accept Thy word, To perfect trust in Thee now am I stirred, By the dear, gracious saying I have heard. — And having said thus, fell a peace so deep. What could I do, dear friends ? what do, but weep ? Septimus Sutton, 1800. R OLL on, O earth ! roll on, and swing Past midnight, and the morning bring. 62 Songs in i^eamness. Roll on, sad earth ! too prone we are To dwell among the tombs, and swear A dumb allegiance to despair : For all the prophets of the sky, Foretell, when scarlet sunsets die A golden sunrise by and by. Edwin S. Hopkins. f. III. SONGS IN TEMPTATION. ' * We saw as angels see ; through loss and sinnings. " " For him that overcometh are The new name written on the stone, The raiment white, the crown, the throne. And I will give him the Morning Star ! '* ** In the midst of much failure, have the heart to begin again." * * Of our vices we can frame A ladder, if we will but tread Beneath our feet each deed of shame * SONGS IN TEMPTATION. Lives in the darkness show Their whiteness best." In the throng Of evils that assail us, there are none That yield their strength to Virtue's struggling arm With such munificent reward of power As great temptations. We may win by toil Endurance ; saintly fortitude by pain ; By sickness, patience; faith and trust by fear; But the great stimulus that spurs to life, And crowds to generous development Each chastened power and passion of the soul, Is the temptation of the soul to sin. Resisted, and reconquered, evermore. J. G. Holland, 66 Songs in temptation. GIVE strength when'er our strength must fail ; Give strength the flesh to curb; Give strength when craft and sin prevail. To weaken and disturb. The world doth lay her snares To catch us unawares : Give strength to sweep them all away ; So in our utmost need, And when death comes indeed, Thy strength shall be our perfect stay. Marperger. WHAT though we grope and stumble in the way. The thorny way by which our feet are led ? Still strive to walk uprightly, and to lay Foundation firm for other feet to tread. Laura B. Boyce. I DO not know the deadly depths within, Where lurk my heart's capacities of wrong, I cannot fathom what I might have been, Abandoned to myself to drift along The seething floods, whose cruel undertow Clutches unwary souls, had not the hand Of the strong Swimmer, buffeting the flow Of death, upheld my life and drawn to land. 00ng0 in temptation. 67 I only know that from my fatal self One who is strong preserved me ! and I owe My rescuing to Him, who treads the shelf Where sea meets shore along this treacherous coast, To watch the overbold, who dare the woe Of waters, lest their powers give up the ghost. M. Wooi^EY Stryker. THIS shall please Thee, if devoutly trying To keep Thy laws, mine own wrong will denying, I watch mine heart, lest sin again enchain it, And from Thee tear it. But since 1 have not strength to flee temptation, To crucify each sinful inclination, O ! let Thy grace and strength provide me. And gently guide me. JOHANN HeERMAN, X630. M Y heart grows strong, Whene'er I feel Thy love. Most High, Doth compass me around ; 6S Songs in STemjitation. But would I have Thee for m}^ shield, No more to sin my soul must yield, But in Thy ways be found ; Thou God w^ilt ever walk with me, If I turn not aside from Thee. Duke of Brunswick, 1667. '|\TEATH some shadow oft I wait, 1 1 Like blind Bartimeus at the gate ; Assured that when my Lord draws nigh, Sin, doubt and darkness all shall fly : Hence to His cross I cHng the more. Whene'er these shadows touch my door. John Orj^rohavx^ /rom " Shadoivs of the Te7npted. GREAT truths are greatly w^on; not found by chance, Nor wafted on the breath of summer dreams ; But grasped in the great struggle of the soul, Hard buffeted with adverse wind and stream. In the dark day of conflict, fear and grief, When the strong hand of God, put forth in might, Plows up the subsoil of the stagnant heart And brings the imprisoned truth-seed to the light. HORATIUS BONAR. Songs in Semptation. 69 On finding a Lily growing in the dry bed of a Pond. NEVER on the clear bright billow, Lifted from her lowly bed, Never on a wavelet pillow Rested she her gentle. head, Still the torturing, upward yearning Instincts of her dainty race, Bade her from the dull earth turning, Rise in purity and grace. ** Mocking every aspiration Prone and helpless here I lie," This in hours of dark temptation, Was her spirit's anguished cry. *' Vain the hopes, the longings endless, For a freer, brighter life, Making me more lone and friendless. Wearying me with useless strife. Let my better nature perish ; Nevermore will I aspire, Nevermore will seek to cherish Higher instinct, pure desire ; On these weeds will gaze admiring Nodding in this earth-born breeze. Coarse, contented, unaspiring, Would I were like one of these." But the sunbeams on her falling, Roused from that despairing chill. And the voice within her calling, Bade her be a lily still ! 70 Bongs in S^mptation. Wind-borne from some purer region, Came this testimony free ; ** Fear not, for their name is Legion Who have hoped and toiled like thee ; Slowly, painfully, thou learnest What thy destiny must be ; All thine inner promptings earnest Are but glorious prophecy. Faithful to the highest duty, Hope, yet work with heart and will ; Thou shalt yet arise in beauty, Thou shalt be a lily stilly Then as to some touch mysterious; Every inmost heartstring thrilled, While her spirit, thoughtful, serious, With a wondrous joy was filled. Blessed hours of exaltation ! Memories of such rapture rare, Saved her from her dark temptation. Strengthened her against despair : Though no partial friends beholding Cheered her with delicious praise, All unmarked her slow unfolding Through the long, long summer days ; Though half doubtful of her mission. Dreading lest her power might fail, Musing on that dream elysian, Hopeful grew the lily pale. Songs in QLcmpiation. 71 All its meaning" scarce divining Still new efforts she put forth ; For the vital moistures pining, Deeper struck her roots in earth, Gratefully her thirst allaying Every dewdrop gathered up, Choice perfumes from zephyrs straying Hoarded in her pearly cup. Once, to let the sunbeams enter, Dared to ope that chalice white ; When instantly her heart's deep center Caught that golden radiance bright. So she kept her pure corolla Free from earthly soil or stain, Till the autumn winds blew hollow — Till the welcome autumn rain. Then a little pool collected Raised her on her slender stem, And the lily was perfected Fairer than the fairest gem. Augusta Harvey Worthen. They only the victory win Who have fought the good fight and have vanquished the demon that tempts us within ; Who have held to their faith, unseduced by the prize that the world holds on high ; Who have dared for a high cause to suffer, resist, fight — if need be, to die. 72 Songs in ®em:ptali0n. LORD, be mine this prize to win ; — Guide me through a world of sin ; Keep me by Thy saving grace ; Give me at Thy side a place ; Sun and Shield alike Thou art, Guide and guard my erring heart ; Grace and glory flow from Thee, Shower, O shower them, Lord, on me. Kappy souls, w^hose praises flow. Ever in this vale of woe ; Waters in the desert rise, Manna feeds them from the skies ; On they go from strength to strength. Till they see Thy face at length, At Thy feet adoring fall Who hast led them safe through all. H. F. Lyte, 1834. God liveth ever ! Wherefore, Soul, despair thou never ! Our God is good, in every place His love is known, his help is found ; His mighty arm, and tender grace Bring good from ills that hem us round. Songs in QLcmptation, 73 Easier than we think can he Turn to joy our agony. Soul, remember 'mid thy pains God o'er all forever reigns. God liveth ever ! Wherefore, Soul, despair thou nev^er ! He who can earth and heaven control, Who spreads the clouds on sea and land, Whose presence fills the mighty Whole, In each true heart is close at hand. Love him, he will surely send Help and joy that never end. Soul, remember in thy pains God o'er all forever reigns. God liveth ever ! Wherefore, Soul, despair thou never ! Those whom the thoughtless world forsakes Who stand bewildered with their woe, God gently to his bosom takes And bids them all his fullness know. In thy sorrow's swelling flood Own his hand who seeks thy good. Soul forget not in thy pains God o'er all forever reigns. God liveth ever ! Wherefore, Soul, despair thou never ! 74 00ngs in ®em?3latian. What though thou tread with bleeding feet A thorny path of shame and gloom, Thy God will choose the way most meet, To lead thee heavenwards, lead thee home. For this life's long night of sadness He will give thee peace and gladness, Soul, forget not in thy pains God o'er all forever reigns. ZlHN, 1500. OGOD, O Kinsman loved, but not enough ! O man, with eyes majestic after death, Whose feet have toiled along our pathways rough, Whose lips drawn human breath ! By that one likeness which is ours and thine, — By that one nature which doth make us kin, — By that high heaven, where sinless thou dost shine To draw us sinners in, — Come ! lest this heart should, cold and castaway, Die, ere the Guest adored it entertain, — Lest feet which slip upon the way Should miss thine heavenly reign. Jean Ingklow. SORELY tried and sorely tempted From no agonies exempted, Bongs in Qlcmviation. 75 In the penance of his trial. And the discipline of pain ; Often by illusions cheated, Often baffled and defeated In the tasks to be completed, He by toil and self-denial, To the highest shall attain. From Longfellow's *' Masque of Pandora.'* It is one thing to be tempted, another thing to fall, Shakespeare. THE past is mine, and I take it all, Its weakness — ^its folly, if you please ; Nay, even my sins, if you come to that, May have been helps, not hindrances. If I saved my body from the flames Because that once I had burned my hand ; Or kept myself from a greater sin By doing a less — you will understand — 7^ Songg in Sijetnptation. It was better I suffered a little pain, Better I sinned for a little time, If the smarting warned me bade from death, And the sting of sin withheld from crime. Who knows its strength by trial, will know What strength must be set against a sin ; And how temptation is overcome He has learned who has felt its power within. Phcebe Gary. TOSSED on temptation's sea Lord hear my cry ; All seems so dark around, Still art Thou nigh ? High roll the billows. Fierce is the fight; Lord, Thou hast left me Alone in the night ! ** Hush, thou of little faith, Cry not so wild. Know that I slumber not, Thou art my child : And when the trouble comes, Bend to my will ; I bid the wildest storm : Peace, be still ! " gangs in (temptation. 77 " 'T^EMPTED in all points like ourselves, was He — 1 Tempted, but sinless." Oh, what majesty Of meaning did those precious words convey ! 'Twas through temptation, thought I, that the Lord — The mediator between God and men — Reached down the hand of sympathetic love To meet the grasp of lost humanity. This man kneeling has the Lord in him. Tempted but sinless; — one hand grasping mine, The other Christ's. J. G. Holland. AND is there care in Heaven ? And is there love In heavenly spirits to these creatures base, That may compassion of their evils move ? There is, — else much more wretched were the case Of men, than beasts : . . . . How oft do they their silver bowers leave To come to succor us that succor w^ant ! How oft do they with golden pinions cleave The flitting skies, like flying pursuivant, Against foul fiends, to aid us militant ! They for us fight, they watch and duly ward, And their bright squadrons round about us plant, And all for love and nothing for reward ; O why should heavenly God to men have such regard? Edmund Spenser- IV. SONGS IN HUMILIATION. ** So shalt thou come to thy reaping, so shalt thou say — it is well — With lips redeemed from the curse, and soul from the uttermost hell ! '* ** Heaven to win a soul must bring it down." ** A noble heart like the sun showeth its greatest coun- tenance in its lowest estate.'* * * Hath any wronged thee ? Be bravely revenged. Slight it, and the work's begun. Forgive it, and *tis finished.'* SONGS IN HUMILIATION. *' We mount to heaven on the ruins of our cherished schemes, finding our failures were successes." 1WILL go forth 'mong men, not mailed in scorn, But in the armor of a pure intent ; Great duties are before me, and great songs. And whether crowned or crownless when I fall, It matters not, so as God's work is done. Alexander Smith. 'HP IS all I have — smoke, failure, foiled endeavor, 1 Coldness and doubt, and palsied lack : Such as I have, I send Thee, perfect Giver, Send Thou Thy lightning back ! Geo. Macdonald. 82 Songs in ilnmiliation. GROPEST thou in failure's valley Sad, disheartened and dismayed ? Lest as in the past thy footsteps May be yet again betrayed, Fix thine eyes upon the orient, Turn thee from the sorrow's feast, Till the never-failing sunrise Glorifies the darkened east ! BUT all through life I see a cross. Where sons of God yield up their breath ; There is no gain except by loss, There is no life except by death. There is no vision but by faith. No glory but by bearing shame. Nor justice but by taking blame ; And that Eternal Passion saith Be emptied of glory and right and name. Olrig Grange. SOFTLY sing the love of Jesus ! For our hearts are full of tears, And we think how walking humbly This low earth for weary years. Songs in humiliation. 83 Without riches, without dwelling, Wounded sore by foe and friend, In the garden and iij dying, Jesus loved us to the end. WHEN the sad soul in weariness Bows low, and knows its own distress, Nor finds through the extended earth The happiness pursued since birth, — Borne down with sorrow and the press Of a keen sense of little worth, — In these dear words its woes may drown, ** Whoso is faithful wears a crown." There is this thought for you and you ; God's providence is not untrue : He serves as well who bravely bears As he who with distinction shares, — There is a work for each to do : The soul that uncomplaining wears The chains wherewith it is enchained, Is sweeter for i he patience gained. To be exultant, good or strong, When praised or flattered by the throng — • When circumstance and men conspire To raise us to a level higher, — 84 Songs in i^nmiliation. This were not hard ; but if through long- Prosaic years we do not tire, Can in small things be tried yet true, This is to live as heroes do. Joseph W. Sutphen. '1 17" HAT else remains for me ? To build a new life on a ruined life. HOW shalt thou bear the cross that now So dread a weight appears ? Keep quietly to God, and think Upon the Eternal Years. Bear gently, suffer like a child, Nor be ashamed of tears: Kiss the sweet cross, and in thy heart Sing of the Eternal Years. And know'st thou not how bitterness An ailing spirit cheers ? Thy medicine is the strengthening thought Of the Eternal Years* Faber. 001X06 in ^humiliation. 85 HUMILITY is the base of every virtue, God keeps all His pity for the proud. Bailey. WHEN all the v^eary toil with which we wrought At our life's work, undaunted by defeat, Falls from the nerveless grasp, the goal we sought All unattained, our work all incomplete: Count not God's plan defeated in the life He gave to us, nor all our toil in vain, Because we are not victors in the strife : Who bravely fights and nobly bears his pain. Wrests victory from defeat. Not what we win, But what we strive for, doth the Master heed. If what we sought to be we have not been, Our striving may have helped another's need. Laura B. Boyck, GOD'S justice is a bed, where we Our anxious hearts may lay, And weary with ourselves, may sleep Our discontent away. 86 Songs in ^humiliation. I HAVE borne scorn and hatred, I have borne wrong and shame, Earth's proud ones have reproached me. For Christ's thrice-blessed name : Where God's seal set the fairest, They've stamped their foulest brand ; But judgment shines like noonday In Immanuel's land. OH, deem not they are blest alone Whose lives a peaceful tenor keep : For God who pities man, hath shown A blessing for the eyes that weep. The light of smiles shall fill again The lids that overflow with tears : And weary hours of woe and pain Are promises of happier years. There is a day of sunny rest For every dark and troubled night : And grief may bide an evening guest, But joy shall come with early light. Nor let the good man's trust depart^ Though life its common gifts deny : Though with a pierced and broken heart And spurned of 7nen he goes to die. gongs in i^nmiliation. 87 For God has marked each sorrowing day, And numbered every secret tear, And heaven's long age of bliss shall pay, For all his children suffer here ! Bryant. THE moon was pallid but not faint ; And beautiful as some fair saint, Serenely moving on her way In hours of trial and dismay. As if she heard the voice of God, Unharmed with naked feet she trod Upon the hot and burning stars, As on the glowing coals and bars. They were to prove her strength, and try Her holiness and purity. Longfellow. HEART, my heart, be strong ! Thou art shrinking from the pain, Wilt thou seek a rest from pain ? Seek rest — while on earth remain Sin and shame and wrong ? 88 Songs in ^mniliation. Heart, my heart, seek naught ; Naught for self. Thou art so lonely ? Christ into the desert lonely Calleth great souls : — Heart, so only Can thy work be wrought. Heart, my heart, be still ; Thou art crying out for love, Breaking, for the lack of love. Love abides with God above — Bear thou here the ill. A. Werner. BLEST, by whom most the cross is known ; God whets us on his grinding-stone ; Full many a garden 's dressed in vain, Where tears of sorrow never rain. In fiercest flames the gold is tried, In griefs the Christian 's purified. Midst crosses, faith her triumph knows, The palm-tree pressed more vigorous grows ; Go, tread the grapes beneath thy feet. The stream that flows is full and sweet. In trouble, virtues grow and shine. Like pearls beneath the ocean brine. 00ngs in ^^nmiliation. 89 Crosses abound, love seeks the skies ; Blow the rude winds, the flames arise : When hopeless gloom the welkin shrouds, The sun comes laughing through the clouds ; The cross makes pure affection glow, Like oil that on the fire we throw. Who wears the cross prays oft and well ; Bruised herbs send forth the sweetest smell ; Were ships ne'er tossed by stormy wind, The pole star who would care to find ? Had David spent no darksome hours, His sweetest songs had ne'er been ours. From trouble springs the longing hope ; From the deep vale we mount the slope ; Who treads the desert's dreariest way, For Canaan most will long and pray ; Here, finds the trembling dove no rest, Flies to the ark, and builds her nest. Oh, think upon that jewel fair, And heaviest griefs are light as air ! Tr. from Schmolkk, by Gurnky. 9^ Songs in ^nntiliation. IN a far-away land on a stone it is written, Chiseled in characters fair to the sight, In the place where He labored, loved and was smitten, *'The way of the Cross is the way of light." Beautiful words ! forever outsending- The story of Christ and His wonderful might, Telling of love to the lowest one bending, " The way of the Cross is the way of light." Beautiful truth, on my life be thy shining ! Sun of my day and star of my night ; So shall I walk unmoved, unrepining. " The way of the Cross is the way of light." FRET not thyself so sorely, heart of mine, For that the pain hath roughly broke thy rest,- That thy wild flowers lie dead upon thy breast, Whereon the cloud hath ceased to shine. Fret not that thou art seamed, and scarred and torn ; That clods are piled where tinted vetches were ; That long worms crawl to light, and brown rifts bare Of green and tender grasses, widely yawn. Songs in i^nmiUation. 91 God's hand is on the plow. So be thou still. Thou canst not see Him, for thine eyes are dim ; But wait in patience, put thy trust in Him — Give thanks for love, and leave thee to His will. Ah ! in due time the lowering clouds shall rain Soft drops on my parched furrows ; I shall sow In tears and prayers, and green corn blades will grow ;— I shall not wish the wild flowers back again. I shall be glad that I did work and weep — Be glad, O God, my slumbering soul did wake — Be glad my heart did heave and break Beneath the plow — when angels come to reap. OOD night, my foe ! not all the wrong is thine, ^^ My share I own ; Forgive ! we human know one word divine — The sun goes down ! Good night, good friend ! though poor my gifts to thee I will not fret ; The richer thou whose bounty is so free, And sweet my debt. 92 00ngs in ^nmiliation. No longer to revenge or to repay I strive or seek, Empty I came, most empty go away, Empty and weak. As one who wakes no more to smile or weep Another day. So would I humbly lay me down to sleep, And humbly say, — O Thou, who hadst not where to lay Thy head, As poor were I, Didst not Thy mercy make for me a bed Whereon to die. Harriet McEv/en Kimbali.. BE still, my soul ; Jehovah loveth thee ; Fret not nor murmur at thy humbled lot ; Though dark and lone thy journey seems to be, Be sure that thou art ne'er by Him forgot. He ever loves; then trust Him, trust Him still, Let all thy care be this, the doing of His will. HORATIUS BONAR. Songs in humiliation. 93 o H ! tried heart — God knows ! Not you nor I Who reach our hands for gifts That wise love must deny — We blunder, where we fain would do our best — Until aweary, then we cry, " Do Thou the rest ; " And in His hands the tangled skein we place Of our poor blind weaving with a shamed face — A.11 trust of ours He sacredly will keep; So tired heart — God knows ! Go thou to work or sleep. Mabel . IN this cruel fire of sorrow, Cast thy heart. Nor faint, nor wail, Let thy hand be firm and steady, Do not let thy spirit quail. Wait thou till the trial passes, Take thou then thy heart again, For as gold is tried by fire, So a heart is tried by pain. I shall know by the gleam and glitter Of the golden chain you wear. By your heart's calm strength in loving, Of the fire you had to bear. 94 Songs in ^tttniliation. Beat on, true heart, forever ! Shine ! bright, strong, golden chain, Blessing the cleansing fire, And the furnace of living pain ! Frances Ridley Havergal. HOW dark this world v^ould be If wrhen deceived and wounded here, We could not fly to Thee ! The friends, who in our sunshine live, When winter comes, are flown ; And he who has but tears to give. Must weep those tears alone. But thou wilt heal that broken heart, Which, like the plants that throw Their fragrance from the wounded part. Breathes sweetness out of woe. When joy no longer soothes or cheers, And e'en the hope that threw A moment's sparkle o'er our tears. Is dimmed and vanished too, Oh, who would bear life's stormy doom. Did not Thy Wing of Love Come, brightly wafting through the gloom Our Peace-branch from above ? Bongs in ^nmiliation. 95 Then sorrow, touched by Thee, grows bright With more than rapture's ray ; As darkness shows us worlds of light We never saw by day ! Thomas Moore. CAUGHT in the bitter net of circumstance We strive and faint amid each baffling fold, While careless fingers take or miss the chance, Or idle with the precious thing they hold ; And favored darlings of the w^orld look down From the fair height, by fate or birthright given, Wondering to see how under fortune's frown Along steep paths our tired feet are driven. Carest Thou not ? Our prized ambitions fail. Our dearest droop, in dull days shadowed too, Their young eyes forced to read the weary tale. While their vain struggles our past pangs renew; We fain would see, and save, and live, and laugh ; Fain would have honest heart and open hand ; Ah ! hope and love make but a breaking staff, When 'mid our shattered dreams alone we stand. Carest Thou not, O Lord ? Old age creeps on, Blighting each lingering bloom we dare to cherish; A little while, and the last day is done. Carest Thou not, O Lord, because we perish ? 96 Songs in ^humiliation. Oh, stretch the right hand, strong to stay and save ! Speak, through wild winds above,wild seas beneath; Say, despite failing life and opening grave, " Why will ye doubt, O ye of little faith ? " WE ask Thy Peace, O Lord ! Through storm and fear and strife, To light and guide us on, Through a long and struggling life; While no success or gai7i Shall cheer the desperate fight. Or nerve what the world calls Our wasted might : — Give us Thy Peace, O Lord, Divine and blest. Adelaide Proctor. V. SONGS IN POVERTY, ' ' Who through long days of labor, And nights devoid of ease, Still heard in his soul the music Of wonderful melodies." ** There is always hope for a man that actually and earnestly works." *' A man's a man for a.' that." "What is really best for us lies always within our reach." *' I am the minister of Mars, The strongest star among the stars ! My songs of power prelude. The march and battle of man's life And for the suffering and the strife I give him Fortitude ! " SONGS IN POVERTY. *' Let us wipe our tears, lift up our heads, and gird ourselves for brave and cheerful toil." THE helper of his mother, A faithful Hebrew lad. For sister and for brother Christ wrought with spirit glad ; And made that cottage lowly, That work-bench by the door, A labor lesson holy To love for evermore. O sing ! ye tired and tearful, What this sweet story saith ; For all that *s brave and cheerful Comes out of Nazareth ! loo Songs in JJotJerts. Let serving hands fly faster, New years new burdens bring, — Enough ! if liice your Master, The Carpenter and King. M. WooLSEY Stryker. Happiest man among men, Who, with hammer or chisel or pencil, with rudder or ploughshare or pen, Laboreth ever with hope through the morning of life. Round swings the hammer of industry, quickly the sharp chisel rings. And the heart of the toiler has throbbings that stir not the bosom of kings, — He the true ruler and conqueror, he the true king of his race, Who nerveth his arm for life's combat, and looks the strong world in the face. MacCarthy. LET us be patient with our lot, And hopeful of the morrow, Remembering there liveth not A soul exempt from sorrow ; Songs in JJoomg. loi And even should the cruel hand Of Poverty oppress us, Its griefs we better can withstand, If hopeful hearts possess us. Contentment cometh not from wealth. Nor ease from costly living ; The best of blessings peace and health Are not of fortune's giving; A happy heart dependeth not, On fortune's fickle treasures. But rather seeks a lowly lot, Content with simple pleasures. The ways of God are just and wise To every living creature, In every ill there underlies Some compensating feature, And when the lowly feel the rod Most sorely on them pressing. Full often is the living God Most lavish in His blessine. JosiAH Moody Fletcher. OH weary heart of the toiler ! Turn From the maze of doubt and the dust of strife, And look for once, on the empty urn, And the wide-strewn ashes of vanished life. I02 Songs in IJotJertg. And then, beholding thy better hope With starward gaze and dauntless brow, See the pearly gates which the angels ope; This is the fruit of the topmost bough. William Byrd Chrisholm. * Labor are est or are : We, black-visaged sons of toil, From the coal mine and the anvil, And the delving of the soil, — From the loom, the wharf, the warehouse, And the ever-whirling mill. Out of grim and hungry silence Raise a weak small voice and shrill ; — Lab or are est or are : Man dost hear us ? God, He will. We who just can keep from starving Sickly wives, — not always mild ; Trying not to curse Heaven's bounty When it sends another child, — We, who worn out, doze on Sundays O'er the Book we strive to read, Cannot understand the parson Or the catechism and creed, Lab or are est or are : — Then, good sooth, we pray indeed. * Labor is prayer. Bongs in JJcDartg. 103 Laborare est orare : Hear it, ye of spirit poor, Who sit crouching at the threshold While your brethren force the door ; Ye whose ignorance stands wringing Rough hands, seamed with toil, nor dares Lift so much as eyes to heaven, — Lo ! all life this truth declares, Laborare est orare j And the whole earth rings with prayers. Mjss Mulock. HE looks abroad into the varied field Of nature ; and though poor, perhaps, compared With those whose mansions glitter in his sight, Calls the delightful scenery all his own. His are the mountains, and the valleys his, And the resplendent rivers. His to enjoy With a propriety none can feel. But who, with filial confidence inspired, Can lift to heaven an unpresumptuous eye. And smiling say, " My Father made them all ! " Yes, ye may fill your garners, ye that reap The loaded soil, and ye may waste much good In senseless riot ; but ye will not find I04 Songs in JJotJortg. In feast, or in the chase, in song or dance, A Hberty like his, who unimpeached Of usurpation, and to no man's wrong, Appropriates nature as his Father's work. COWPER. My wine has run Indeed out of my cup, and there is none To gather up the bread of my repast. Scattered and trampled, — yet I find some good In earth's green herbs, and streams that bubble up Clear from the darkling ground, — content until I sit with angels before better food. E. B. Browning, IF by our toil another's feet may rise And climb the starry heights we fain would gain, Into a purer air and clearer skies, Surely our work shall not have been in vain. Laura B. Boyce. Thy gifts sustain The body's needs, but poverty and pain Oft minister to higher wants than these The spirit sees. Songs in IJouerts. 105 Then come what will, Prosperity or failure, good or ill, Unknown or understood, still be adored Thy ways, O Lord ! Christian Register. NOT all who seemed to fail have failed indeed ; Not all who fail have therefore worked in vain ; For all our acts to many issues lead ; And out of earnest purpose, pure and plain. Enforced by honest toil of hand or brain. The Lord will fashion, in his own good time, — Be this the laborer's proudly humble creed, — Such ends as to His wisdom fittest chime With His vast love's eternal harmonies. FASTEN your soul so high that constantly The smile of your heroic cheer may float Above the floods of earthly agonies. E. B. Browning. LABOR ! all labor is noble and holy ! Let thy great deed be thy prayer to thy God. Frances S. Osgood. io6 00ngs in ^ovttt^. SHALL one who does God's image bear, And shares each day his tender care, Forgotten live and die ? Did Christ descend the rich to bless, And turn from sin to righteousness. And all the poor pass by ? Ah no ! with poverty he dwelt, And want in every form he felt. E'en to the want of friends, — To-day, as yesterday the same, This friend, the humble poor may claim, To all his love extends. A. J. S., ?« " JVew Hampshire Poeis.'*^ THE heart grows richer that its lot is poor, — God blesses want with larger sympathies, — Love enters gladliest at the humble door, And makes the cot a palace with his eyes. Lowell. WHATE'ER God does is well ! His children find it so. Some He doth not with plenty bless, Yet loves them not the less ; Songs in |j0t)jettg. 107 But draws their hearts unto Himself away. O hearts, obey ! Whate'er God does is well, Whether He gives or takes ! And what we from His hand receive Suffices us to live. He takes and gives while yet He loves us still. Then love His will. And what can our will do ? We cannot reap from what we sow But what His power makes grow. Sometimes He doth all other good destroy, To be thy joy. And He our God knows all our weary days. Come ! give Him praise. SCHMOLKE, 16x2. COME in, O gracious Form ! I say — O Workman, share my house of clay ! Then 1, at bench, or desk, or oar, With last, or needle, net, or pen. As thou in Nazareth of yore, Shall do the Father's will again. io8 Songs in J)0t)ertB, IN Poverty's dark cell I sit, And gaze upon the heavenly faces, That bid me to those luminous spaces Through which at length, my soul shall flit. WHETHER winds blow foul or fair, Through want and woe and toil or care, Still will I struggle up to Thee : That though my winter days be long, And brighter skies refuse to come, My life no less may sweetly bloom, And none the less be full of song. WHY art thou full of anxious fear How thou shalt be sustained and fed ? He who hath made and placed thee here Will give thee needful daily bread. Canst thou not trust His rich and bounteous hand, Who feeds all living things on sea and land ? Be thou content. Songs in JJotJertg. 109 He who doth teach the little birds To find their meat in field and wood. Who gives the countless flocks and herds Each day their needful drink and food, Thy hunger too will surely satisfy, And all thy wants in His good time supply. Be thou content. Paul Gkrhardt. T HE Master, ere His work was done, Breathed this sweet message for his own As near to death he drew, — " My peace I leave with you." " My peace " — but not the loneliness Nor friend, nor home, nor child to bless, — But not his scorned and hated name, Nor yet his poverty and shame ; These bitter things he knew, — But left his peace for you. Beloved, take the gift anew ; It passeth knowledge, deep and true. no Songs in IJoaertn. Tender as is the brooding dove, And stronger than the heart of love, Its home — the Father's breast — Was left to bring you rest. Mrs. Luther Kekne. VI, SONGS IN CAPTIVITY. Dome up, O heaven ! yet higher o'er my head ! Hack ! back, horizon ! widen out my world ! " ** Let star-wheels and angel wings, with their holy win- nowings. Keep beside you all your way, Lest in passion you should dash, with a blind and heavy crash, Up against the thick-bossed shield of God's judgment in the field." God's greatness flows around our incompleteness ; Round our restlessness — His rest/' SONGS IN CAPTIVITY. There went a swift bird singing past my cell— O Love and Freedom ! ye are lovely things ! " J SIT upon a cypress bough Close to the gate ; and I fling my song Over the gate and through the mail Of the warden angels marshaled strong, — Over the gate and after you ! And the warden angels let it pass, (Because the poor brown bird, alas ! Sings in the garden sweet and true.) And I build my song of high, pure notes. Note over note, height over height, Till I strike the arch of the Infinite ; And I bridge abysmal agonies With strong, clear calms of harmonies. {Song,) Exiled human creatures Let your hope grow larger, Larger grows the vision Of the new delights. 114 Songs in Captimtg, From this chain of Nature's God is the discharger : And the actual prison Opens to your sight. Hear us singing gently Exiled is not lost ! God, above the starlight, God above the patience, Shall at last present ye Guerdons worth the cost. Patiently enduring, Painfully surrounded. Listen how we love you — Hope the uttermost. Waiting for that curing Which exalts the wounded, Hear us sing above you- — Exiled but not lost I E, B. Browning. A LITTLE bird I am. Shut from the fields of air And in my cage I sit and sing To him who placed me there. Well pleased a prisoner to be Because it pleaseth thee. QouQQ in daptimtg. 115 Naught have I else to do, I sing the whole clay long, And he whom most I love to please Doth listen to my song ; He caught and bound my wandering wing, But still he bends to hear me sing. My cage confines me 'round, Abroad I cannot fly ; But though my wing is closely bound My heart's at liberty ; My prison walls cannot control The flight, the freedom of the soul. Madam Guyon's '* Prison Hymn,'''' ORROW and silence are strong, and patient ' endurance is godlike. Longfellow. GOD plumeth many a spirit, still withholding space to soar, Bids it wait with folded pinion till He openeth wide the door : Seals a sense that still respondeth dimly to some dis- tant good. Stirring all the mortal nature with an unborn angel- hood. Mrs. a. D. T. Whitney. ii6 Songs in Captiuitj}. O LITTLE bird ! that all the weary clay Art beating thy soft breast against the wire, And singing many a weak and feeble lay, Thy song lost in the passion of desire, O dost thou dream of winnowing the air At dewy dawn — untrammeled, gay and free, Feeling again — oh ! bliss beyond compare — The olden thrill of thy lost liberty ? Thou restless one ! Dost dream of meadow rills, Speeding away the daisied meadows through ; Of sighing pines upon far, lonely hills; Of myriad voices that thy freedom knew : Of silent nights in forests darkly deep, Lit dimly by a pale moon sailing high, When gentle winds rocked thee and thine to sleep With many a softly murmured lullaby ? Unhappy one 1 I'd tell thee if I could, The uselessnt'ss of warring against fate. Fold thy soft wings, and, as in leafy wood, Sing thy best song, and for thy freedom wait. Perhaps e'er long, in notes of ecstacy, Thy song shall scorn thy narrow prison bars, And in a burst of rapturous melody Seek endless freedom 'mongst the distant stars. Songs in Claptimtj. 117 Then all forgotten will thy longing be : Contented thou wilt occupy thy place : For thy sweet song, the supreme part of thee, Will still be sounding through the fields of space. Ada Gale. I KNOW a dark and lonely dell, 1 A forest nook where elves might dwell. So lost in shade, so far away, It seems forgotten of the day. But in the waving hemlocks high There is an island of blue sky — A little space, o'er which are blown White clouds, and where the stars look down. 'Tis so with thee, forsaken heart, However cold and lost thou art, However lost to human ken. And narrow sympathies of men. Look up ! thou hast the strip of sky; Thine outlook opens wide and high. Where loves, like stars, forever shine. And sympathies are deep, divine. Jambs Buckham. ii8 Songs in ffiaptimtg. HE is the freeman whom the truth makes free, And all are slaves beside. There's not a chain That hellish foes confederate for his harm Can wind around him, but he casts it off With as much ease as Samson with his green withes. His freedom is the same in every state ; And no condition of this changeful life, So manifold in cares, whose every day Brings its own evil with it, makes it less. For he has wings that neither sickness, pain, Nor penury can cripple or confine ; No nook so narrow but he spreads them there With ease, and is at large. The oppressor holds His body bound ; but knows not what a range His spirit takes, unconscious of a chain; And that to bind, him is a vain attempt, Whom God delights in, and in whom he dwells. COWPER. H OPE in our souls is king ; And the king never dies ! Longfellow. WERE there no night we could not read the stars, The heavens would turn into a blinding glare; Freedom is best seen through prison bars. And rough seas make the haven passing fair. Bongs in Cajjtimts. 119 We cannot measure joys but by their loss, When blessings fade away we see them then ; Our richest clusters grow around the cross, And in the night-time angels sing to men. The seed must first lie buried deep in earth, Before the lily opens to the sky ; So, "light is sown," and gladness has its birth, In the dark deeps where we can only cry. Come then, my soul, be brave to bear ; Thy life is bruised that it may be more sweet ; The cross will soon be left, the crown we'll wear; Nay, we will cast it at our Saviour's feet. Henry Burton. HOMEWARD the swift-winged seagull takes its flight, The ebbing tide breaks softly on the sand ; The sunlit boats draw shoreward for the night ; The shadows deepen over sea and land ; Be still, my soul, thine hour shall also come ; Behold, one evening God shall lead thee home. I20 Songs in daptimtg- THE earth, O prisoned soul, is thine. Rise up ! come forth ! in sun and air Claim and possess thy rightful share. Come forth ! in love and life divine. Thou child of God ! the world is thine. IN weariness I wait and pray, As waits the restless for the day : Watching the still starlight ! As waits the soldier in reserve. While longing stirs through every nerve ! This hour in patience let me wait. Dawn comes not premature or late. Then better far than I have sought, And better far than I have thought, God will give what is best. ETERNAL spirit of the chainless mind ! Brightest in dungeons. Liberty ! thou art. For there thy habitation is the heart. Byron. Songs in Cra:ptimta. 121 OH, our Father, our Father, Hearest Thou not our pain ? We can only cry as the young birds cry, Again, and yet again ; Blind, and helpless, and almost mad, And shall our crying be vain ? Oh ! our Father, our Father, We have heard them speak of Thee, But our eyes are dim and our hearts are dull, And we know not if Thou be — The yoke-bound neck, and the fettered hand, Bowed to the dust are we. Oh ! our Father, our Father, Dwelling in love and light ! There is none to guide us, or hear our cry. In the weary, pathless night. Earth is burdened with cruel wrong — Wilt thou not do us right ? A. Werner, in " The King of the Silver Ciiy.^ IS not the night all dark, and murky with vapors of Death ? Stars there are none to see, and the rank mist chokes our breath. 122 00ngs in CTaptitJitg. And the chains have cut to the soul. Nay now — have we souls at all ? All man's glories stripped from us — have we yet lower to fall ? . . . . Since we have no sunrise, no moon nor stars to shine ! Listen, O helpless and weary ! the time is coming — but wait ! — Lift up your eyes in hope to the heaven's eastern gate ! — It shall glow with gold anon, — and thefi there is work for you / . . . . A. W. , in Cambridge Review, Behold the throng Of wounded souls that bear some gloomy wrong. Ah ! sorrowing friend, what multitudes to-day Walk by thy side, unknown, the thorny way, And walk in darkness, praying for the light. Like one who walks his chamber in the night, And ever through the window looks away Into the chilly night, and longs for day ! Songs in Cra:ptimtp. 123 One . . source remains to soothe thy breast, The one great comfort which inrludes the rest : Submit thy sorrow and thy soul to God, And learn what peace it is to kiss His rod, Who answers wishes ere they turn to prayers And with his blessing takes us unawares — Who girds us, though we know Him not, and stands Above us always with his helping hands. As when a little child, returned from play, Finds the door closed and latched across its way. Against the door, with infant push and strain, It gathers all its strength and strives in vain ; — Unseen within, a loving father stands. And lifts the iron latch with easy hands ; Then, as he lightly draws the door aside. He hides behind it, while, with baby pride And face aglow, in struts the little one. Flushed and rejoiced to think what it has done ! So, when men find across life's rugged way Strong doors of trouble, barred from day to day. And strive with all their power of knees and hands, Unseen within, their Heavenly Father stands, And lifts each iron latch, while men pass through, Flushed and rejoiced to think what they can do. Abraham Perry Miller. SHUT in with tears that are spent in vain, Shut in with the dull companionship of pain; Shut in with the changeless days and hours, And the bitter knowledge of failing powers. 124 Songs in Ca:ptimts. Shut in with dreams of days gone by, With buried joys that are bom to die; Shut in with hopes that have lost their zest, And leave but a longing after rest. Shut in with a trio of angels sweet, Patience and grace all pain to meet, And faith that can suffer, and stand and wait, And lean on the promises strong and great. UNTO the hills I lift mine eyes," And following them I seek the skies To which they point and seem to say Christ is our strength by night as day. I take the lesson to my heart. Dear Lord, let me not grow apart From that svveet faith which bids hope rise And like those mountains seek the skies, Where thou dost dwell in all thy might, To guard thy people day and night. " Unto the hills," yes, unto Thee Mine eyes shall turn most hopefully. For hills aiid walls shall crumble, Lord, But they who rest upon Thy word Shall stand secure, and know Thee true, '^hough skies of life be gray or blue. VII SONGS IN FEAR ** He has not learned the lesson of a life who does not every day surmount a fear.'^ ** Write on your doors the saying, wise and old, ' Be bold ! be bold ! ' and everywhere ' Be bold ! ' " ** Go forth and meet the shadowy future without fear, and with a manly heart." *' Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid ! " SONGS IN FEAR. "Go and dare before you die ! '* " Our valors are our best gods." TIS the bold who win the race, Whether for gold, or love, or name; 'Tis the true ones always face Dangers and trials, and win a place, A niche in the fane of fame. WORKMAN of God, oh, lose not heart ! But learn what God is like ; And in the darkest battle-field, Thou shalt know where to strike. " Songs of Dcvotion." 128 Bongs in £cax. Go breathe it in the ear Of all who doubt and fear, And say to them, *• Be of good cheer ! " Longfellow. THERE is a grandeur in the soul that dares To live out all the life God lit within ; That battles with the passions hand to hand, And wears no mail, and hides behind no shield ; That plucks its joy in the shadow of death's wing, That drains with one deep draught the wine of life, And that with fearless foot and heaven-turned eyes, May stand upon a dizzy precipice, High over the abyss of ruin and not fall. Sara J. Clarkb. PLAN not, nor scheme, but calmly wait; His choice is best. While blind and erring is thy sight; His wisdom sees and judges right ; So trust and rest. Strive not, nor struggle ; thy poor might Can never wrest The meanest thing to serve thy will ; All power is His alone ; be still, And trust and wait. Songs in £cax. 129 What dost thou fear ? His wisdom reigns Supreme, confessed; His power is infinite ; His love Thy deepest, fondest dreams above ; So trust and rest. Macduff. WHAT foe can injure me ? Why bid me like a bird Before the fowler flee ? The Lord is on His heavenly throne, And He will shield and save His own. H. F. Lyte.. STRONG are the mountains, Lord, but stronger Thou ! Where beats tlie tempest on the hither side. Beneath their shelter bloom the vine and rose ; So do Thy choosen ones in Thee abide. Nor fear the storm-wind though it wildly blows, All undisturbed in their secure repose. I30 Songs in £eat. OUR very perils shut us in, To thy supporting care; We venture on the awful deep, And find our courage there. Oh, there are heavenly heights to reach In many a fearful place Where the poor timid heir of God Lies blindly on his face ; Lies languishing for life divine That he shall never see Till he go forward at Thy sign And trust himself to Thee. Anna Letitia Waring. WHEN sins and follies long forgot Upon thy-tortured conscience prey, Oh, come to God, and fear Him not : His love shall sweep them all away; Pains of hell at look of His Change to calm content and bliss. LET us be like the bird, one instant lighted Upon a twig that swings ; He feels it yield, but sings on unaffrighted, Knowing he has his wings. Victor Hugo, 7>. dy Edwin Arnold. Qon%Q in Star. 131 DOWN to the borders of the silent land He goes with halting feet : He dares not trust ; he cannot understand The blessedness complete, That waits for God's beloved at His right hand. He dreads to see God's face ; for though the pure Beholding Him are blest, Yet in His sight no evil shall endure ; So still, with fear oppressed. He looks within and cries, " Who can be sure ?" The world beyond is strange : the golden streets, The palaces so fair. The seraphs singing in the shining seats — The glory everywhere; And to his soul he solemnly repeats The visions of the book. '* Alas ! " he cries, " That world is all too grand ; Among those splendors and those majesties I would not dare to stand : For me, a lowlier heaven would well suffice ! " Yet faithful in his lot this saint hath stood Through service and through pain ; The Lord Christ he has followed, doing good ; Sure, dying must be gain To one who, living, hath done what he could. 132 Songs in Scat, The light is fading in the tired eyes, The weary race is run ; Not as the victor that doth seize the prize, But as the fainting one He nears the verge of the eternities. And now the end has come, and now he sees The happy, happy shore ; Oh fearful, faint, distrustful soul, are these The things thou feard'st before, The awful majesties that spoiled thy peace ? This land is home ; no stranger art thou here ; Sweet and familiar words From voices silent long salute thine ear ; And winds and songs of birds And bees and blooms and sweet perfumes are near. The seraphs — they are men of kindly mien ; The gems and robes — but signs Of minds all radiant, and of hearts washed clean ; The glory — such as shines Wherever faith or hope or love is seen. And thee, O doubting child ! the Lord of grace Whom thou didst fear to see — He knows thy sin — but look upon his face ! Doth it not shine on thee With a great light of love that fills the place ? Songs in Scat. 133 Oh, happy soul, be thankful now and rest ! Heaven is a goodly land ; And God is love ; and those He loves are blest. Now thou dost understand The least thou hast is better than the best That thou did'st hope for : now upon thine eyes The new life opens fair; Before thy feet the blessed journey lies Through homelands everywhere ; And heaven to thee is all a sweet surprise. Washington Gladden. LEAVE God to order all thy ways, And hope in Him what'er betide; Thou'lt find Him in the evil days An all-sufficient strength and guide ; Who trusts in God's unchanging love, Builds on a rock that naught can move. Georgb Newman. BE not amazed at life. Tis still The mode of God with his elect, Their hopes exactly to fulfill, In times and ways they least expect. Dean Alford. j34 00ng0 in Scat. I TREMBLE at the thought of heaven.' She said. He wondered why. " At heaven ! whose glories make us glad, And more than glad to die ? '* — He asked her, puzzled, half displeased. Her dreamy eyes, along The distant hills looked forth : " I know." She said, " the raptured song That holy souls have tried to make Of heaven ; how they say, ' Thou hast no shore, fair ocean, Thou hast no time, bright day ; With jasper glow thy bulwarks, Thy streets with emeralds blaze, The sardius and the topaz Unite in thee their rays,' — I know *' But I, who am no saint inspired, But I, who never had More than a common life to live. Nor much to make me glad. Nor grand experiences that dig Deep channels in the soul. How shall I bear this heaven's vast Ecstatic, perfect whole ? Perfection ! I cannot conceive Perfection, and I fear-^ You see, I could not take it in, Because, I'm so used here 00ng0 in £eax. 135 To tempered pleasures and small flaws In all my dearest things, That to its full capacity Joy in me never swings. What if the splendid, perfect heaven Found me thus lacking ; such I could not comprehend it all, And could not bear so much ! Like this, maybe : — a man born deaf Hears suddenly ; and lo ! The first breath in the world of sound His opened ears shall know. Comes thrilling from an orchestra Perfect ! Oh, yes ! — and yet. The man might swoon beneath the shock His startled nerves have met. /am afraid ! " " I thank you, for that word," he said ; *' There is another sense ; We miss it (so I think), always, Until we do go hence. We know there is another power, Though not whether its tense Is that we might have, or shall have^ This unknown sense, from whence We hope as great things, surely. As the kitten ten days old. When her blind eyes, finding their use, To light delayed, unfold. 13^ Songs in £cax. And so perhaps, this dormant sense, Not needed until then, May be the very thing vouchsafed To bear the glory, when The righteous in the kingdom shine, And He, in garments white Sits on the throne, whom none can see And live, to bear the sight. Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard, Those things he doth prepare. Perhaps, because, until that sense, The look they could not bear. Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard — Oh, no ! not yet, not yet, — But rest ; but w^ait ; anticipate ; And, waiting, do not let Thy heart bo troubled ! The man, deaf, Not at the sound would start And marvel, but the new found sense j The faculty, his heart Would fill with joy unspeakable. And on its own strong wings He would be borne above himself, Above all lesser things. The hospitality of heaven Will not make earth's mistakes. When a tired, timid woman, strange, Upon that threshold wakes. It will not be with blare of full Processionals they meet Songs in irear. 137 And honor her. With tender touch, Tones very low and sweet, Ways home-hke she can understand, As if before, there, she had been. I think they will come softly forth And silent lead her in, — And lead her in, to see the face That anywhere would be The one thing making heaven home, Heaven to you, to me." Ella M. Bakkr. 1HAVE a sin of fear, that when Fve spun My last thread, I shall perish on the shore : But swear by Thyself, that at my death Thy sun Shall shine as heretofore, And having done that, .... I fear no more. Bishop Donnk. SEE the Lord, thy keeper, stand Omnipotently near ; Lo ! He holds thee by thy hand, And banishes thy fear ; 13^ Songs in Scat. Shadows with His wings thy head ; Guards from all impending harms ; Round thee and beneath are spread The everlasting arms. Charles Wesley. WHY that look of dark dismay ? Know ye not that God is near — That thy God doth guard thy way ? Hast forgot His kind assurance — He will strengthen, He will guide ? Art thou lacking in endurance ? Art thou falling from His side ? He hath told thee Thou art His, and He is thine, That His right hand shall uphold thee, Dost ask more of God divine ? Oh, then onward ! do not fear, Ne'er forget that He is near. Arthur C. Grissom. I KNOW not what the future hath Of marvel or surprise, Assured alone that life and death His mercy underlies. Bongs in Star. 139 And if my heart and flesh are weak To bear an untried pain, The bruised reed He will not break But strengthen and sustain. Whittihr. WHAT a strange Being holds me in his might, And must forever have his way with me ! Oh ! what if fear should, after all, be right ? Then what a terror nearing God must be ! With such unfailing gifts of life and light, Why should I dread the Giver's self to see ? I went my daily ways thus questioning. My foremost care a caged soul of song That met me always with a frightened wing, As fearing I had come to do it wrong. Often I said : " How passing strange a thing. When I have fed its little life so long ! " But lo ! a marvel even greater yet, The timid creature, wildly beating first. Sank, on a sudden, close as it could get. And still, — as though its very heart had burst; While on my own such steadfast eyes were set As dared me, in their trust, to do my worst. I40 Songs in £tax. Between the bars was thrust its ventured breast, Whose plumy, golden curve now hardly stirred ; Then was my long pent tenderness expressed In touches like the softest whispered word. Ah, life-long trembler, needlessly distressed, Me and my love you know at last, poor bird ! A new and grateful joy ran through my heart, And wet my unsealed eyes like any woe ; But with what rapture fell my lips apart : " I thank thee, Father, I have learned Thee so ! As I, to this frail thing, to me T/iou art. And through my own, the heart of God I know ! Charlotte Fiske Bates. :^^: VIII. SONGS IN "THE HOUSE OF MY PILGRIMAGE." Make the house where gods may dwell Beautiful, entire and clean." ** Whatsoever road I take, joins the highway That leads to Thee ! " Rest is not quitting this busy career. Rest is the fitting of self to one's sphere." SONGS IN THE HOUSE OF MY PIL- GRIMAGE. " There's a song in the air, there's a star in the sky." OPEN the western gate, And let the daylight go, In pomp of royal state In rose and amber glow. It is so late, so late, The birds sing sweet and low, Open the western gate, And let the daylight go. Lay down thy daily toil. Glad of thy labor done, Glad of the night's assoil, Glad of thy wages won ; With hearts that fondly wait. With grateful hearts aglow, Pray at the western gate And let the daylight go. 144 Songs in t\)c ^§0nse of ntg |)ilgrintage. Pray at the eastern gate For a.11 the day can ask ; Pray at the western gate, Holding thy finished task. It waxeth late, so late, The night falls cold and gray ; But through life's western gate Dawns life's eternal day. Amelia E. Barr. AS the bird trims her to the gale 1 trim myself to the storm of time, I man the rudder, reef the sail, Obey the voice at eve, obeyed at prime,* Lowly, faithful, banish fear, Right onward, drive unharmed, The port well worth the cruise is near, And every wave is charmed. Emerson. WE should live as if expecting To be angels by-and-by, Every moment recollecting The immortal life on high, Songs in tlje ^omc of mg plgriniage. 145 Where in purity and glory, The angelic throngs above, Hymn the never-ending story Of the orreat Creator's love. We should live for something higher Than to grovel here for gold, And to holiness aspire, Like the sainted ones of old ; We should live in the endeavor Human passions to control, And to hold the truth forever As the anchor of the soul. We should live for one another, For humanity and right, True to God and to each other, And the soul's divinest light ; We should live for those in sorrow, On the v^aves of trouble cast. With an ever firm endeavor To be faithful to the last. In the narrow path of duty, In the shining path of love. In the purity and beauty Of angelic life above : •t> 146 Songs in il]c ^ouse of mg Jpilgritnage. Every moment recollecting The immortal life on high, We should live as if expecting To be angels by-and-by. JosiAH Moody Fletcher. AH ! for the heart that goes Unbenisoned to its rest ! Ah ! for the bird that knows No mate in its lonely nest ; Not even the kindly fluttering By night of a passing wing, Only the wind's low muttering, And no other friendly thing. Shall I sicken of faring apart ? Shall I die of keeping alone ? And of bruising my living heart On the cold unanswering stone ? There is a little rift Of blue above the roofs, And away in its peaceful lift, There are stars that shine like proofs Songs in tl)e ^otxBC of ntg JJilgrimage. 147 That I shall not miss the folding Of God's arms warm about The lone life he is holding Safe in the dark of doubt ! Howard Glyndon. ONE summer day, to a young child, I said, " Write to thy mother, boy." With earnest face And laboring fingers all unused to trace The mystic characters, he bent his head (That should have danced amid the flowers instead) Over the blurred page for a half-hour's space : Then with a sigh that burdened all the place Cried, " Mamma knows ! " and out to sunshine sped. O soul of mine, when tasks are hard and long. And life so crowds thee with its stress and strain That thou, half fainting, art too tired to pray, — Drink thou this wine of blessing and be strong ! God knows ! What though the lips be dumb with pain. Or the pen drops ? He knows what thou would'st say. w HY should we do ourselves this wrong, Or others, — that we are not always strong- 14^ Songs in H)c ^onsje of ntg |)ilgrintage. That we are ever overborne with care, That we should ever weak or heartless be, Anxious or troubled, while with us is prayer, And joy and strength and courage are with Thee ? Lo ! amid the press. The whirl and hum and pressure of my day, I hear Thy garment's sweep, Thy seamless dress, And close beside my work and weariness. Discern Thy gracious form, not far away, But very near, O Lord ! to help and bless. The busy fingers fly, the eyes may see Only the glancing needle which they hold, But all my life is blossoming inwardly. And every breath is like a litany ; While through each labor, like a thread of gold. Is woven the sweet consciousness of Thee ! Susan Coolidge. SERENE, I fold my hands and wait. Nor care for wind, nor tide, nor sea ; I rave no more 'gainst time or fate, For lo ! mine own shall come to me. gongs in tl]e ^ouQt of m^ JJilgrimage. 149 What matter if I stand alone ? I wait with joy the coming years : My heart shall reap where it has sown, And garner up its fruit of tears. John Burroughs. AMONG so many can He care ? Can special love be everywhere ? A myriad homes — a myriad ways, — And God's eye over every place ? Over ; but in f The world is full, A grand Omnipotence must rule ; But is there life that doth abide With mine own, living side by side ? So many and so wide abroad : Can any heart have all of God ? From the great spaces, vague and dim, May one small household gather him ? — I asked ; my soul bethought of this : — *' In just that very place of His Where He hath put and keepeth you. God hath no other thing to do." Mrs. a. D. T. Whitney. ISO Songs in tlje ^ouqc of ntg JJilgrimage. LORD ! if I dip my cup into the sea, -^ It rises full ! Such cup each soul may be, Such ocean is Thy good ! SOMETIMES I am tempted to murmur That life is flitting away, With only a round of trifles Filling each busy day ; Dusting nooks and corners. Making the house look fair, And patiently taking on me The burden of woman's care. Comforting childish sorrows, And charming the childish heart With the simple song and story, Told with a mother's art ; Setting the dear home table, And clearing the meal away, And going on little errands In the twilight of the day. One day is just like another ! Sewing and piecing well Little jackets and trousers. So neatlv that none can tell Songs in tlje ^onsje of mg JJitgrimage. 151 Where are the seams and joinings. Ah ! the seamy side of life Is kept out of sight by the magic Of many a mother and wife ! And oft when ready to murmur That life is flitting away, With the self-same round of duties Filling each busy day, It comes to my spirit sweetly With the grace of a thought divine : " You are living, toiling, for love's sake, And the loving should never repine. " You are guiding the little footsteps In the way they ought to walk ; You are dropping a word for Jesus In the midst of your household talk ; Living your life for love's sake Till the homely cares grow sweet, And sacred the self-denial That is laid at the Master's feet." Margaret E. Sangster. WHAT matter how the winds may blow, Or blow they east, or blow they west ? What reck I how the tides may flow, Since ebb or flood alike is best ? 152 Songs in tl)e ^ouse of ntg JJilgrintage. No summer calm, no winter gale, Impedes or drives me from my way ; I steadfast toward the haven sail That lies, perhaps, not far away. What matter how the winds may blow ? Since fair or foul alike is best ; God holds them in His hand, I know, And I may leave to Him. the rest, Assured that neither calm nor gale Can bring me danger or delay, As still I toward the haven sail That lies, I know, not far away. A. D. F. Rando: ph. I WAS sitting alone in the twilight, With spirit troubled and vexed. With thoughts that were morbid and gloomy, And faith that was sadly perplexed. Some homely work I was doing For the child of my love and care. Some stitches half-wearily setting In the endless need of repair. Songs in ti)c ^on^c of tng Jpilgrimage. 153 But my thoughts were about the " building," The work some day to be tried, And that only the gold and silver And the precious stone would abide : And remembering my own poor efforts, The wretched work I had done, And, even when trying most truly, The meager success I had won : ' It is nothing but wood, hay and stubble," I said : " It will all be burned — These useless fruits of the talents One day to be returned : And I have so longed to serve Him, And sometimes I know I have tried ; But I'm sure when He sees such building He will never let it abide." Just then as I turned the garment. That no rents should be left behind. My eyes caught an odd little bungle Of mending and patchwork combined. My heart grew suddenly tender. And something blinded my eyes, With one of those sweet intuitions That sometimes make us so wise. 154 Songs in tl)e ^ovlbc of nta pilgrimage. Dear child, she wanted to help me ; I knew 'twas the best she could do ; But oh, what a blotch she has made it — The gray mis-matching the blue ! And yet — you can understand it ? — With a tender smile and a tear, And a half-compassionate yearning I felt she had grown more dear. Then a sweet voice broke the silence, And the dear Lord said to me, " Art thou tenderer for the little child Than I am tender for thee ? " Then straightway I knew His meaning, So full of compassion and love. And my faith came back to its refuge Like the glad returning dove. For I thought, when the Master-builder Came down His temple to viev%7, To see what rents must be mended, And what must be builded anew. Perhaps, as He looks over the building, He will bring my work to the light, And seeing the marring and bungling, And how far it all is from right, If Songs in tlje ^onse of mp JJilgrimage. 155 He will feel as I felt for my darling-, And will say as I said for her, " Dear child, she wanted to help me, And love for me was the spur. And for the true love that's in it, The work shall seem perfect as mine, And because it is willing service I will crown it with plaudits divine.** So there in the deepening twilight I seemed to be clasping a hand, And to feel a great love constraining me Stronger than any command. And I knew by the thrill of sweetness 'Twas the hand of the Blessed One, Which would tenderly guide and hold me Till all the labor is done. So my thoughts are never more gloomy, My faith no longer is dim ; But my heart is sunny and restful, And my eyes turned ever to Him. Mrs. Herrick Johnson, 156 Songs in tl]e ^onse of mp plgrimage. HEIMGANG ! So the German people Whisper, when they hear the bell Tolling from some gray old steeple Death's familiar tale to tell ; When they hear the organ dirges Swelling out from chapel dome, And the singers* chanting surges, '' Heimgang ! " always going home. Heimgang ! Quaint and tender saying, In the grand old German tongue, That hath shaped Melancthon's praying, And the hymns that Luther sung : Blessed is our loving Maker, That where'er our feet shall roam, Still we journey towards " God's Acre " — Heimgang ! always going home. ONE day at a time ! Every heart that aches Knows only too well how long that can seem ; But it's never to-day that the spirit breaks. It *s the darkened future without a gleam. One day at a time ! 'Tis the whole of life ! All sorrow, all joy are measured therein, The bound of our purpose, our noblest strife The one only countersign, sure to win. Helen Jackson (H. H.). gongs in ii)C ^onse of ms JJilgrimage. 157 WE shall not die until our work be done ; We shall not cease until our course be run : We shall not fade or fail While heart and faith prevail, Or aught is to be won Beneath the constant sun. THE hands are such dear hands ! They are so full ; they turn at our demands So often ; they reach out With trifles scarcely thought about So many times ; they do So many things for me, for you — If their fond wills mistake, We may well bend, not break. They are such fond, frail lips That speak to us ! Pray if love strips Them of discretion many times, Or if they speak too slow, or quick, such crimes We may pass by, for we may see Days not far off when those small words may be Held not as slow or quick or out of place, but dear, Because the lips are no more here. They are such dear familiar feet that go Along the path with ours— feet fast or slow, And trying to keep pace. If they mistake Or tread upon some flower that we would take 58 00ngi3 in tlje ^oubc of tng JJilgrimage. Upon our breast, or bruise some reed, Or crush poor Hope until it bleed, We may be mute, Nor turning quickly to impute Grave fault ; for they and we Have such a little way to go — can be Together such a little while along the way, We will be patient while we may. So many Httle faults we find ! We see them, for not blind To love. We see them, but if you and I Perhaps remember them some by-and-by They will not be Faults then — grave faults — to you and me, But just odd ways, mistakes, or even less. Remembrances to bless. Days change so many things — yes, hours ; We see so differently in sun and showers. Mistaken words to-night May be so cherished by to-morrow's light. We may be patient, for we know There's such a little way to go. N. Y. Independent. " ril drop my burden at His feet And bear a song away ! " OVER the narrow^ foot-path That led from my lowly door, I went with a thought of the Master, As oft I had walked before. Sangs in tlje ^ouse nf tng JJilgrimage. 159 My heart was heavily laden, And with tears my eyes were dim ; But I knew I should lose the burden Could I get a glimpse of Him. It was more than I could carry, If I carried it all alone ; And none in my house might share it — Only One on the throne. It came between me and pleasure, Between my work and me ; But our Lord could understand it, And His touch could set me free. Over the trodden pathway, To the fields all shorn and bare, I went with a step that faltered, And a face that told of care. I had lost the light of the morning, With its shimmer of sun and dew ; But a gracious look of the Master Would the strength of morn renew. While yet my courage wavered, And the sky before me blurred, I heard a voice behind me Saying a tender word. And I turned to see the brightness Of Heaven upon the road, i6o Songs in tl)e i^ouse of mg |)ilgrimage. And sudden I lost the pressure Of the weary, crushing load. Nothing that hour was altered, I had still the weight of care ; But I bore it now with the gladness Which comes of answered prayer. Not a grief the soul can fetter Nor cloud its vision, when The dear Lord gives the spirit To breathe to his will, amen. O friends ! if the greater burdens His love can make so light, Why should His wonderful goodness Our halting credence slight ? The little sharp vexations. And the briars that catch and fret, Shall we not take them to the Helper Who has never failed us yet ? Tell Him about the heartache. And tell Him the longings, too ; Tell Him the baffled purpose, When we scarce know what to do. Then, leaving all our weakness With the One divinely strong. Forget that we bore the burden. And carry away the song. Margaret E. Sangster. 00ngs in tlje iions^ of tng JJilgriinage. i6i WHAT, tears in your eyes, my beloved ! Memories of trouble and loss ! Can you not thank Him for the anguish ? Can you not bless Him for the cross ? He knows and loves. Unnoted of Him Not one of these tears shall fall. Look up through their shining, dear heart and say, I bless thee, O Master, for all ! Mabel. THE cup of my years was filling — It had almost reached the brim — As I sat by my lonely fireside Singing a Sabbath hymn. I was sick and alone and v^^eary, And I sought in vain for rest. And I longed for the tender sympathy With which I once was blest. I sat alone by my fireside, And for very weakness wept. And my tears kept mingling with my song Until, at last, I slept. I slept, and I thought in my sleeping I was mounting a giddy height, A heavy burden was in my arms, And it was almost night. i62 Songs in tlje i^onse of mg |Jilgrimage, I was weary and weak and trembling, And hardly a step could take, Hardly a whisper could I speak Or upward progress make. *' Oh, for a friend," I faltered ; And even as I cried, A step was coming down the height, A form was by my side. A face was gazing into mine. With tender, pitying eyes ; An arm was underneath my own, And helping me to rise. Up, through the rocky pathway. Up, towards the distant blue, We went ; I gazed into the face, And it seemed like one I knew. And oh, the tender sympathy. That cannot be expressed. Through all my being seemed to flow And filled it full of rest. My burden seemed as nothing. And, though no word he spoke, I knew that Jesus Christ was there ; " Dear Lord ! " I said, and woke. The cup of my years is brimming, And I gladly see it fill. And I sit by myself, but not alone, For Christ is with me still. Songs in tl)e ^onse of ntg J)Ugrimage. 163 Weak, and yet full of resting, I have no vain alarms, For underneath me now I feel The everlasting arms. J. H. M. When sorrow's darkest night Above, around, like a thick cloud doth fall, Though thou canst see no light. Yet God still lives, and watches over all. Then trust His loving care ; Pray always, though thy feeble sight be dim ; Thy burdens He will bear. If thou canst only leave all things with Him. Julia D. Peck. THE night is come ; like to the day, Depart not Thou, great God, away Let not my sins, black as the night. Eclipse the luster of Thy light; Keep in my horizon : for to me The sun makes not the day, but Thee. Thou, whose nature cannot sleep, On my temples sentry keep : M Qon%B in t\)c ^oubc of tng |3ilgritnage. Guard me against those watchful foes Whose eyes are open while mine close. Let no dreams my head infest, But such as Jacob's temple blest. While I do rest, my soul advance ; Make my sleep a holy trance : That I may, my rest being wrought, Awake into some holy thought. And with as active vigor run My course as doth the nimble sun. Sleep is a death : Oh, make me try By sleeping, what it is to die ; And as gently lay my head On my grave as on my bed. Sir Thomas Browne, 1605. J SAID, one day, "O'life ! you're little worth. Made up of toil and care and blighted hope, With pain and sin and all their ills to cope. The day of death is better than of birth." Ev'en as I spoke. Love put a hand in mine, And its dear presence drove all gloom away, As shadows flee before the dawn of day. And life became a heritage divine ! Laura Garland Carr. Songs in tlje ^onse of mg pigrimag^. 165 WE shall be like Him " — strange the story ! Will wonders never cease ? We shall be like the King- of Glory ! Like Him, the Prince of Peace ! It must be true ! for carefully I've read this passage o'er ; It plainly says that we shall be Like Him whom I adore. O, tell me, does it really mean 'Tis possible on earth To be all glorious within, Like Him of lowly birth ? Or does it mean that we must wait To lay this earth-robe by ? I grow impatient with the thought And long to mount the sky. I'll read it o'er again. It says That when He doth appear We shall be like Him ; it must mean We shall be like Him here ! For, oh, last night, while bowing low Before my Father's throne, I saw His face, and oh ! I felt His strong hand clasp my own. 1 66 gongs in tl)e ^onse of mg JJilgrintage, You smile, and tell me 'tis by faith And not by sight I see : If such the fact, makes it the sight A whit less real to me ? Wouldst have me think that faith is but Some ig7tis fatuus light No, no, 'tis all the same to me Whether 'tis faith or sight. And this I know, for 'twas His voice Which spoke thus in my ear : If we would dwell with Him above We must be like him here ! " Harriet Chase. WE need not die to go to God ! See, how the daily prayer is given, — 'Tis not across a gulf we cry " Our Father who dost dwell in heaven ! " And, '' Let Thy will on earth be done, As in Thy heaven," by this thy child ! What is it but all prayers in one, That soul and sense be reconciled 1 Songs in tb^ ^onse of mg IJilgrimage. 167 As the poor panting hart to the water-brook runs As the water-brook runs to the sea, So earth's fainting daughters and famishing sons O Fountain of love, run to Thee ! Alice Carv. ACROSS the hedges, thick with autumn flowers, I watch the wild, rough wind's breath come and go. Bending the leaves until their pale backs show ; And each small bird that there for safety cowers. To hide before the storm that darkly lowers Is shown to us, who did not even know They shivered there — for they were hidden so — Until the wind put forth its strongest powers. Is not this like some life of sweetest rest — Passing its years in a most even course Through sun and summer's perfect, peaceful smile ? Yet, when rough trials search that quiet breast. It shows beneath the calm, that love's vast force Has lain there, hiding humbly, all the while. FORGIVE ! that oft my spirit wears Her time and strength in trivial cares ; Enfold her in Thy changeless peace, So she from all but Thee may cease ! Angklus Silksius, 1657. i68 Songs in t\]c ^ause of mg J)Ugrintoge. THE coiled elastic spring of steel Imprisoned in its brazen bars, Moving each ruby-balanced wheel, Measures its motion with the stars. The heart's low pulse, the firmer beat. The throbbing of the burdened brain. The music of a million feet On hill-top and on grassy plain ; The sea's majestic ebb and flow, The ripple on the tender rill, The gentle falling of the snow. The bird-note and the viol's trill; With these, and in the march of thought Mid passions ripened into wars, Mid the many things which time has wrought, Our life is stepping with the stars. It is not peace that reigns alone In those stupendous orbs of fire. But rent and scarred from zone to zone. They melt and crumble and expire. Yet discord is but harmony Which mortals do not understand. The tear, the laughter and the sigh. Touch in one note the immortal strand. Songs in ii)c ^ouqc of mg JJilgritnage. 169 We rotate in our little cell, And touch each other through the bars, But God has ordered all things well Who keeps us stepping with the stars. E. E. Adams. ACROSS the field of daily work Run the footpaths leading — where ? Run they east or run they west, One way all the workers fare : Every awful thing of earth, Sin and pain and battle-noise, Every dear thing — baby's birth, Faces, flowers, or lovers' joys — Is a wicket gate where we Join the great liighway to Thee ! Restless, restless, speed we on ; Whither in the vast unknown ? Not to you and not to me Are the sealed orders shown ; But the Hand that built the road, And the Light that leads the feet, And this inward restlessness, Are such invitation sweet, That where I no longer see Highway still must lead to Thee. William C. Gannett. I70 Songs in tl)e ^^ouse of tna JJilgritnage. LORD, according to Thy words, ^ I have considered Thy birds ; And find their life good. And better, the better understood; Sowing neither corn nor wheat, They have all that they can eat; Reaping no more than they sow, They have all that they can stow ; Having neither barn nor store, Hungry again they eat more. Considering, I see too that they Have a busy life and plenty of play ; In the earth they dig their bills deep, And work well, though they do not reap ; Then to play in the air they are not loath. And their nests between are better than both. But this is when there blow no storms, When berries are plenty in winter and worms ; When their feathers are thick and oil is enough To keep the cold out, — and the rain off. If there should come a long, hard frost. Then it looks as Thy birds were lost. But I considered further, and find A hungry bird has a free mind ; He is hungry to-day, not to-morrow ; Steals no comfort, no grief doth borrow ; This moment is his, Thy will hath said it. The nest is nothing till Thou hast made it. Songs in tl)je ^onse of tng plgrimage. 171 The bird has pain, but has no fear, Which is the worst of any gear ; When cold and hunger and harm betide him, He gathers them not to stuff inside him : Content with the day's ill he has got, He just waits, nor haggles with his lot ; Neither jumbles God's will With dribblets from his own still. But next I see in my endeavor. The birds here do not live forever ; That cold or hunger, sickness or age, Finishes their earthly stage ; The rook drops without a stroke. And never gives another croak ; Birds lie here, and birds lie there, With little feathers all astare ; And in Thy own sermon. Thou That the sparrow falls, dost allow. It shall not cause me any alarm ; For neither so comes the bird to harm ; Seeing our Father, — Thou hast said. Is by the sparrow's dying bed ! Therefore, it is a blessed place. And the sparrow in high grace ! It Cometh, therefore, to this. Lord ; I have considered Thy word. And henceforth will be Thy bird. GiiO. Macdonald. 172 Songs in tlje ^oubc of mn J}ilgtintage. SOME day or other I shall surely come Where true hearts wait for me ; Then let me learn the language of that home While here on earth I be, Lest my poor lips for want of words be dumb In that High Company. Louise Chandler Moulton. THE shady nooks and corners, So quiet and so cool, Where springs the crystal streamlet, Where glooms the dusky pool — I leave the path to seek them ; No dearer haunts I know Than just the lonely places Where patient mosses grow. The shady nooks and corners By forest, brook and burn, They hide in deep recesses The waving feathery fern. And through their sheltered silence Shy wings flit to and fro, And bits of song are breaking Where humble flowers blow. Bongs in tlje ^otxbi^ of tng |)ilgriTnage. 173 The shady nooks and corners Apart from stir and strife, And distant from the tumult Of busy whirHng life, Where some of God's dear children Alone are left and low. There, star-like, strong- and steadfast. The lights of promise glow. The shady nooks and corners, Wherein we dwell with God, And conquer pain and weakness, Sustained by staff and rod ; Perhaps in all egirth's journey Naught sweeter shall we know Than just these sanctuaries Where hidden graces grow. The shady nooks and corners Screened from the glaring day : — Songs in the night He giveth To those who watch and pray, And blessing comes when leaving The trodden road we go To rest amid the shadows Where living waters flow. Margaret E. Sangster. 174 Songs in tlje ^oubc of ms IJilgrimage. OH, the temple of the soul ; of what tiny stones 'tis built ! A simple prayer for one whose life may have been stained with guilt : — The drying of an infant's tear, a smile to cheer some heart, A word to soften envy's shaft, or turn away its dart. All trifles, yet our pitying Lord in mercy takes the whole. And fashions from them in His love, a temple for the soul ; Cements the fragments — asking naught beyond our power to give — Leading us, step by step, to see how grand it is to live. — To live to do some noble work, however obscure it be ! To live to pluck away the thorns that grow upon life's tree, To scatter smiles and helpful words, although the way be rough. To smooth life's path for tender feet, is this not joy enough ? Oh, the temple of the soul ! it is very sweet to know, If we fully trust our Father's care, whatever fierce winds blow. Sonigs in tl)e ^onse of mg |Jilgrintage. 175 Though Hfe's billows may dash o'er us, and its surges fiercely roll, They ne'er can touch the inner life, the temple of the soul. EVER and ever the world goes round. Bearing its burdens and crosses ; Ever and ever the years roll on, With their tide of sorrows and losses. Ever and ever the book of life Bears upon its pages The weary, weary lay of the heart, Sung through all the ages. Ever and ever with outstretched hands We grasp for a golden morrow ; Ever and ever the billows of time Are freighted with bitter sorrow ; Ever and ever the lips smile on, That the world may walk in blindness ; Little they know of the heart's wild woe, When the face looks but with brightness. Ever and ever the shadows fall, Over the golden mosses ; Ever a gleam from Paradise, Lightens our cares and crosses. iy6 Songs in tlje ^ouse of mg plgrimage. Ever and ever the morning dawns On hopes that are breathed in gladness; Ever and ever the night brings in Its tide of bitter sadness. Ever and ever the eye of God Looketh upon us with pity, And ever the light is shown to us, That gleams from the Golden City. HAVING won by toil and pain Who shall regret the pang? of life ? Who would regret the Past's ]ong night, With all its fear and chill and blight, If now the east, through twilight gray. Were streaked with Everlasting Day ? I WALK down the Valley of Silence, Down the dim, voiceless valley alone ; And I hear not the fall of a footstep Around me — save God's and my own ; And the hush of my heart is as holy As hovers when angels have flown. Songs in tl)e ^ouqc of ntg JJilgrimage. 177 Long ago I was weary of voices Whose music my heart could not win; Long ago I was weary of noises That fretted my soul with their din ; Long ago I was weary of places Where I met but the human and sin. I walked through the world with the worldly; I craved what the world never gave ; And I said, " In the world each ideal That shines like a star on life's wave, Is tossed on the shores of the Real, And sleeps like a dream in the grave." And still did I pine for the perfect, And still found the false with the true ; I sought 'mid the human for heaven, But caught a mere glimpse of the blue, And I w^ept when the clouds of the mortal, Veiled even that glimpse from my view. And I toiled on, heart-tired of human; And I moaned 'mid the masses of men, Till I knelt long at an altar, And heard a voice call me — since then I walked down the Valley of Silence That is far beyond mortal ken. Do you ask what I found in the Valley ? 'Tis my trysting place with the Divine; And I fell at the feet of the Holy, And above me a voice said. " Be mine." 7^ Songs in ti)C ^oubc of ntg Jpilgrintage. And there rose from the depths of my spirit The echo, " My heart shall be thine." Do you ask how I live in the Valley ? I weep and I dream and I pray; But my tears are as sweet as the dew-drops That fall on the roses in May : And my prayers, like a perfume from censers, Ascending to God night and day. In the hush of the Valley of Silence I dream all the songs that I sing. And the music floats down the dim valley Till each finds a word for a wing, That to men, like the dove of the deluge, The message of peace they may bring. But far on the deep there are billows That never shall break on the beach, And I have heard songs in the silence That never shall float into speech ; And I have dreams in the Valley Too lofty for language to reach. Do you ask me the place in the Valley, Ye hearts that are narrowed by care ? It lies far away between mountains, And God and His angels are there ; And one is the dark Mount of Sorrow, And one the bright Mountain of Prayer. Father Ryan. Songs in tlje ^onse of tns JJilgrimage. 179 ALL common things, each day's events, That with the hour begin and end, Our pleasures and our discontents, Are rounds by which we may ascend. Longfellow. THE way is long, my darling, The road is rough and steep, And fast across the evening sky I see the shadows sweep. But oh, my love, my darling, No ill to us can come. No terror turn us from the path, For we are going home. Your feet are tired, my darling — So tired, the tender feet ; But think, when we are there at last, How sweet the rest ! how sweet ! For lo ! the lamps are lighted, ' And yonder gleaming dome, Before us, shining like a star. Shall guide our footsteps home. Art cold, my love, and famished ? Art faint and sore athirst ? Be patient yet a little while, And joyous, as at first ; i8o Songs in ll)e ^ouse of mg plgrimage. For oh ! the sun sets never Within that land of bloom, And thou shalt eat the bread of life And drink life's wine at home. The wind blows cold, my darling, Adown the mountain steep, And thick across the evening sky The darkling shadows creep ; But oh ! my love, press onward, Whatever trials come. For in the way the Father set. We two are going home. Margaret E. Sangster. . . . Why forecast the trials of life, With such sad and grave persistence,. And wait and watch for a crowd of ills That as yet have no existence ? Strength for to-day — what a precious boon For earnest souls who labor ! For the willing hands who minister To the needy friend or neighbor. Strength for to-day that the weary hearts In the battle for right may quail not ; And the eyes bedimmed by bitter tears In the search for light may fail not. gongs in tl)e ^oxtse of m^ plgritnage. i8i Strength for to-day on the downhill track For the travelers near the valley ; That up, far up on the other side Ere long they may safely rally. Strength for to-day, that our precious youth May happily shun temptation, And build from the rise to the set of the sun On a strong and sure foundation. Strength for to-day, in house and home To practice forbearance sweetly ; To scatter kind words and loving deeds, Still trusting in God completely. Strength for to-day is all that we need, For there never will be a to-morrow; For to-morrow will prove but another to-day, With its measures of joy and sorrow. IF you sit down at set of sun And count the acts that you have done, And counting find One self-denying act— one word That eased the heart of him who heard, One glance most kind, That fell like sunshine where it went, Then you may count the day well spent. i82 Songs in ll)c ^onse of nta JJilgrintage^ << T^HE days are all alike," she said ; 1 *' The glory of my life is dead ; Hope and ambition far are fled — And I live on in vain. " Others have reached the leaves of fame, Others have won undying name ; My shadowed hours are still the same — What comfort doth remain ? '• To clothe — to feed — to satisfy The household need ; the children's cry Doth fill the moments as they fly ; My sheaves are poor and small. *' So full the claims of every day I scarce can creep to Thee, and pray ; Oh, lead me in some brighter way To glorify Thy name." Then spoke the Master, "Thankful be, My child ! that God hath honored thee, The richest crown of life to see, That prayers and hopes can claim. *' Glory thou cravedst — and instead I gave thee children to be fed, Those tender lives that look for bread Unto the mo her hand. Songs in tlje ^onse of ntg Jpilgrimage. 183 '* Joy didst thou seek — I heard thy prayer ; I sent thee infant faces fair, And rosy lips and sunny hair — A blessed, sinless band." " ' Glory to God,' was still my plea — Patience of Christ they brought from Me — These babes that God shall ask of thee. Within the resting land." THERE'S many a rest on the road of life. If we only would stop to take it. And many a tone from the better land. If the careworn heart would wake it-. To the sunny soul that is full of hope. And whose beautiful trust ne'er faileth, The grass is green and the flowers are bright, Though the wintry storm prevaileth. Better to hope, though the clouds hang low, And to keep the eyes still lifted ; For the sweet blue sky will soon peep through When the ominous clouds are rifted. There was never a night without a day. Nor an evening without a morning ; And the darkest hour, the proverb goes, Is the hour before the dawning. 184 Songs in tlie ^ouse of mg JJilgrimage, Better to weave in the web of life A bright and golden filling, And to do God's will with a ready heart, And hands that are swift and willing, Than to snap the delicate silver threads Of our curious lives asunder, And then blame Heaven for the tangled ends, And sit to grieve and wonder. THE faint low echo that we hear of far-off music seems to fill The silent air. with love and fear, and the world's clamors all grow still, Until the portals close again, and leave us toiling on in pain. Complain not that the way is long, — what road is weary that leads there ? But let the Angel take thy hand, and lead thee up the misty stair, Andthen with beating heart await the opening of the Golden Gate. Adelaide Anne Proctor. HOW many of us have ships at sea, Freighted with wishes, hopes and fears, Tossing about on the waves, while we Linger and wait on the shore for years, QouQQ in tlie ^ouqc of mg JJilgritnagje. 185 Gazing- afar through the distance dim And sighing, " Will ever our ships come in ? '* We sent them away with laughter and song, The decks were white and the sails were new. The fragrant breezes bore them along, The sea was calm and the skies were blue, And we thought as we watched them sail away Of the joy they would bring us some future day. Long have we watched beside the shore To catch the gleam of a coming sail, But we only hear the breakers' roar, Or the sweeping night-wind's dismal wail. Till our cheeks grow pale, and our eyes grow dim, And we sadly sigh, " Will they never come in ? " Oh ! poor sad heart with its burden of cares, Its aims defeated, its worthless life, That has garnered only the thorns and the tares That is seared and torn in the pitiful strife. Afar on the heavenly golden shore Thy ships are anchored forevermore. Florence Grovbr. ONE of these days it will all be over. Sorrow and parting, and loss and gain. Meetings and partings of friends and lover, Joy that was ever so edged with pain. 1 86 Songs in tl)e ^on^i^ of tng JJilgrintage, One of these days will our hands be folded, One of these days will the work be done. Finished the pattern our lives have molded, Ended our labor beneath the sun. One of these days will the heart-ache leave us, One of these days will the burden drop ; Never again shall a hope deceive us, Never again will our progress stop. Freed from the blight of vain endeavor, Winged with the health of immortal life, One of these days we shall quit forever All that is vexing in earthly strife. One of these days we shall know the reason. Haply, of much that perplexes now; One of these days in the Lord's good season Light of his peace shall adorn the brow. Blest, though out of tribulation. Lifted to dwell in his sun-bright smile, Happy to share in the great salvation, Well may we tarry a little while. Shall we sit idly down and say The night hath come ; it is no longer day ? The night hath nof yet come ; we are not quite Cut off from labor by the failing light ; Songs in il)c iponse of ntji JJilgrintag^. 187 Something- remains for us to do or dare ; Even the oldest tree some fruit may bear ; For age is opportunity no less Than youth itself, though in another dress, And as the evening . . . fades away, The sky is filled with stars, invisible by 'day. From Longfellow's " Morituri Salutamus." THANKS for the benediction of Thy love Celestial, falling with a heavenly grace From out those heights where angel ones, above The scenes of our temptations, gladly trace The paths by which our feet may safely climb Those starry heights beyond, where life shall grow sublime. Hester M. Poole. IX. SONGS OF REMEMBRANCE. I will remember Thee, in the night-watches.^ ** The dawn is not distant, Nor is the night starless ; Love is eternal ! God is still God, and His faith shall not fail us ! '* Here then inscribe them — each red-letter day ! Forget not all the sunshine of the way By which the Lord hath led thee ! answered prayers, And joys unasked ; strange blessings, lifted cares, — Grand promise echoes ! Thus each page shall be A record of God's faithfulness to thee." SONS OF REMEMBRANCE. " O Life and Love ! O happy throng Of thoughts, whose only speech is song." HIDE thee awhile, call back the troublous past; How many times we have been wakened thus, while I, Entered the dreadful shadow, all aghast, And found beyond it a far brighter sky ; How oft the low black clouds above me lay, And some sweet wind of God blew them away. Hide thee awhile, call back the happy past : Thy many marvelous mercies: thy delicious days, When sorrow watched thee from afar, nor cast One shadow o'er love's many changing ways ; All eyes have wept ; life no new sorrow has ; Times come and go ; but God is where He was. 192 Songs of liemembrance. So, soul, come with me, and be sure we'll find A little sanctuary, wherein dwell faith and prayer, Then, if misfortune come, cast doubt behind ; We shall have strength to fight, or strength to bear ; No prisoners of evil fate are we, For in our breast we carry Hopeful's key. Amelia E. Barr. SUM up at night what thou hast done by day; And in the morning what thou hast to do. Dress and undress thy soul. George Herbert. THE things o'er which we grieved, with lashes wet. Will flash before us out of life's dark night, As stars shine most in deeper tints of blue. They are poor That have lost nothing : they are poorer far Who, losing, have forgotten ; they most poor Of all, who lose and wish they might forget. gongs of Uetnentbr ancc. 193 For life is one, and in its warp and woof There runs a thread of gold that glitters fair, And sometimes in the pattern shows most sweet Where there are somber colors. It is true That we have wept. But oh ! this thread of gold. We would not have it tarnish ; let us turn Oft and look back upon the wondrous web, And when it shineth, sometimes we shall know That memory is possession. When I remember something which I had, But which is gone, and I must do without, I sometimes wonder how I can be glad ; Even in cowslip time, when hedges sprout. It makes me sigh to think on it, — but yet My days will not be better days, should I forget. When I remember something promised me. But which I never had, nor can have now, Because the promiser we no more see In countries that accord with mortal vow ; — When I remember this, I mourn — but yet My happier days are not the days when I forget. Jean Ingklow. FROM the mountain-side of years, Up which I came and failed or won, The places watered by my tears Seem sweet as gardens in the sun. 194 Songs of Eetnembrance, From this calm height my way seems plain, And work and duty shall be joy, Ripened, toned down, and purged by pain No ill my purpose can destroy. To-day, I seem to understand That pain and struggle, grief and care, Are chisels in an Unseen Hand, That round us into statues fair. A. P. Miller. Summer days And moonlight nights, He led us over paths Bordered with pleasant flowers ; but when His steps Were on the mighty waters, — when we went With trembling hearts through nights of pain and loss, — His smile was sweeter and His love more dear; And only Heaven is better, than to walk With Christ at midnight, over moonless seas ! " B. M." In dreams that hold One hand to forward, one to past We stay the years that fly so fast, And link our new lives to the old. F, W. BOURDILLON. 0ongs of Remembrance. 195 THINK ye the notes of holy song On Milton's tuneful ear have died ? Think ye that Raphael's angel throng Have vanished from his side ? Oh, no 1 we live our life again ; Or warnnly touched, or coldly dim, The pictures of the past remain, — Man's work shall follow him. Whittier. THERE was a time when meadow, grove and stream. The earth and every common sight, To me did seem Appareled in celestial light, — The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore : Turn wheresoe'er I may. By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more. The rainbow comes and goes And lovely is the rose ; The moon doth with delight Look 'round her when the heavens are bare ; Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair ; 196 Songs of Remembrance. The sunshine is a g-lorious birth ; But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth. O joy ! that in our embers Is something that doth live, That nature yet remembers What was so fugitive ! The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual benediction : . . . Though inland far we be. Our souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither, — Can in a moment travel thither, And see the children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. Then sing, sing a joyous song ! Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower, — We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind ; In the primal sympathy Which having been, must ever be ; In the soothing thoughts that spring- Out of human suffering ; In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind. Wordsworth. Songs of Ucmcmbxantc. 197 IMIND the weary days of old, When motionless I seemed to lie ; The nights when fierce the billows rolled, And changed my course, I knew not why. I feared the calm, I feared the gale, Foreboding danger and delay, Forgetting I w^as thus to sail To reach what seemed so far away. I measure not the loss and fret Which through those years of doubt I bore ; I keep the memory fresh, and yet Would hold God's patient mercy more. What wrecks have passed me in the gale, What ships gone down on summer days ; While I, with furled or spreading sail. Stood for the haven far away. A. D. F. Randolph. THERE is no soul but has some deep regret For something lost on which the heart was set ; Through tear-drop prisms still we see it glow, Rimmed with the splendors of the glorious bow. There is no soul but sometimes takes its flight To those far skies that made its youth so bright, In search of something lost, and with a sigh, Gives o'er the search, returns and waits to die, And treads the stony way with bleeding feet. To find it when the heart has ceased to beat. 198 Songs of Remembrance. O sweet autumnal days of long ago ! How in my bosom yet their raptures glow ! Those mellow days, when in the infinite West, In some celestial islands of the blest, The angels loosed the winds and set them free. To roam the fields and woods and hills with me. While toiling men in hamlets far away Heard the woods roar through all the balmy day. O blessed days of sunshine and of peace ! When from the strife of man I stole release And walked abroad among the hills and woods In the sweet company of God's solitudes ; Through velvet fields I saw the rivers run And white towns shining in the mellow sun. And heard the woods their soothing music pour From forest harps with multitudinous roar, Or saw across some blue and distant bay A glory fall on cities far away, And taper steeples, tow'ring slim and high, Stand glorified against the wondrous sky ! And then God came with His rich gifts of power And talked and walked with me from hour to hour, And changed me to a harp of living chords. "Consolation," A. P. Miller, THE sudden joys that out of darkness start As flames from ashes ; swift desires that dart Like swallows singing down each wind that blows 1 White as the gleam of a receding sail, Songs of ^cmcmhxance. 199 White as a cloud that floats and fades in air, White as the whitest lily on a stream, These tender memories are : a fairy tale Of some enchanted land, we know not where, But lovely as a landscape in a dream ! Longfellow. THE happy dreams that gladdened all our youth When dreams had less of self and more of truth The childhood's faith, so tranquil and so sweet, Which sat like Mary at the Master's feet — These are not lost. Not lost, O Lord ! for in thy city bright. Our eyes shall see the past by clearer light, And things long hidden from our gaze below, Thou wilt reveal, and we shall surely know — These are not lost. O MEMORY, ope thy mystic door ; O dream of youth return ; And let the light that gleamed of yore Beside this altar burn. 200 Songs of Remembrance. The past is plain. ; 'twas love designed E'en sorrow's iron chain ; And mercy's shining thread has twined With the dark warp of pain. David Gray. No strain That e'er awakened human smiles or tears Is lost ; nor shall we call it back in vain. Beside the shore, amid the eternal spheres, Hark, the beloved voices once again Rise from the winds and waves to soothe mine ears. SOME comfort when all else is night, About his fortune plays, Who sets his dark to-days in the light Of the sunnier yesterdays. In memory of joy that's been Something of joy, is still ; Where no dew is, we may dabble in A dream of the dew at will. 0ongs of Remembrance. 201 Thank God, when other power decays, And other pleasures die, We still may set our dark to-days, In the liglit of days gone by. Alice Cary. NOT to forget, when pain and grief draw nigh, Into the ocean of time past, to dive For memories of God's mercies. Henry Septimus Sutton. WHEN doomed to feel that youth is o'er, That spring and summer both have fled, That we can wake to life no more. The buds and blossoms that are dead ; That evermore the years will steal Some brightness as they hurry on. And with the past we know and feel The glory of our life is gone ; And still, the skies are just as blue. The golden suns as warm and bright. No star has lost its radiant hue. Or faded from the crown of night ; And beauty's cheek is still as fair. The songs of birds as sweet at morn. The flowers bloom, and in the air Th^fragrancc of the spring is born. 202 Songs of Remembrance. But oh, to think of all the past, How much of good there was to glean, How little came to us at last. And yet, and yet, what might have been How shadows gather o'er the heart, The night winds bear a sadder strain ; The eyes grow dim with tears that start. And memory's gates we close in vain. BUILD thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll ! Leave thy low-vaulted past ! Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, Till thou at length art free. Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea ! Oliver Wendell Holmes. X, SONGS IN SICKNESS, K,jr^^'-^ ** The mark of rank in Nature Is capacity for pain, And the anguish of the singer Makes the sweetness of the strain ! *' There's a purpose in pain, Else it were devilish ! " If broken lives may best complete Thy circle, let our fragments fall An offering at Thy feet." SONGS IN SICKNESS. God has use for all thy pain. I TRUST in my soul That the great master hand which sweeps over the whole Of this deep harp of life, if at moments it stretch To shrill tension some one wailing nerve, means to fetch Its response the truest, most stringent and smart, — Its pathos the purest, from out the wrung heart, Whose faculties, flaccid it may be, if less Sharply strung, sharply smitten, had failed to ex- press Just the one note, the great harmony needs. Owen Meridith's ^'' Luctiley THIS leaf? this stone ? It is thy heart ; It must be crushed by pain and smart, It must be cleansed by. sorrow's art — 2o6 gcngs in Sickneas. Ere it will yield a fragrance sweet, Ere it will shine a jewel meet, To lay before thy dear Lord's feet. THE same old baffling questions ! O my friend I cannot answer them. In vain I send My soul into the dark, where never burn The lamps of science, nor the natural light Of Reason's sun and stars ! I cannot learn Their great and solemn meanings, nor discern The awful secrets of the eyes which turn Evermore on us through the day and night. With silent challenge, and a dumb demand, Proffering the riddles of the dread unknown Like the calm sphinxes with their eyes of stone. Questioning the centuries from their veils of sand. I have no answer for myself or thee, Save that I learned at my mother's knee : " All is of God that is, and is to be, And God is good ! " Let this suffice us still Resting in child-like trust upon His will. Who moveth His great ends unthwarted by the ill. Whittier. KNOW Thy wondrous ways will end In love and blessing, Thou true friend I Bongs in Sickness. 207 Enough if Thou art ever near. I know whom Thou wilt glorify And raise o'er sun and stars on high, Thou lead'st through depths of darkness here I WAIT, Till from my veiled brows shall fall This being's thrall, Which keeps me now from knowing all. In stormless mornings yet to be rU pluck from Life's full fruited tree, The joys to-day denied to me. Mary Clemmer. T HEY who have learned to pray aright, From Pain's dark well draw up delight. THE Border-Lands are calm and still, And solemn are their silent shades And my heart welcomes them, until The light of life's long evening fades. I heard them spoken of with dread, As fearful and unquiet places ; Shades where the living and the dead Looked sadly in each other's faces. 2o8 Songs in Sickness. But since Thy hand hath led me here And I have seen the Border-Land — Seen the dark river flowing near, Stood on its brink as now I stand, There has been nothing to alarm My trembling soul ; how could I fear While thus encircled with Thine arm ? I never felt Thee half so near. They say the waves are dark and deep. That faith has perished in the river ; They speak of death with fear, and weep, Shall my soul perish ? Never ! never ! I know that Thou wilt never leave The soul that trembles while it clings To Thee : I know Thou wilt achieve Its passage on Thine outspread wings. And since I first was brought so near The stream that flows to the Dead Sea, I think that it has grown more clear And shallow than it used to be. ONCE Pain beat upon my heart And well-nigh killed it. I shuddered at the smart. But said " God willed it." . Songs in Sickness. 209 And down and down again, With awful power, Fell the great hand of Pain, Hour after hour. While like a mighty flail, The fierce blows hurt me, I cried, " God doth prevail, He'll not desert me." Blow upon cruel blow. The great hand gave me. Yet I cried, " He doth know And He will save me." I did not loudly cry, And ask God's reason ; I knew He'd tell me why In His own season. *' In His good time," I said, In trusting blindness. And I was not afraid To wait His kindness. I did not trust in vain, God drew me nearer. And whispered, " Smile again ! The way is clearer." 2IO Songs in Sickness. And lo ! my mortal sight Could reach to heaven. My faith dispelled the night, And light was given. Ella Wheeler. I HAVE some songs I do not sing To any human ear ; None can discern the precious thing Which is to me so dear. No sympathy goes far enough ; No soul comes into mine ; No critic's voice but sounds too rough, for me to lend a line. They are my songs, my precious songs, That come to me by night ; Their very rhythmic pulse belongs To fancy's farthest flight. In them my spirit moved at v^ill Between the earth and sky ; I cannot catch again the thrill I felt when stars passed by. Sengs in Sickness. 211 So blame me not ; I cannot sing, To any human ear, Those anthems of my suffering- Which are to me so dear. Rev. Samuel Duffield. WHAT though the web our hands shall leave undone Be tangled, and its pattern feebly wrought ? If it be finished by some stronger one, The stronger soul may win the goal we sought. Some soul shall reap what we have sown in tears. Laura B. Boyce. IF I must win my way to perfectness In the sad path of suffering, like Him The over-flowing river of whose life Touches the flood-mark of humanity On the white pillars of the heavenly throne, Then welcome .... sickness . . . Sorrow and pain, the fear and fact of death ! Dr. J. G. Holland. 212 Songs in Sickness. w HAT profit to lay on God's altar Oblations of pain ? — Can He in the infinite gladness That floods all His being with light Complacently look on the sadness That dares to intrude on His sight ? Can He, in His rhythmic creation Attuned to the chant of the spheres. Bear the discord of moans, the vibration Of down-dropping tears ? Be quiet, poor heart ! Are the lessons Life sets thee so hard to attain That thou know'st not their potentest essence Lies wrapped in the problem of pain ? Even Nature such rudiments teaches ; — The birth-throe presages the breath ; The soul so high destined, reaches Its highest through death. No beaker is brimmed without bruising The clusters that gladden the vine ; No gem, glitters star-like, refusing The rasp that uncovers its shine ; The diver must dare the commotion Of billows above him that swirl, Ere he from the depths of the ocean Can bring up the pearl. Sangs in Sickness. 213 And He, who is molding the spirit, Through disciplines changeful and sore, Thai so it be fit to inherit The marvelous heirship in store — He measures the weight He is piling, He tempers the surge with a touch, There'll not be a graze of His filing Too little, too much. O heart, canst thou trust Him ? For sake of Attainment the noblest, the best, Content thee awhile to partake of These trials so wisely impressed ; Nor question God's goodness, nor falter. Nor say that Thy service is vain, If He bids thee bring to His altar Oblations of pain. Margaret J. Preston. A LITTLE bird fiew my window by, 'Twixt the level street and the level sky, The level rows of houses tall, The long low sun on the level wall ; And all that the little bird did say Was, " Over the hills and far away." A little bird sings above my bed. And I know if I could but lift my head 214 Songs in Sickness, I would see the sun set, round and grand, Upon level sea and level sand. While beyond the misty distance gray Is " Over the hills and far away." I think that a little bird will sing Over a grassy mound next spring, Where something that once was 7ne, ye'll leave In the level sunshine, morn and eve : But I shall be gone, past night, past day, " Over the hills and far away." Miss Mulock. T THOUGHT to work for Him. " Master," I said, 1 " Behold how wide the fields, and the good seed How few to sow. For Thee all toil were sweet — Oh, bid me go." He stayed my eager feet. " Not that, my child, the task I have for thee." *' Thou seest. Lord, how white the harvest bends. How worn the reapers are. Their cry ascends For help, more help, to garner up the grain — Here am I, Lord ; send me." Alas, in vain ! The Master saith, '* Let others bind the sheaves." Songs in Sickn^ess. 215 *' Thy lambs, dear Lord, are straying from the fold. Their feet are stumbling o'er the mountains cold — Far in the night I hear their piteous cry — Let me bring back the wanderers ere they die." " No ; other hands must lead them home again." " Dear Master, dost Thou see the bitter tears The mourners shed ? Through all the long sad years Their wails ascend. Wilt thou not bid me say. Thy hand shall wipe each mourner's tears away." *• My child, I know their griefs, and I will heal." •' Tis not for thee to sow the deathless seed. Nor thine to bind the sheaves; nor thine to lead The lost lambs back into their fold again. Nor yet to soothe the sore heart crushed with pain ; For thee, my child, another task is set." And then He led me to my darkened room, And there amid the silence and the gloom, My task I found. But I am well content To bear the pain and weakness He hath sent. Rejoiced that I can suffer for His sake. FATHER, I must - lean hard," And lay on Thee the burden of this pain ; This murmuring impatience too — thou know'st Is harder still to bear. My fainting heart 2i6 Songs in Sickness. Must find its shelter 'neath the circling arms Of thine own deep love. Firm, clasp it there ! Take all my burden — thou said'st it shall be thine; Leaning on thee, I know I shall be strong. Father ! dear Father ! I would be closer yet ; But thou must draw me, else I cannot come. Thine ar7n is not enough — where else can I repose But on thy loving breast ? Soft pillowed there Forever let me lie ! Weary and weak. My feet had stumbled on this rugged way, Had'st thou not held my hand ; and now I'm come Close to the narrow stream — e'en should its waters Roar and waves swell high — thine everlasting arms Shall bear me safely through — its floods can ne'er O'erwhelm. Father, thou lov'st thy child — I do not doubt — but will " lean hard." ALL the day long 1 seem to float away Through the gray mists that hide both sea and sun, I hear the plash of waves ; I feel their spray, And still my boat is drifting farther on. Love cannot reach me ; death and night alone Are with me and wnth ever-deepening shade Curtain me 'round, till darkness thick has grown. And helpless hands are stretched in vain for aid. Songs in Sickness. 217 God has forgotten ; only pain has life, And weakness, stealing soul and sense away, God has forgotten, and amid the strife I hear the unknown sea and feel its spray. Faint through the darkness shines a tender light ; Soft falls a voice I cannot help but hear — " Through waters deep thou passest, yet thy sight Full soon shall know, thy Lord was always near'' Helen Campbell. O SUDDEN blast, that through this silence black Sweeps past my windows, Coming and going with invisible track As death or sin does, — Why scare me, lying sick, and, save thine own, Hearing no voices ? Why mingle with a helpless human moan Thy mad rejoicings ? Why not come gently, as good angels come To souls departing, Floating among the shadows of the room With eyes light-darting, 2i8 QottQB in Sickness* Bringing faint airs of balm that seem to rouse Thoughts of a far land, Then binding softly upon weary brows Death's poppy garland ? O fearful blast, I shudder at thy sound Like heathen mortal Who saw the Three that mark life's doomed bouna Sit at his portal. Thou mightst be laden with sad, shrieking souls. Carried unwilling From their known earth to the unknown stream that rolls, All anguish stilling. Fierce wind, will the death-angel come like thee, Soon, soon to bear me — Whither ? what mysteries may unfold to me, What terrors scare me ? Shall I go wandering on, through empty space As on earth, lonely ? Or seek through myriad spirit-ranks one face, And miss that only ? Shall I then drop down from sphere to sphere Palsied and aimless ? Or will my being change so, that both fear And grief die nameless ? Songs in Sickness. 219 • Rather I pray Him who Himself is love, • •••••••• That even His brightness may not quite efface The soul's earth-features, That in the clear human likeness each may trace Glorified creatures ; That we may not cease loving, only taught Holier desiring ; More faith, more patience ; with more wisdom fraught. Higher aspiring. Then, strong Azrael, be thy supreme call Soft as spring-breezes. Or like this blast, whose loud fiend festival My heart's blood freezes, I will not fear thee. If thou safely keep My soul, God's giving, And my soul's soul, I, wakening from death-sleep Shall first know living. MiSS MULOCK. T HE Lord knoweth when each hot tear floweth From eyes of those who suffer while they pray; He knows their sorrow, in the glad to-morrow Will wipe in gentleness those drops away. 2 20 Songs in Sickness. The Lord knoweth when the slow pulse showeth, That we are drawing near to Jordan's strand, When our heart faileth, then His strength availeth, And i)rings us safely to the better land. The Lord knoweth ! If your faint heart troweth, It is uncared for by its God above, Oh, doubt no longer, but in this be stronger, He knoweth all things, and His name is Love. G. Z. G. PAIN'S furnace-heat within me quivers, God's breath upon the fire doth blow, And all my heart in anguish shivers, And trembles at the fiery glow ; And yet I whisper, " As God will ! " And in His hottest fire hold still. He comes, and lays my heart, all heated, On the bare anvil, minded so Into His own fair shape to beat it, With His great hammer, blow on blow ; And yet I whisper, " As God will ! " And at His heaviest blows hold still. Songs in Sickness. 221 He takes my softened heart and beats it. The sparks fly off at every blow. He turns it o'er and o'er, and heats it, And lets it cool and makes it glow. And yet I whisper, " As God will ! " And in His mighty hand hold still. Why should I murmur ? for the sorrow Thus only longer-lived would be ; Its end may come, and will, to-morrow, When God has done His work in me : So I say trusting, " As God will ! " And trusting to the end, hold still. He kindles for my profit purely. Affliction's fiery, glowing brand ; And all his heaviest blows are surely Inflicted by a master-hand ; So I say praying, " As God will ! " And hope in Him, and suffer still. A LIFE of waiting, lived as for the Lord, Shall never in his sight be counted lost. Dost find it hard to wait? Remember this, Our will, opposing God's will, makes the cross. 222 Songs in Sickness. God's plans are great and deep, His ways are wide ; We strive in vain His will to understand, Till, looking upward through the mist of doubt. We hear His loving voice, and clasp His hand. The reason here we may not understand Why He should bid some labor, others rest ; But since His love and wisdom cannot fail, We know His ways are right. His plans are best.' CONTENT thee— so the angel saith,— Thy minor makes the triumph strain Sound sweeter on celestial breath — And God has use for all thy pain. His joy thy struggling soul may reach ; From the strong slain comes sweetness still. And God lets suffering only teach Some best revealings of His will. IF thou, impatient, do let slip thy cross, Thou wilt not find it in this world again, Nor in another ; here and here alone Is given thee to suffer for God's sake. In other worlds we shall more perfectly Serve Him, and love Him, praise Him, work for Him. Songs in Sickness. 223 Grow nearer and nearer Him with all delight ; But then we shall not any more be called To suffer, which is our appointment here. Canst thou not suffer then one hour — or two ? If He should call thee from thy cross to-day, Saying, " It is finished ! " — that hard cross of thine From which thou prayest for deliverance, Thinkst thou not some passion of regret Would overcome thee ? Thou wouldst say, "So soon ? Let me go back, and suffer yet awhile More patiently — I have not yet praised God." And He might answer to thee^" Never more. All pain is done with." Whensoe'er it comes, That summons that we look for, it will seem Soon, yea, too soon. Let us take heed in time That God may now be glorified in us ; And while we suffer, let us set our souls To suffer perfectly ; since this alone, — The suffering, which is this world's special grace, May here be perfected, and left behind. From Ugo Bassi's Sermon. L ORD, a little, little longer ! " Sobs the earth-love, growing stronger, He will miss me, and go mourning through his soli- tary days, And heaven were scarcely heaven, If these lambs which thou hast given Were to slip out of our keeping and be lost in the world's ways. 224 Songs in Sickness. Lord, it is not fear of dying, Nor an impious denying Of Thy will, which forevermore on earth, in heaven, be done; But the love that desperate clings Unto these, my precious things In the beauty df the daylight, and the glory of the sun. Ah, Thou still art calling, calling. With a soft voice unappalling; And it vibrates in far circles through the everlasting years ; When Thou knockest, even so ! I will arise and go. — Miss Mulock. THOU, who so long has pressed the couch of pain. Oh welcome, welcome back to life's free breath, To life's free breath and day's sweet light again. From the chill shadows of the gate of death ! For thou hadst reached the twilight bound between The world of spirits and this grosser sphere ; Dimly by thee the things of earth were seen. And faintly fell earth's voices on thine ear. 00ngs in Sickness. 225 Thou wert not weary of thy lot ; the earth Was ever good and pleasant in thy sight ; Still clung thy loves about the household hearth, And sweet was every day's returning light. Then welcome back to all thou wouldst not leave, To this grand march of seasons, days and hours ; The glory of the morn, the glow of eve, The beauty of the streams and stars and flowers. Thou bring'st no tidings of the better land. Even from its verge ; the mysteries opened there Are what the faithful heart may understand In its still depths, yet words may not declare. And well I deem, that from the brighter side Of life's dim border, some o'erflowing rays Streamed from the inner glory, shall abide Upon thy spirit through the coming days. Now may we keep thee from the balmy air And radiant walks of heaven a little space, Where He, who went before thee to prepare For his meek followers, shall assign thy place. William Cullkn Bryant. XI, SONGS IN BEREAVEMENT. * ' Let us go in and see how the dead rest ! " ** Ah ! I believe there is no away ; that no love, no life, goes ever from us ; it goes as He went, that it may- come again, deeper and closer and surer, to be with us always — even to the end of the world." ** O solitary love ! thou art so strong, I think God will take pity on thee ere long. And take thee where thou'lt find those angel faces fair." SONGS IN BEREAVEMENT, HE who died at Azan sends This to comfort all his friends. Faithful friends ! It lies, I know, Pale and white and cold as snow ; And ye say, " Abdallah's dead ! " Weeping at the feet and head, I can see your falling tears, I can hear your sighs and prayers ; Yet I smile and whisper this — " I am not the thing you kiss ; Cease your tears and let it lie ; It was mine, it is not ' I.' " Sweet friends ! what the women lave For its last bed, called the grave, Is a hut which I am quitting, Is a garment no more fitting, 230 Songs in Bcxcavtmcnt. Is a cage from which at last Like a bird, my soul has passed ; Love the inmate, not the room ; The wearer, not the garb ; the plume Of the falcon, not the bars Which kept him from those splendid stars ! Loving friends ! be wise and dry Straightway every weeping eye : What ye lift upon the bier Is not worth a wistful tear. 'Tis an empty sea-shell— one Out of which the pearl has gone : The shell is broken — it lies there ; The pearl, the all, the soul is here. Tis an earthen jar whose lid Allah sealed, the while it hid That treasure of its treasury, A mind that loved him ; let it lie ! Let the shard be earth's once more. Since the gold shines in his store ! Allah glorious ! Allah good ! Now thy world is understood ; Now the long, long wonder ends ! Yet ye weep, my erring friends, While the man whom ye call dead, In unspoken bliss, instead. Lives and loves you ; lost, 'tis true, By such light as shines for you ; Songs in BtxcavcmcnU 231 But in light ye cannot see Of unfilled felicity — In enlarging Paradise — Lives a life that never dies. Farewell, friends ! Yet not farewell ; Where I am, ye too shall dwell. I am gone before your face A moment's time, a little space ; When ye come where I have stepped, Ye will wonder why ye wept ; Ye will know by wise love taught. That here is all, and there is naught. Weep awhile, if ye are fain — Sunshine still must follow rain — Only not at death ; for death Now we know, is that first breath Which our souls draw when we enter Life, which is of life the centre. Be ye certain all seems love Viewed from Allah's throne above ; Be ye stout of heart and come Bravely onward to your home ! La-il Allah ! Allah-la ! O Love divine ! O Love alway ! He who died at Azan gave This to those who made his grave. Edwin Arnold. 232 Songs in Serearement, •Know that his dear children cannot die, But gently lapsing to an ampler life Through the brief sleep we misname death, awake In His most glorious likeness. SHOULD bereavement's heavy shadow Pall-like clothe thy stricken heart, And the very stars above thee Cease their lessons to impart, Think the dear ones, whose departure Round thy soul such darkness cast, Somewhere find the heavenly morning That may rise on thee at last. OUR prince has gone to his inheritance ! Think it not strange. What if, with slight half smile, Some- crowned king to leave his throne should chance, And try the rough ways of the world awhile ? Ere he had wearied of its storm and stress, Would he not hasten to his own again ? Why should he bear its labor and duress, And all the untold burden of its pain ? Songs in Bcxcammcnt. 233 Or what if from the golden palace gate The king's fair son on some bright morn should stray ? Would he not send his lords of high estate To lead him back ere fell the close of day ? Julia C. R. Dorr. When you see a soul set free From this poor seed of its mortality, And know you saw not that which is to be, Watch you about the tomb For its immortal bloom ? Search for your flowers in the celestial grove : Look for your precious stream of human love In the unfathomable sea above : Follow your missing bird Where songs are always heard ! Phc£be Cary. IF for a time some loved one goes away, And leaves us our appointed work to do, Can we to him or to ourselves be true In mourning his departure day by day And so our work delay ? 2 34 Songs in BcxcavtmcnU Nay, if we love and honor, we shall make The absence brief by doing well our task — Not for ourselves, but for the dear one's sake 1 And at his coming only of him ask Approval of the work, which most was done ; Not for ourselves, but our beloved one. Our Father's house I know is broad and grand ; In it how many, many mansions are ! And far beyond the light ot sun or star. Four little ones of mine, through that fair land Are walking hand in hand ! Think you I love not, or that I forget These of my loins ? Still this world is fair, And I am singing while my eyes are wet With weeping in this balmy summer air : I am not homesick, and the children kere Have need of me, and so my way is clear. I would be joyful as my days go b}-, Counting God's mercies to me. He who bore Life's heaviest cross is mine forevermore, And I, who wait His coming, shall not I On His sure word rely ? So if sometimes the way be rough, and sleep Be heavy for the grief He sends to me, Or at my waking I would only weep — Let me be mindful these are thintrs to be. To work His blessed will until He come, And take my hand and lead me safely home. A. D. F. Randolph. Songs in SereatJentent. 235 God keeps a niche In Heaven, to hold our idols ; and albeit He brake them to our faces, and denied That our close kisses should impair their white, — I know we shall behold them raised, complete. The dust swept from their beauty. E. B. Browning. N O bird-song floated down the hill. The tangled bank below was still ; No rustle from the birchen stem, No ripples from the water's hem. The dusk of twilight round us grew, We felt the falling of the dew ; For from us, ere the day was done, The wooded hills shut out the sun. But on the river's farther side, We saw the hill-tops glorified : A tender glow, exceeding fair, A dream of day without its glare, With us the damp, the chill, the gloom. With them the sunset's rosy bloom : 236 Songs in BtxcavcmcnU While dark throug-h willowy vistas seen, The river rolled in shade between, From out the darkness, where we trod, We gazed upon those hills of God, Whose light seemed not of moon or sun ; We spake not, but our thought was one. We paused, as if from that bright shore Beckoned our dear ones gone before ; And stilled our beating hearts to hear The voices lost to mortal ear ! Sudden our pathway turned from night ; The hills swung open to the light ; Thro' their green gates the sunshine showed A long, slant splendor downward flowed. Down glade, and glen, and bank it rolled ; It bridged the shaded stream with gold, And, borne on piers of mist, allied The shadowy with the sunlit side ! " So," prayed we, ** when our feet draw near The river, dark with mortal fear, Songs in Bcttavcmcni. 237 And the night cometh, chill with dew, O Father ! let thy light break through ! So let the hills of doubt divide, So bridge with faith the sunless tide ! So let the eyes that fail on earth On Thy eternal hills look forth ; And, in Thy beckoning angels, know The dear ones whom we loved below ! *' Whittier. ONCE, in the twilight of a wintry day, One passed me silent, struggling on his way. With head bowed low, and hands that burdens bore, And saw not how, a little space before, A woman watched his coming, where the light Poured a glad welcome through a window bright. Set thick with flowers that showed no fairer bloom Than her sweet face, turned outward to the gloom. Yet when his foot, with quick, impatient stride, But touched the step, the door swung open wide, Soft hands reached swiftly out, with eager hold. And drew the dear one in from storm and cold. 238 Songs in Bcxcar)cmcni. O love ! whose eyes, from some celestial height, Behold me toiling, burdened through the night. Tender of every blast at which I cower. Yet smiling still, to know^ how brief the hour ; Keeping within thy radiant, love-lit home, Some glad surprise to whisper when I come— *Tis but a breath till I the door shall win. And thy dear hands will swiftly draw me in ! Emily Huntingdon Miller. SOULS that of His own good life partake. He loves as His own self ; dear as His eye They are to Him : He'll never them forsake : When they shall die, then God Himself shall die: They live, they live in blest eternity. Henry More. Now I need not fear for thee, Where thou art, all is well ; For thou thy Father's face doth see. With Jesus thou dost dwell ! Yes, cloudless joys around him shine. His heart shall never ache like mine ; He sees the radiant armies glow That keep and guide us here below. 00ttgs in Bcxtavcmtni. 239 He hears their singing evermore, His little voice too sings, He drinks of wisdom deepest love, He speaks of secret things, That we can never see or know Howe'er we seek or strive below. While yet amid the mists we stand That veil this dark and tearful land. O that I could but watch afar, And hearken but awhile To that sweet song that hath no jar. And see his heavenly smile. As he doth praise the holy God Who made him pure for that abode ! In tears of joy full well I know This burdened heart would overflow. And I should say : Stay here, my son, My wild laments are o'er, O well for thee that thou hast won, I call thee back no more, But come, thou fiery chariot, come ! And bear me swiftly to thy home. Where he with many a loved one dwells, And evermore of gladness tells. Then be it as my Father wills, I will not weep for thee ; Thou livest, joy thy spirit fills Pure sunshine thou dost see, 240 Songs in Bereavement. The sunshine of eternal rest ; Abide my child where thou art blest; I with our friends will onward fare, And when God wills, shall find thee there. Paul Gerhardt, 1650. I HAVE no moan to make, No bitter tears to shed ; No heart, that for rebellious grief Will not be comforted. There is no friend of mine Laid in the earth to sleep, — No grave so green or heaped afresh By which I stand and weep. Though some, whose presence once Sweet comfort 'round me shed, Here in the body walk no more The way that I must tread. Not they, but what they wore Went to the house of fear, — They, were the incorruptible. They left corruption here. Songs in Jineavcmcnt, 241 The veil of flesh that hid, Is softly drawn aside, More clearly I behold them now Than those who never died. Who died ! what means that word, Of men so much abhorred ? Caught up in clouds of heaven to be Forever with the Lord ! To give this body, racked With mortal ills and cares, For one as glorious and as fair As our Redeemer wears. To leave our shame and sin, Our hunger and disgrace ; To come unto ourselves, to turn And find our Father's face. To run, to leap, to walk ; — To quit our beds of pain ; And live where the inhabitants Are never sick again. To sit no longer dumb, Nor halt nor blind ; to rise; To praise the Healer with our tongue, And see Him with our eyes. 242 Songs in Bcxcavcmcni. To leave cold winter snows, And burning- summer heats ; And walk in soft, white, tender light, About the golden streets. Thank God for all mjy loved That, out of pain and care, Have safely reached the heavenly hights, And stay to meet me there ! Not these I mourn, I know Their joy by faith sublime — But for myself, that still below Must wait my appointed time. Phcebk Carv. GOOD night ! good night ! as we so oft have said Beneath this roof at midnight, in the days That are no more, and shall no more return, Thou has but taken thy lamp and gone to bed ; I stay a little longer, as one stays To cover up the embers that still bum. Longfellow. IT sometimes happens that two friends will meet. And, with a smile and touch of hands, again Go on their way along the noisy street. Each is so sure of all the friendship sweet, The loving silence gives no thought of pain. 00ngs in Bereavement. 243 And so, I think, those friends whom we call dead Are with us. It may be some quiet hour, Or time of busy work for hand or head — Their love fills all the heart that missed them so. They bring a sweet assurance of the life Serene, above the worry that we know ; And we grow braver for the comfort brought. Why should we mourn because they do not speak Our words that lie so far below their thought ? Sunday Afternoon. WHAT to shut eyes has God revealed ? What hear the ears that death has sealed ? What undreamed beauty, passing show. Requites the loss of all we know ? O silent land, to which we move, Enough if there alone be love ; And mortal need can ne'er outgrow What it is waiting to bestow ! O white soul ! from that far-off shore Float some sweet song the waters o'er ; Our faith confirm, our fears dispel. With the old voice we loved so well ! Whittibr. 244 Songs in B^reatJentcnt. 1SIT beside the sea this autumn day, When sky and tide are ravishingly blue, And melt into each other. Down the bay, The stately ships drift by so still and slow, That on the horizon's verge I scarce may know Which be the sails along the wave that glow. And which the clouds that float the azure through. From beds of golden-rod and asters, steal The south winds, soft as any breath of May ; High in the sunny air the white gulls wheel, As noiseless as the clouds they poise below; And in the hush the white waves come and go, As if a spell entranced them, and their flow Echoed the beat of oceans far away. O loved and lost ! can you not stoop to me This perfect morn, when heaven and earth are one ? The south winds breathe of you ; I only see (Alas the vision sweet can naught avail ! ) Your image in the cloud, the wave, the sail ; And heed nor calm, nor storm, nor bliss nor bale. Remembering you have gone beyond the sun. One look into your eyes; one clasp of hands: One murmured, " Lo I love you as before ;" And I would give you to your viewless lands Songs in Sereatjetnent. 245 And wait my time, with never tear or sigh ; — But not a whisper comes from earth or sky, And the sole answer to my yearning cry, Is the faint wash of waves along the shore. Lord, dost Thou see how dread a thing is death ? When silence such as this is all it leaves ? To watch in agony the parting breath Till the fond eyes are closed, the dear voice still. And know that not the wildest prayer can thrill Thee, to awake them, but our grief must fill Alike the rosy morns, the rainy eves. Ah ! Thou dost see ; and not a pang is vain ! — Some joy of every anguish must be born ; Else this one planet's weight of loss and pain Would stay the stars in sympathetic woe. And make the suns move pale and cold and slow. Till all was black and void, the throne below. And night shut down without a gleam of morn. But mark ! The sun goes radiant to his goal While winds make music on the laughing sea ; And with his set, the starry host will roll Celestial splendors over mead and main ; Lord, can Thy worlds be glad and death enchain ? Nay ! 'tis but crowning for immortal reign In the pure realm where all abide with thee. 246 Songs in BereatJentent. What star has seen the sun at cloudless noon ! What chr}^salis knows aught of wings that soar ? O blessed souls ! how can I hope the boon Of look or word from you, the glorified, Until for me the shining gates swing wide ? — Welcome the day when the great deeps divide, And we are one, in life forever more. Edena Dean Proctor. WOULD that I too were lying Beneath the churchyard sod With my limbs at rest in the green earth's breast. And my soul at home with God." I never lay me down to sleep at night But in my heart I sing that little song : The angels hear it, as a pitying throng. They touch my burning lids with fingers, bright As moonbeams, pale, impalpable, and light; And when my daily pious tasks are done, And all my patient prayers said one by one, God hears it. Seems it sinful in his sight That round my slow burnt offering, of quenched will, One quivering human sigh creeps, wind-like, still ? 00ngs in Bcxtavcmcnt. 247 That when my orisons celestial fail Rises one note of natural human wail ? Ere long I trust God will forgive my singing" that poor song. A year ago I bade a little one Bear upon pilgrimage a heavy load Of alms ; he cried, half fainting on the road, " Weary, O weary, would the day were done ! " Him I reproved with tears, and said, "Go on ! Nor pause, nor murmur till thy task be o'er — " Would not God say the same to me, and more ? 1 will not sing that song ! Thou dearest one, Stretch thy steadfast hand And let mine grasp it. Now I also, stand. My woman weakness nerved to strength like thine ; We'll quaff life's aloe-cup as if 'twere wine Each to the other; journeying on apart. Till at heaven's golden doors we two leap heart to heart. Jean Ingelow. THEY never quite leave us — the friends who have passed Through the shadows of death to the sunlight above ; A thousand sweet memories are holding them fast To the places they blessed with their presence and love. 248 Songs in Bncavtmtnt. The work which they left and the books which they read Speak mutely, though still with an eloquence rare, And the songs that they sung, and dear words they said. Still linger and sigh on the desolate air. And oft when alone, and as oft in the throng Or when evil allures us, or sin draweth nigh, A whisper comes gently, ** Nay, do not the wrong,' And we feel that our weakness is pitied on high. In the dew-threaded morn and the opaline eve. When the children are merry, or crimsoned with sleep. We are comforted, even as lonely we grieve, For the thought of their rapture forbids us to weep. We toil at our task in the burden and heat Of life's passionate noon. They are folded in peace. It is well. We rejoice that their heaven is sweet. And one day for us all the bitter will cease. We, too, will go home o'er the river of rest As the strong and the lovely before us have gone. Our sun will go down in the beautiful west, To rise in the glory that circles the throne. gongs in ISextawmcni. 249 Until then we are bound by our love and our faith To the saints who are walking in Paradise fair : They have passed beyond sight, at the touching of death, But they live like ourselves, in God's infinite care. Margaret E. Sangster. OH, blessed are the dead ! Why will we mourn for them ? No more the stormy billows here With weary heart they stem ! No more they struggle here below To guide, through many a gulf of woe, Their being's fragile bark ; But harbored in eternal rest. By far-off islands of the blest. Calm on a sunlit ocean's breast, Anchor their fearless ark. Seem they to sleep ? 'tis but as sleeps The seed within the earth. To burst forth to the brilliant morn Of a more glorious birth ; Seem they to feel no breath of love That o'er their icy brow will move With tearful whispers warm ? 250 Songs in J^cvzantrntnU 'Tis that upon their spirit's ear All Heaven's triumphant music clear Is bursting, where there comes not near One tone of sorrow s storm ! Oh ! give them up to Him, whose own Those dear redeemed ones are I Lo ! on their wakening souls He breaks ' The bright and morning star ! ' His are they now, for evermore,— The mystery and the conflict o'er. The Eternal City won ! As conquerors let them pass and go Up from the fight of faith below, The peace of God at last to know In kingdoms of the sun ! Eliza Mary Hamilton. STILL always groweth in me the great wonder, When all the fields are blushing like the dawn, And only one poor little flower ploughed under, That I can see no flowers, that one being gone : No flower of all, because of one being gone. Songs in i3er easement. 251 Aye, ever in me groweth the great wonder, When all the hills are shining, white and red, And only one poor little flower ploughed under, That it were all as one if all were dead. > I cannot feel the beauty of the roses ; Their soft leaves seem to me but layers of dust ; Out of my opening hand each blessing closes : Nothing is left me but my hope and trust, Nothing but heavenly hope and heavenly trust. I get no sweetness of the sweetest places ; My house, my friends no longer comfort me ; Strange somehow grow the old familiar faces ; For I can nothing have, not having thee. Having, I have them not — strange contradiction ! Heaven needs must cast its shadow on our earth ; Yea, drown us in the waters of affliction Breast high, to make us know our treasure's worth, To make us know how much our love is worth. And while I mourn, the anguish of my story Breaks, as the wave breaks on the hindering bar : Thou art but hidden in the deeps of glory, Even as the sunshine hides the lessening star. And with true love, I love thee from afar. 252 Songs in Bereavement. I know our Father must be good, not evil, And murmur not, for faith's sake, at my ill ; Nor at the mystery of the working cavil, That somehow bindeth all things in His will, And, though He slay me, makes me trust Him still. Alice Gary. SAYING, "There is no hope," he stepped A little from our side and passed To hope sternal. At the last, Crying, "There is no rest," he slept. A sweeter spirit ne'er drew breath ; Strange grew the chill upon the air, But as he murmured, " This is death," Lo ! life itself did meet him there. He loved the Will ; he did the deed. Such love shall live. Such doubt is dust. He served the truth ; he missed the creed. Trust him to God. Dear is the trust. Elizabeth Stuart Phelps. Songs in i3erieatJentent. 253 STRANGE, strange for thee and me, Sadly afar ; Thou safe beyond, above, I 'neath the star; Thou where flowers deathless spring, I where they fade ; Thou in God's paradise, I 'mid time's shade 1 Thou where each gale breathes balm, I tempest tossed ; Thou where true joy is found, I where 'tis lost ; Thou counting ages thine, I not the morrow ; Thou learning more of bliss, I more of sorrow. Thou in eternal peace, I 'mid earth's strife ; Thou where care hath no name, I where 'tis life ; Thou without need of hope, 1 where 'tis vain ; Thou with wings dropping light, I with time's chain. Strange, strange for thee and me, Loved, loving ever ; Thou by Life's deathless fount, I near Death's river ; 254 0ongs in Sereatietnent. Thou winning" Wisdom's love, I strength to trust ; Thou 'mid the seraphim, I in the dust ! Phcebe Cary. SHE shut the door and turned away, Some task was waiting for her hand : She shut another door, where lay Her sweet dead hope, — you understand ? *' And they shall weep no more," God saith. " Nor taste of pain." Oh, Life ! Oh, Death ! Hattie Tyng Griswold. Go not far in the land of light ! A little while by the golden gate, Lest that I lose you out of sight, Wait, my darling, wait. Forever now from your happy eyes Life's scenic picture has passed away; You have entered into realities. And I am yet at the play ! Songis in Hctcar^cmcnl. 255 But the last sad act is drawing on ; A little while by the golden gate Of the holy heaven to which you are gone, Wait, my darling, wait. Alice Gary. THERE'S not an hour but from some sparkling beach Go joyful men, in fragile ships, to sail By unknown seas to unknown lands. They hail The freshening winds with eager hope and speech Of wondrous countries which they soon will reach. Left on the shore, we wave our hands, with pale, Wet cheeks, but hearts that are ashamed to quail Or own the grief which selfishness would teach. Oh ! Death, the fairest lands beyond thy sea Lie waiting, and thy barks are swift and stanch And ready. Why do we reluctant launch ? And when our friends their heritage have claimed Of thee, and entered on it, rich and free, Oh ! why of sorrow are we not ashamed ? Helen Jackson. IF, as we dream, in every radiant star We see a shining gate through which the soul In its degrees of being, will ascend — If, when these weary organs drop away 250 Songs in BcxtavemznL We shall forget their uses and commune With angels and each other, as the stars Mingle their light in silence and in love — What is this fleshly fetter of a day That we should bind it with immortal flowers ! How do we ever gaze upon the sky, And watch the lark soar up till he is lost, And turn to our poor perishing dreams away, Without one tear for our imprisoned wings ! N. P. Willis* XII. SONGS IN DEATH k:^-^'- ** Shall we follow the Hand that guides us on our long unknown journey, with less of gladness and confident trust than the birds who cross leagues of sea guided by the same Hand ? " *' To pass through the valley of the shadow of death is the way home." " As in this life we woke into consciousness in the arms of friends, so we may venture to hope that our next wak- ing will be bosomed by that Eternal Love which provided for this shelter here. " SONGS IN DEATH •' How are the dead raised up, and with what bcxly do they come ? " THE waves, they are wildly heaving And bearing me out from the shore, And I know of the things I am leaving, But not of the things before. O Lord of Love, whom the shape of a dove Came down and hovered o'er. Descend to-night with heavenly light, And show me the farther shore. There is midnight darkness o'er me, And 'tis light, more light, I crave ; The billows behind and before me Are gaping each with a grave ; Descend to-night, O Lord of might. Who died our souls to save; Descend to-night, my Lord, my Light, And walk with me on the wave ! 26o Songs in JUeatl). My heart is heavy to breaking Because of the mourners' sighs, For they cannot see the awak'ning Nor the body with which we arise. Thou, who for sake of men didst break The awful seal of the tomb — Show them the way into life, I pray, And the body with which we come ! Comfort their pain and pining For the nearly wasted sands. With the many mansions shining In the house not made with hands: And help them by faith to see through death To that brighter and better shore, Where they never shall weep who are fallen asleep, And never be sick any more. Alice Gary. '* Break, O Morning of the Everlasting Day ! ^ SEE how the far east brightens ! Hear ye the angels singing, Through morning's fresh'ning breath ? No darkness longer frightens : Now, rich with mercy, bringing Your help, comes gracious Death. Songs in Slleatl). 261 Then give him friendly greeting, He will be friendly too, And bring, each joy completing, His olden bliss to you. To him — whose near end stealing Through heart and limb presages night, — Who kneeling, Who kneeling, sure appealing, Turns soul and hands Where Mercy stands, The Lord will make it light. Tr./rom FouQufe, by Andrews. 1AM going away, dear friend. Away to a brighter land ; And even now, as the shadows fall, I wait the voice of the Angel's call And the touch of the Angel's hand. The way hath been long, dear friend. Weary and long and lone ; And oh ! the pain of the wounded heart. The silent pang and the secret smart ! May they never to thee be known. 262 Songs in ?Ueatl). Yet bright was the prospect, friend, When the path before me lay ; When love's sweet blossoms were round my feet, And the far-off future lay clear and sweet In the flush of rising day. Oh ! beautiful dreams of youth ! Oh ! visions that fade so soon ! And oh ! the desolate, dreary way. When back we loolc through the darkened day To the sun that set ere noon. But the journey at last is o'er And the struggle and toil are past ; And the holy angels who led me on Till the fight was fought and the victory won, They have brought me home at last. Home, to an endless rest ; Home to my Father — God ; And I bless his name, that through wrong and loss, I have borne the weight of the iron cross, And the thorny path have trod. Oh ! sweet is the thought and strange. That so near unto Him I stand ; That ere the shadows of night shall close I shall drink of the River of Life that flows In the beautiful Spirit Land ! Songs in Sleattj. 263 That my mother's hand I shall clasp And my father's smile shall see ; And oh ! the thrill of the glad surprise When I meet the gaze of the dearest eyes That ever gleamed on me ! I know they are near me now ; I know that they stand and wait ; And I feel the flush of a love divine, And a light as of heaven about me shine As I kneel at the golden gate. And lo ! the gates ajar, And the light of immortal day ! I see the angels ; I hear their call ; And earth falls back like a gloomy pall, As they bear my soul away ! Susan Archer Weiss. AT evening time let there be light : Life's little day draws near its close ; Around me fall the shades of night, The night of death, the grave's repose : To crown my joys, to end my woes, At evening time let there be light. 264 Songs in IHeatl). Stormy and dark hath been my day, Yet rose the morn divinely bright ; Dews, birds and blossoms cheered the way ; Oh, for one sweet, one parting ray ! At evening time there shall be light ; For God hath spoken — it must be : Fear, doubt and anguish, take their flight. His glory now is risen on me ! Mine eyes shall his salvation see : — 'Tis evening time, and there is light ! James Montgomery. As one who peers Into the dark bewildered, and descries A guiding lamp within the casement set. Knowing it homeward leads his weary feet, So I, with yearning heart and wistful eyes, As in a vision wonderful and sweet. Beyond the grave, behold it shining yet. Archbishop Laighton. SHE said : " I am come to heaven at last. And rU do as the blessed do ! ** But the custom of earth was stronger than Heaven, And the habit of life than death, — How should anguish as old as thought Be healed by the end of breath ? Songs in SDeatl). 265 Tissue and nerve and pulse of her soul Had absorbed the disease of woe. The strangest of all the angels there Was Joy (Oh the wretched know !) •' I must learn to be happy in heaven," she said, " As we learned to suffer below." — But the saddest spirit in the world Came to herself at last. EuzABETH Stuart Phklps. So let us die ; Yield up our little lives as the flowers do; Believing He'll not lose one single soul, — One germ of his immortal. Naught of His Or Him can perish ; therefore let us die. Miss Mulock. LOOK above thee— never eye -/ Saw such pleasures as await thee ; Thought ne'er reached such scenes of joy 266 QouQB in SDjeatl). As are there prepared to meet thee ; Light undying, seraph's lyres, Angel welcomes, cherub choirs. Smiling through heaven's doors to greet thee. BOWRING. I HEAR a voice you cannot hear, Which says I must not stay; I see a hand you cannot see, Which beckons me away. TiCKELL. What is that, we call death ? Is it to drop with all our hopes and fears Down to the silence of eternal years, When ends this laboring breath ? To have no part in all this wondrous whole. While suns shall rise and starry heavens roll ? Is this, what men call death ? Hear what the Master saith : — " My father's house has mansions large and fair, Where happy souls released from earthly care. 00ngs in SDeatl). 267 Shall breathe in heavenly breath ; So hence I go to make for you a place, To come again and bring you face to face, No more to taste of death." The ransomed of the Lord On Zion's clear and holy heights shall tread, With everlasting joy upon their head. And songs in full accord ; Here joy and gladness ever shall remain. While far behind them lie the realms of pain : God's last and grand reward. Increase N. Tarbox. REACH down the wanderer's staff, Tie on the sandals on the traveler's feet; The wan-eyed moon weeps in the watery east; Gird up the loins and let me now depart ! Frances Kembi.e Butler. UNTO Him who washed us Whiter than snow We shall pass through the shallow river With hearts aglow. 268 Songs in JHeatlj. For the Lord's voice on the water Lingereth sweet, " He that is washed, needeth only To wash his feet ! " B. M. EARTH, with its dark and dreadful ills, Recedes and fades away ; Lift up your heads, ye heavenly hills : Ye gates of death, give way ! My soul is full of whispered song ; My blindness is my sight ; The shadows that I feared so long Are all alive with light. The while my pulses faintly beat, My faith doth so abound, I feel grow firm beneath my feet The green, immortal ground. That faith to me a courage gives , Low as the grave to go : I know that my Redeemer lives, — That I shall live I know. Alice Cary. gongs in iUeatl). 269 CLOSE, close, beloved mine, Around my heart entwine, In Love's strong clasping, as I hold thee, so. Above the sky that leans Over these deathfu' scenes To Him, the Eternal Life and Love, we go. VITAL spark of heavenly flame ! Quit, O quit this mortal frame ! Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying, O the pain, the bliss of dying ! Cease fond Nature, cease thy strife. Let me languish into life ! Hark! they whisper; angels say Sister spirit, come away ! What is this absorbs me quite ? Steals my senses, shuts my sight, Drowns my spirits, draws my breath ? Tell me, my soul, can this be death ? The world recedes: it disappears! Heaven opens on my eyes ! my ears With sounds seraphic ring: Lend, lend your wings ! I mount ! I fly ! O Grave ! where is thy victory ? O Death ! where is thy sting ? Alexander Pope. 270 Songs in ?E)jeatl]. OH, what will be that life to come Beyond this vale of tears To which we pass full soon ? What will it be ? Oh, tell me pray, So that my fears may pass away. Oh, in that life which is to come Will there be pain as now ? Will hearts there ache as they do here. Will souls with burdens bow ? Oh, would that I might know full well Ere to that land I go to dwell. Oh, in that life which is to come Will there be joy supreme, And on my path from day to day Will light effulgent stream ? Will flowers bloom with fragrance sweet, And all sweet things my senses greet ? Oh, in that life which is to come Shall I then clasp the hands Of those I knew and loved so here ? Shall I then join the bands Of free and happy souls above Where all is bliss and all is love ? 00ng0 in Deatl). 271 And no more parting will there be In that sweet life to come ? Will w^ant and wandering ever end, And shall we dwell at home Within a Father's mansion grand, Protected by His loving hand ? Oh, soul ! there comes a voice to thee Sounding the waters o'er, In love it says, in truth it says, " Thou shalt bear grief no more. And all thy tears be wiped away When in this land of cloudless day." For in this land no graves are seen, No links are snapped in twain, And they that meet may love for aye And never part again. No sickness, pain, or dying here. No blighted buds or leaflets sere. Oh, to that land then let me haste, Borne on the wings of Time ; I long to greet that happy land. That blest immortal clime, Where I shall hear the Saviour say The former things are passed away. G. W. Ckofts. 212 Songs in IDeati). THE sands of time are sinking, The dawn of heaven breaks, The summer morn I've sighed for, The fair sweet morn awakes ! Dark, dark hath been the midnight, But dayspring is at hand. And glory — glory dwelleth In Immanuel's land. Oh, well it is forever ! Oh, well for evermore ! My nest hung in no forest Of all this death-doomed shore; Yea, let the vain world vanish. As from the ship the strand, While glory — glory dwelleth In Immanuel's land. I've wrestled on tow^ard heaven 'Gainst storm and wind and tide: Now like a weary traveler That leaneth on his guide, Amid the shades of evening- While sinks life's lingering sand, I hail the glory dawning From Immanuel's land. With mercy and with judgment My web of time He w^ove, And all the dew^s of sorrow Were lustered with His love : Songs in JDeatl]. 273 I'll bless the Hand that guided, I'll bless the Heart that planned, When throned where glory dwelleth, In Immanuel 's land. TURN the Past's mirror backward. Its shadows removed, The dim confused mass becomes softened, sublime : I have worked — I have felt — I have lived, I have loved, And each was a step towards the goal I now climb : Thou, God, Thou sawest the good of it. Miss Mulock. COME now, all ye terrors ! sally ! Muster forth into the valley, Where triumphant darkness hovers With a sable wing, that covers Brooding horror. Come, thou death, Let the damps of thy dull breath Overshadow e'en the shade. And make darkness* self afraid ; There, my feet, even there, doth find Way for a resolved mind : Still, my Shepherd— still, my God, Thou art with me ; still Thy rod 274 Songs in SJeatl) And Thy staff, whose influence Gives direction, gives defense. Lighting the eternities. Thence my ripe soul will I breathe Warm into the arms of Death. Richard Crashaw, 1650. LIFE ! we have been long together, Through pleasant and through cloudy weather, *Tis hard to part when friends are dear, Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear. Then steal away, give little warning. Say not good night. But in some brighter clime Bid me good-morning. Mrs. Barbauld. ON a far shore my land swam far from my sight, But I could see familiar, native stars ; My home was shut from me by ocean bars. Yet home hung there above me in the night ; Sonqs in ?Ileati). 275 Unchanged fell down on me Orion's light ; As always, Venus rose, and fiery Mars ; My own the Pleiades yet, and without jars In wonted tones, sang all the heavenly height ; So when in death from underneath my feet Rolls the round world, I now do see the sky Of God's truth, burning yet familiarly ; My native constellations I can greet ; I lose the outer, not the inner eye, The landscape, not the soul's stars, as I die. . . . Not in vain do we Read signals of grander destiny. And in our exile pine for kingly state. The sun is but the shadow ; the unseen Is the true light, and changeless and serene, Ciieers our approach to that mysterious goal Called death 1 which is the daybreak of the soul. Frances L. Mace, in Independent, THE sufferer sings — his end is near ; From sin and pain he bursts away, Trouble shall die this very day ! Tr. from Schmolke by Gurney. 276 SotiQQ in JDeatl). NEVER think of me as lying By the dismal mold o'erspread ; But about the soft white pillow Folded underneath my head, And of summer flowers weaving Their rich 'broidery o'er my bed. Think of the immortal spirit Living up above the sky, And of how my face is wearing Light of immortality ; Looking earthward, is o'erleaning The white bastion of the sky. Phcebe Cary. I KNOW not where Thine islands lift Their fronded palms in air, I only know we cannot drift Beyond Thy love and care. Whittier. " TJ E does well who does his best ; 11 Is he weary ? let him rest." Brothers ! I have done my best, I am weary — let me rest. Songs in IDjeatl). 277 After toiling oft in vain, Baffled, yet to struggle fain ; After toiling long, to gain Little good with mickle pain, Let me rest. But lay me low Where the hedgeside roses blow ; Where the little daisies grow, Where the winds a-Maying go ; Where the footpath rustics plod ; Where the breeze-bowed poplars nod ; Where the old woods worship God, Where His pencil paints the sod ; Where the wedded throstle sings, Where the young bird tries his wings ; Where the wailing plover swings. Near the runlet's rushing springs ! Where, at times, the tempest's roar, Shaking distant sea and shore, Still will rave old Barfisdale o'er. To be heard by me no more ! There, beneath the breezy west, Tired and thankful, let me rest, Like a child that sleepeth best On its mother's gentle' breast. WHY weep ye for the falling Of the transient twilight gloom ? I am weary of the journey, And have come in sight of home. 278 Songs in ?Deatl). I can see a white procession Sweep melodiously along, And I would not have your mourning Drown the sweetness of their song. The battle strife is ended ; I have scaled the hindering wall, And I am putting off the armor Of the soldier — that is all ! Would you hide me from my pleasures ? Would you hold me from my rest ? From my serving and my waiting I am called to be a guest ! • Of its heavy, hurtful burdens Now my spirit is released ; I am done with fasts and scourges, And am bidden to the feast. While you see the sun descending. While you lose me in the night, Lo, the heavenly morn is breaking, And my soul is in the light. I, from faith to sight am rising. While in deeps of doubt you sink ; 'Tis the glory that divides us, Not the darkness, as vou think. Songs in ?Ileatli. 279 Then lift up your drooping eyelids, And take heart of better cheer ; 'Tis the cloud of coming spirits Makes the shadows that ye fear. O they come to bear me upward To the mansions of the sky, And to change as I am changing Is to live, and not to die. Is to leave the pain, the sickness, And the smiting of the rod, And to dwell among the angels In the City of our God. Alice Carv. AND this is death ! Think you that raptured soul Now walking humbly in the golden streets, Bearing the precious burden of a love Too great for utterance, or with hushed heart Drinking the music of the ransomed throng, Counts death an evil ? evil, sickness, pain, Calamity, or aught that God prescribed To cure it of its sin, and bring it where The healing hand of Christ might touch it ? No ! He is a man to-night — a man in Christ. This was his childhood, here ; and as we give 28o Songs in ?lD^atli. A smile of wonder to the little woes That drew the tears from out our own young eyes — The kind corrections and severe constraints Imposed by those who loved us — so he sees A father's chastisement in all the ill That filled his life with darkness ; so he sees In every evil a kind instrument To chasten, elevate, correct, subdue, And fit him for that heavenly estate — Saintship in Christ — the Manhood Absolute. J. G. Holland. XIII. THE SONG OF SONGS AND "THE NEW SONG." To be sung Only When the Night-Songs are Past. X5-r3^ Then shall the Day dawn, and the Day-star arise in your hearts.'' * ' And there shall be no Night there ! '* THE SONG OF SONGS. ASCEND, Beloved to the love; This is the day of days ; To-night the bridal song- is sung, To-night ten thousand harps are strung In sympathy with heart and tongue, Unto the Lamb's high praise. The festal lamps are lighting now, In the great marriage hall; By angel hands the board is spread, By angel hands the sacred bread Is on the golden table laid ; The King his own doth call. The gems are gleaming from the roof, Like stars in night's round dome; The festal wreaths are hanging there, The festal fragrance fills the air. And flowers of heaven divinely fair Unfold their happy bloom. 284 ®l]e Song of Songs. Long, long deferred, now come at last, The Lamb's glad wedding day ; The guests are gathering to the feast, The seats in heavenly order placed, The royal throne above the rest; — How bright the new array. Sorrow and sighing are no more, The weeping hours are past ; To-night the waiting will be done, To-night the wedding robe put on, The glory and the joy begun ; The crown has come at last. Without, within, is light, is light; Around, above, is love, is love ; We enter to go out no more, We raise the song unsung before, We doff the sackcloth that we wore, For all is joy above. Ascend, Beloved, to the life ; Our days of death are o'er; Mortality has done its worst. The fetters of the tomb are burst. The last has now become the first, Forever, evermore. SDlie Song of Songs. 2^5 Ascend, Beloved, to the feast, Make haste, thy day is come ; Thrice blessed are they the Lamb doth call, To share the heavenly festival In the new Salem's palace halls, Our everlasting home. HORATIUS BONAR. THE NEW SONG. ABOVE the dissonance of Time, And discord of its angry words, I hear the everlasting chime, The music of unjarring chords. I bid it welcome ; and my haste To join it cannot brook delay; — O song of morning, come at last, And ye who sing it, come away ! O song of light, and dawn, and bliss, Sound over earth, and fill these skies, Nor ever, ever, ever cease, Thy soul entrancing melodies. HORATIUS BONAR. INDEX OF FIRST LINES, Above the dissonance of time. . . . Across the field of daily work. . . Across the hedges tnick with autumn flowers Ah ! for the heart that goes Ah, long the storm, yet none the less Ah me ! the ways of God with man A life of waiting lived as for the Lord A little bird flew my window by. A little bird I am. Prison Hymn of All common things, each day's events All is of God ! If He but wave His hand All the day long I seem to float away Among so many can He care } And is there care in heaven ? And so we yearn and so we sigh . , And this is death ! think you that raptured soul Ascend, beloved to the love A raveled rainbow overhead As one who peers As on wrecked battle grounds As the bird trims her to the gale. . As the poor panting hart to the waterbrook runs As torrents in summer. From '^The Nun of Nidaros." At evening time let there be light. AUTHOR. PAGE. Horatius Bonar 286 William C. Gannett 169 167 Howard Glyndon 146 Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney 20 Mary Bradley «* 27 Behold the throng . . . Be not amazed at life. Miss Mulock 213 Madam Guyon 114 Longfellow 179 Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney 37 Helen Campbell. 216 Mrs. A. D. T.Whitney...... 149 Edmund Spenser. . 77 Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney 35 J. G. Holland 279 Horatius Bonar 283 Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney n Archbishop Lcighton 264 Adelaide George Bennett... 54 Emerson 144 Alice Gary 167 Longfellovv' 52 James Montgomery 263 Abraham Perry Miller 122 Dean Alford 133 M Mribcx of first Cin^s. AUTHOR. PAGE. Be Still, my soul, Jehovah loveth thee Horatius Bonar 92 Blessed are they who are home- sick Heinrich Stilling- 56 Blest by whom most the cross is known. Translated from Schmolke by Gurney 88 Build thee most stately mansions, O my soul Oliver Wendell Holmes 202 But all through life I see a cross. Olrig Grange 82 But who shall praise God in the night? B. M 4 Caught in the bitter net of cir- cumstance 95 Close, close, beloved mine 269 Come in, O gracious Form, I say 107 Com« now, all ye terrors ! sally !.. Richard Crashaw 273 Content thee — so the angel saith — 222 Crush the dead leaves under thy feet 51 Dear night I this world's defeat. . Henry Vaughan 11 Did not life's darkness dim our sight Potters American Monthly. 33 Down to the borders of the silent land. • Washington Gladden 13T Earth with its dark and dreadful ills Alice Cary 268 Eternal spirit of the chainless mind Byron 120 Ever and ever the world goes round , 175 Every day is a fresh beginning. . . Susan Coolidge 53 Fasten your soul so high that con- stantly E. B. Browning 105 Father ! I must lean hard 215 Forgive! that oft my spirit wears. Angelus Silesius 167 Fret not thyself so sorely, heart of mine 90 From the mountain-side of years. A. P. Miller 193 Give strength whene'er our strength must fail Marperger 66 Go breathe it in the ear Longfefiow 128 God keeps a niche in heaven E. B. Browning 235 God lifts the soul or casts it down . A. P. Miller 49 God liveth ever Zihn 72 God plumeth many a spirit Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney 115 3nbcx of MxQi £in^s. 289 AUTHOR. PAGE. God's justice is a bed, where we 85 Go not far in the land of light. . . Alice Gary 254 Good night ! good night ! as we so ott have said :. . . Longfellow 242 Good night my foe ! not all the wrong is thine Harriet McEwen Kimball ... 91 Great God, we know not what we know Alice Cary 27 Great truths are greatly won, not found by chance Horatius Bonar 68 Gropest thou in failure's valley ? 82 Groping blindly in the darkness. . Longfellow 17 Happiest man among men MacCarthy 100 Hark ! the stars are talking Geo. Macdonald 3 Having won by toil and pain 176 Heart, my heart be strong A. Werner 87 He does well, who does his best 276 " Heimgang ! '' so the German people say 156 He IS the freeman who the truth makes free Cowper 118 He looks abroad into the varied field Cowper 103 He who died at Azan sends. Edwm Arnold 229 Hide thee awhile, call back the troublous past Amelia E. Barr 191 Homeward the swift-winged sea- gull takes its flight 119 Hope in our souls is king Longfellow 118 How dark this world would be. . . Thomas More 94 How many of us have ships at sea. Florence Grover 184 How shalt thou bear the cross that now Faber 84 Humility is the base of every virtue Bailev 85 I am going away, dear friend Susan Archer Weiss 261 I cannot see with my small human sight 19 I do not know the deadly depths within M. Woolsey Stryker (6 If as we dream in every radiant star N. P. Willis.....* 255 If by our toil another's feet may rise Laura B. Boyce. . . .104 If for a time some loved one goes uway A. D. F. Randolph 233 290 Snbcx of irirst £ines. AUTHOR. PAGE. If I must win my way to perfect- nes3 J.G.Holland 211 If indeed Thomas Burbidge 18 If thou impatient do let slip thy cross Ugo Bassi's Sermon 222 If you sit down at set of sun i8i ' I have a little trembling light, which still Henry Septimus Sutton 23 I have a sin of fear Bishop Donne 137 I have borne scorn and hatred 86 1 have no moan to make Phoebe Cary 240 I have some songs I do not sing. . Samuel Duflield 210 I hear a voice ye cannot hear Tickell 266 1 heard the trailing garments of the Night Longfellow 10 I know a dark and lonely dell James Buckham 117 I know not what the future hath. , Whittier 138 I know not where thine islands lift Whittier 276 I know the hand that is guiding me .- British Evangelist 28 I know thy wondrous ways will end 206 I mind the weary days of old A. D. F. Randolph. ..... 197 In a far away land on a stone it is written 90 In dreams that hold . F. W. Bourdillon 194 In God ril trust 35 In my right hand I clasp to-mor- row's grief Anna Temple 55 In Poverty's dark cell I sit 108 In the dusk of our scrrowftl hours Margaret E. Sangs ter 50 In the throng .1- G. Holland ." 65 In this cruel fire of sorrow Frances Ridley Iiavergal . . Q3 In weariness I wait and pray '. . . . 120 I remember best Amelia E. Earr 45 I said one day, O life ! you're little worth Laura Garland Can 164 I sit beside the sea Edna Dean Proctor 244 I sit upon a cypress bough E. B. Browning 113 Is not the night all dark. A. W. in "Cambridge Review." 121 Is thy cruise of comfort failing ?. . Mrs. Charles 45 I think we are too ready v/ith complaint E. B. Browning 43 I thought to work for Him 214 It is one thing to be tempted Shakespeare 75 I tremble at the thought of heaven Ella M. Baker 134 I trust in my soul. Ov/en Meredith 205 3nhc% of first £ines. 291 AUTHOR. PAGE. I trust Thee, O Father, Thy word can not fail Mrs. L. S. Mills 32 It sometimes happens Sunday Afternoon 243 It was a day of darkness and of doubt A.P.Miller 28 I wait Mary Clemmer 207 I walk down the Valley of Silence . Father Ryan 176 I was sitting alone in the twilight. Mrs. Herrick Johnson 152 I will ^o forth among men, not mailed in scorn Alexander Smith 81 I would be joyful as my days go by A. D. F. Randolph 20 Known only, only to God Alfred H. Louis 15 Know that his dear children can- not die 232 Labor ! all labor is noble and holy . Frances S. Osgood 105 Laborare est orare Miss Mulock 102 Late on me weeping did this whisper fall Henr}'- Septimus Sutton 60 Leave God to order all thy ways. George Newman 133 Let us be like the bird. Victor Hugo, translated by Edwin Arnold 130 Let us be patient with our lot Josiah Moodv Fletcher 100 Life we have been long together. Mrs. Barbaufd 274 Like a thorn in the flesh, like a fly in the mesh Ella Wheeler 56 Lo ! amid the press Susan Coolidge 148 Look above thee, never eye Eowring 265 Lord, according to Thy words. . .. Georpe Macdonald 170 "" Lord, a little,' little longer ! ". . . Miss Mulock 223 Lord, be mine this prize to win . . H. F. Lyte 72 Lord, if I dip my cup into the sea 150 Lo ! the marvelous contrast of shadow and light Edward Dean Rand i-- My heart grows strong Duke of Brunswick .... 67 My soul complaineth not Winkler iS My wine has run indeed out of my cup E. B. Browning. 104 'Neath some shadow oft I wait.... John Ordronaux 68 Never on the clear bright billow.. Augusta Harvey Worthen.. 69 Never think of me as lying Phoebe Gary 276 No bird-song floated down the hill Whittier No evil ! But behold, how temp- est tost ! S. W. Weitzcl 14 No light ! we say Edmand C. Stedman 29 No strain . loj 292 3nbc% of irirst £ines, AUTHOR. PAGE. Not all who seem to fail have failed indeed 105 Not in vam do we Frances L. Mace 275 Not so hopeless, drooping spirit. . Horatius Bonar 45 Not to forget when pain and grief draw nigh Henry Septimus Sutton 201 Not yet, O friend ! not yet Bret Harte 9 Now I need not fear for Ihee Paul Gerhardt 238 O black and bitter night Adelaide George Bennett ... 24 O, don't be sorrowful, darling Rembrandt Peale 17 O God, O kinsman loved, but not enough Jean Ingelow 74 Oh ! blessed are the dead Eliza Mary Hamilton 249 Oh deem not they are blessed alone Bryant 86 Oh, our Father, our Father. A. Werner in "The King of the SilverCity.'" 121 Oh, the temple of the soul, of what tiny stones 'tis built 174 Oh ! tried heart Mabel 93 Oh weary heart of the toiler William Byrd Chrisholm ... loi Oh,what will be that life to come ? G. W. Crofts 270 O little bird ! that all the weary day Ada Gale 116 O Memory, ope thy mystic door. . David Gray 199 On a far shore, my land swam far from my si^ht 274 Once in the twilight of a wintry day Emily Huntingdon Miller. . 237 Once pain beat upon my heart. . . Ella Wheeler 208 One day at a time ! every heart that beats Helen Jackson iH. H.) 156 One of these days it will all be over 185 One summer day to a young child I said 147 On every morrow are we wreath- ing Keats 49 Open the Western Gate Amelia E. Barr 143 O soul of mine, when tasks are hard and long 59 O sudden blast, that through this silence black Miss Mulock 217 Our course is onward, onward into light Trench 46 Our prince has gone to his inheri- tance Julia C. R. Dorr 232 Our very perils shut us in Anna Letitia Waring 130 3xibcx of iFirst Cines. 293 Out of the sunshine warm and soft and bright Anon 30 Over the narrow foot-path Ptiargaret E. Sangster 15S Over us, patient and changeless and far Frances L Mace .3 O weary hearts that languish Adelaide George Bennett 48 Pain's furnace heat within me quivers 220 Plan not, nor scheme, but calmly wait Macduff 128 Raise it to heaven when thine eye fills with tears Frances Kemble Butler 55 Reach down the wanderer's staff. Frances Kemble Butler 267 Restless, restless speed we on William C. Gannett 22 Rise up, sad one, and outward cast Adelaide George Bennett 26 Roll on, O earth ! roll on and swing Edwin S. Hopkins 61 Saying " There is no hope," he stepped Elizabeth Stuart Phelps 252 Sec how the far east brightens !. . Tr. from Fouqu^ by Andrews 260 Seek not to know 27 See the Lord, thy keeper, stand . . Charles Wesley 137 Serene I fold my hands and wait. John Burroughs 148 Shsll one who does God's image bear A.J. S.in N. Hampshire Poets 106 Shall we sit idly down. From " Morituri Salutamus "... . Longfellow 186 She said I am come to heaven at last Elizabeth Stuart Phelps 264 She shut the door and turned away 254 Should bereavement's heavy shadow 232 Shut in with tears that are spent in vain 123 Silence and darkness, solitude and sorrow 22 Softly sing the love of Jesus 8a So let us die 265 Some comfort when all else is night Alice Gary 200 Some day or other I shall surely come Louise Chandler Moulton ... 172 Some souls cut* off from moorings 36 Sometimes I am tempted to mur- mur Margaret E. Sani^stor. .... 150 294 3nbc% of iFire t Cities. Sorely tried and sorely tempted . . From " Masque of Pandora ' '. Longfellow 74 Sorrow and silence are strong From '* Evangeline " ... Longfellow 115 Souls that of his own good life partake Henry More 238 Speak to us out of midnight's heart Lucy Larcom in "January " 12 Still alway groweth in me the great wonder Alice Gary 250 Strange, strange for thee and me. Phoebe Gary 253 Strong are the mountains, Lord, but stronger Thou 129 Summer days "B. M." 194 Sum up at night what thou hast done by day George Herbert 192 Take unto thyself, O Father 54 Tempted in all points like our- selves J. G. Holland 77 Tears are not always fruitful Horatius Bonar 59 Thanks for the benediction of thy love Hester M. Poole 187 The birds have hushed their chorus A. M. in the "Quiver ". ... 13 The Border lands are calm and still 207 The child leans on its mother's breast 21 The clouds may rest on the present Phoebe Gary ^ 39 The coiled elastic spring of steel . E. E, Adams ' 168 The cup of my years was nlling. . J. H. M 161 " The days are all alike ■" she said ■. 182 The earth, O prisoned soul, is thine 120 The faint, lov/ echo that vve hear. Adelaide A. Proctor. ...... 184 The hands are such dear hands. . . N. Y. Independent 157 The happy dreams that gladdened all our youth 199 The heart grows richer that its lot is poor Lowell 106 The helper of his mother M. Woolsey Stryker 99 The little flowers breathe sweet- ness out Sarah Williams 23 The Lord knoweth when each hot tear floweth G. Z. G 219 The Master e'er His work was done Mrs. Luther Keene 109 The moon v/as pallid but not faint Longfellow 87 Mribcx of -first Cines. 295 AUTHOR. PAGE. The night is come ; like to the day Sir Thomas Browne 163 The past is mine and I take it all. Phcebe Gary 75 There is a grandeur in the soul that dares Sara J. Clarke 128 There is always sunrise some- where 46 There is no soul but has some deep regret A. P. Miller 197 There's many a rest on the road of life 183 There's not an hour but from some sparkling beach Helen Jackson (H. H.) 255 There was a time when meadow, grove and stream Wordsworth 195 The same old baffling questions. . Whittier 206 The sands of time are sinking 272 These saddened years W. R. Cochrane 47 The shady nooks and corners Margaret E. Sangstsr 172 The stars are in the sky all day. . . Susan Coolidge 39 The sadden joys that out of dark- ness start Longfellow 198 The sufferer sings— his end is near . . Tr. from Schmolke by . Gurney 275 The things over which we grieved with lashes wet 192 The waves they are wildly heav- ing Alice Gary 259 The way is long, my darling Margaret E. Sangster 179 They are poor that have lost nothing Jean Ingelow 1^2 They never quite leave us Margaret E. Sangster ... 247 They only the victory win 71 They who have learned to pray aright 207 Think ye the notes of holy song. , Whittier 1^5 This leaf, this stone, it is tny heart • 205 This shall please Thee, if devoutly trying Johann Heerman 67 Thou art my God Henry Septimus Sutton 37 Thou who hast so long pressed the couch of pain Bryant 224 Through black waves and stormy blast Susan Coolidge. . .21 Thy gifts sustain Christian Register 104 Tired ? Well, what of that ? 58 'Tis all I ha Vf- -smoke, failure, foiled endeavor George Macdonald 81 'Tis the bold who win the race 127 Tossed on temptation's sea 76 296 Mnbcx of JFirst Cities. AUTHOR. PAGE. Turn the Past's mirror backward. Miss Mulock 273 Unto Him who washed us R. M 267 Unto the hills I lift mine eyes 124 Upon the sadness of the sea R. W. M 5 Up, up, the day is breaking Paul Gerhardt 21 Vital spark of heavenly flame ! . . . Alexander Pope - 269 We are waiting. Father, waiting Hayes C. French 33 We ask Thy peace, O Lord ! Adelaide A. Proctor 96 We, ignorant of ourselves Shakespeare 49 We need not die to go to God 166 Were there no night we could not read the stars Henry Burton 119 We see by night's sweet showing. Alex. R. Thompson 10 We shall be like Him, strange the story Harriet Chase 165 We shall not die until our work be done '. 157 We should live as if expecting. . . Josiah Moody Fletcher 144 What a strange Being holds me in his might Charlotte Fiske Bates 139 Whatever God does is well Schmolke 106 What else remains for me ? 84 What foe can injure me ? Lyte 129 What is that we call death ? Increase N. Tarbox 266 V/hat matter how the winds may blow A. D. F. Randolph 151 What profit to lay on God's altar. Margaret J. Preston 212 What tears in your eyes, my beloved! Mabel 161 What though before me it is dark. British Messengers 31 What though the web our hands shall leave undone Laura B. Boyce 211 What though we grope and stumble m the way Laura B. Boyce 66 What to shut eyes has God re- vealed ? Whittier . 243 When all the weary toil with which we wrought Laura B. Boyce 85 When doomed to feel that youth is o'er 201 When sins and follies long forgot 130 When sorrow's darkest night Julia D. Peck 163 When the sad soul in weariness. . Joseph W. Sutphen 83 When the song's gone out of your life 44 When you see a soul set free Phoebe Cary 233 Whether winds blow foul or fair 108 Why art thou full of anxious fear. Paul Gerhardt 108 Sxibzx of JFirst £ines. 297 AUTHOR. PAGE. Why forecast the trials of life 180 Why should we do ourselves this wrong 147 Why that look of dark dismay ? . , Arthur C. Grisson 138 Why weep yc for the falling Alice Gary 277 Will it be alwavs night? Nettie Vernon 29 Workman of (jod, Oh, lose not heart. " Songs of Devotion " 127 Would that I too were lying Jean Ingelow 246 You have said that God is just . . . J. G. Holland 38 %