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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
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 UNITEB STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
4fe, 
 
 
 iUESTStOF*TME* v EURT, 
 
 W 
 
 AND OTHER 
 
 Religious *f Poems. 
 
 COMPILED BY A. CRAIG. 
 
 CHICAGO: 
 
 w'M. G HOLMES, 77 Madisoh stukke. 
 
 1880. 
 
 qr 
 
 -^7 
 
 Jit 
 
 ^ 
 

 
 ca 
 
 
 Copyright, 1880. 
 
 . A. CRAIG. 
 
 B. GRANGER & CO., 
 
 PRINTERS, 
 
 CHICAGO. 
 
 DONOHUE & HENNEBEBE") 
 
 BOOKBINDERS, 
 
 CHICAGO. 
 
 BLOMGBEN BEOS. & CO., 
 
 ELECTROTYPERS, 
 
 CHICAGO. 
 
■ . jb/'AXY oj tin: Pot >ns in litis volume have been selected 
 ^^iir from the religious newspapers, and seem deserving 
 of publication in html- form. Others are bij well known and 
 popular writers. In every case .irhere the authorship of 
 the selections could be ascertained credit has been given. 
 
 That this little work may be a welcome guest to the hearts 
 of yon nt) and old, is the desire of 
 
 THE COMPILER. 
 
 Chicago, Nov., 1880. 
 
 ( 
 
 m& 
 
Guests of the Heart, 
 
 Memories, - 
 
 Bread upon the Waters, 
 
 Bridges, - 
 
 A Thanksgiving, 
 
 The Atheist, - 
 
 "The Master is Come and Calleth for Thee," 
 
 SUSAN COOLIDGE, 30 
 The Crocus Cross, - , 2 
 
 " He Shall Drink of the Brook by the Way," 
 
 SUSAN COOLIDGE, 35 
 
 LUCY LARCOM, 25 
 - WM. KNOX, 2S 
 
 Scdf-Love, 
 
 Jesus Only, - - - 
 
 Lines Written in a Churchyard, 
 
 Yearning, 
 
 Satisfied, 
 
 There is no Death, 
 
 Charity, - 
 
 F. \v. faker, 37 
 
 " I" T., 39 
 
 HERBERT KNOWLES, 40 
 
 43 
 
 44 
 
 - LORD LYTTON, 4*') 
 
 THOMAS N. TALFOURD, 49 
 
Sc 
 
 &■& 
 
 isQv- 
 
 
 
 r vi 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 
 The Chamber of Peace, 
 
 After the Burial, 
 
 Living Waters, 
 
 The Pilgrim, ... 
 
 Our Ships at Sea, 
 
 Heaven by Littles, 
 
 Coming, - 
 
 Under the Shadow of the Almighty, 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 50 
 
 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL, 
 
 FLORENCE GROVER, 
 
 MRS. B. MACANDREW, 
 MILLIE COLCORD, 
 
 55 
 59 
 61 
 64 
 67 
 68 
 75 
 77 
 
 S3 
 
 Time, 
 
 He is Risen, 
 
 Even-Song, '- 
 
 A Little Longer, 
 
 Evening, 
 
 Trust, 
 
 Christian's Clock, 
 
 The Rose-Bud, 
 
 Waiting, 
 
 Lessons Sweet, 
 
 The Hour of Death, 
 
 Softly, .... 
 
 The Father's Care for His Children, 
 
 The Covered Bridge, 
 
 The Lily of the Valley, 
 
 Casting Anchors, 
 
 Nobody Knows but Jesus, - Frances ridley havergal, 126 
 
 •'' Cover Them Over," - - - will carleton, 129 
 
 The Secret of a Happy Day, Frances ridley havergal, 131 
 
 - henry kirke white, 
 
 horatius bonar, d. d., 
 
 margaret e. sangster, 
 
 * 
 MARY B. DODGE, 86 
 
 REV. I. N. TARBOX, D. D., 88 
 
 JOHN G. WH1TTIER, 92 
 
 94 
 
 KEBLE, 97 
 
 REBECCA RUTER SPRINGER, 102 
 
 KEBLE, 105 
 
 - MRS. HEMANS, IIO 
 E. A. BARNES, 113 
 
 KEBLE, 114 
 Il8 
 
 - BISHOP MANT, 120 
 124 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 A Midnight Hymn, 
 
 Joy Cometh, 
 
 Suffering and Joy, 
 
 Sometimes, 
 
 Tell Me, Ye Winged Winds, 
 
 The Two Sunsets, 
 
 Unspoken Prayer, 
 
 I Would Have Gone, 
 
 Grandfather's Pet, 
 
 If and If, - 
 
 The Dying Girl and Flowers, 
 
 My Prayer, 
 
 The Buried Flower, 
 
 Prayer, 
 
 " Babes Always," 
 
 Be Kind and Forgiving, 
 
 The Glorified, 
 
 Only, 
 
 Out of the Deeps, 
 
 Lead, Kindly Light, - 
 
 At Dawn, 
 
 In the Fourth Watch of the Night, 
 
 The Sunlight, 
 
 The Death of the Righteous, 
 
 Rest, ....... 
 
 Passing. - - ALICE WILLIAMS BROTHERTON 
 
 New Year's Wishes, - FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL 
 
 PAGE. 
 135 
 " 137 
 139 
 I40 
 
 - CHARLES MACKAY, 143 
 JOHN G. WHITTIER, 145 
 
 MARGARET J. PRESTON, 149 
 
 " 151 
 
 152 
 
 MARY AINGE DE VERE, 1 55 
 
 156 
 
 " 159 
 
 - WM. E. AYTOUNE, l6l 
 - CHARLOTTE ELLIOTT, 1 65 
 
 166 
 
 - 171 
 RAY PALMER, D. D., 1 72 
 
 FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL, 1 75 
 
 LULU M. W., 183 
 
 NEWMAN, 185 
 
 JOHN MORGAN, 186 
 
 - 188 
 191 
 
 PEABODY, I93 
 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep, 
 
 I go to Life, 
 
 Old Age, 
 
 The Guardian Angel, 
 
 For Good or 111? 
 
 Thy Will, 
 
 Good-Night Wishes, 
 
 Beyond, - 
 
 The Time for Prayer, 
 
 Rock of Ages, 
 
 To the Comforter, 
 
 The E'en Brings a' Hame, 
 
 The Bird Let Loose, 
 
 Heaven at Last, - 
 
 Jesu, Still the Storm, 
 
 The Grave, 
 
 The Tide, 
 
 Trust in the Lord, 
 
 Death Anticipated, - 
 
 To -Morrow, 
 
 Time is Short, 
 
 Homeward, 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 20I 
 
 HORATIUS BON All, D. D., 204 
 
 - - - - 206 
 
 209 
 
 212 
 
 E. NORMAN GUNNISON, 214 
 
 - THOMAS MACKELLAR, 2l6 
 
 218 
 
 220 
 
 222 
 
 HORATIUS BONAR, D. D., 225 
 
 227 
 
 - MOORE, 229 
 
 HORATIUS BONAR, D. D., 23O 
 
 HORATIUS BONAR, D. D., 233 
 
 JAMES MONTGOMERY, 235 
 
 MARY W. MCLAIN, 238 
 
 - MRS. M. M. LYLE, 242 
 
 - 244 
 
 - WM. KNOX, 246 
 
 HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH, 248 
 
 H. M., 252 
 
 
 -jam 
 
 $ 
 
 ~^C5?5 
 
 3 
 
Full-Page Illustrations. 
 
 FACES PAGE 
 
 LINGERING ON THE PATHWAY ----- 17 
 
 LANDSCAPE - ----- 25 
 
 A COMFORTER IN SICKNESS ----- 49 
 
 "HE IS RISEN!" --81 
 
 FLOWERS AND FRUIT ------ 97 
 
 "COVER THEM OVER!" - - - - - - - 129 
 
 LANDSCAPE - - - - 145 
 
 " O LORD, 1I( )\V MANIFOLD ARE THY WORKS ! " - - 161 
 
 AWAKE - - - 168 
 
 THE GENTLE SHEPHERD - - - - - - 177 
 
 DEATH --------- 193 
 
 THE GUARDIAN ANGEL 209 
 
 THE TRUE COMFORTER - - - - - - 225 
 
 "PEACE! BE STILL __..___ 288 
 
<$o 
 
 £j 
 
 fir "X 
 
 w 
 
 ■K 
 
 & 
 
 iUESTS+OFtTME* vEURT, 
 
 AND OTHER 
 
 Religious + Poems. 
 
 & 
 
fiitf 
 
 w 
 
 Iff 
 
 Guests of the Heart. 
 
 OFT falls through the gathering twilight 
 '-^) The ram from the dripping eaves, 
 And stirs with a tremulous rustle 
 
 The dead and the dying leaves ; 
 While afar, in the midst of the shadows, 
 
 I hear the sweet voices of bells, 
 Come borne on the wind of the Autumn 
 That fitfully rises and swells. 
 
 They call and they answer each other, 
 
 They answer and mingle again, 
 As the deep and the shrill in an anthem 
 
 Make harmony still in their strain, 
 As the voices of sentinels mingle 
 
 In mountainous regions of snow, 
 Till from hill-top to hill-top a chorus 
 
 Floats down to the valleys below. 
 
 "JjDSslu a jonful noise unto the jforb, all t!ic earth. 
 — Psa. xcviii, 4. 
 
 W& 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 ^&^> 
 
 -^p* 
 
GUESTS OF THE HEART. 
 
 The shadows, the fire- 
 light of even, 
 
 The sound of the rain's 
 distant chime, 
 
 Come bringing, with rain 
 softly dropping, 
 
 Sweet thoughts of a 
 shadowy time ; 
 
 The slumberous sense of 
 seclusion, 
 
 From storm and in- 
 truders aloof, 
 
 We feel when we hear in 
 the midnight 
 
 The patter of rain on 
 the roof. 
 
 When the spirit goes 
 
 forth in its yearnings 
 To take all its wanderers 
 
 home ; 
 Or, afar in the regions of 
 
 fancy, 
 Delights on swift pinions 
 
 to roam, 
 
 " |Cct the floobs dap their Intnbs : Irt the hills be jonful together." 
 — Psa. xcviii, 8. 
 
 I&a> ism 
 
JiL 
 
 6^\ 
 
 I quietly sit by the fire-light — 
 
 The fire-light so bright and so warm— 
 
 For I know that those only who love me 
 Will seek me through shadow and storm 
 
 But should they be absent this evening, 
 
 Should even the household depart, 
 Deserted, I should not be lonely, 
 
 There still would be guests in my heart. 
 The faces of friends that I cherish, 
 
 The smile, and the glance, and the tone, 
 Will haunt me wherever I wander, 
 
 And thus I am never alone. 
 
 With those who have left far behind them 
 
 The joys and the sorrows of time— 
 Who sing the sweet songs of the angels 
 
 In a purer and holier clime! 
 Then darkly, O evening of Autum 
 
 Your rain and your shadows may fall 
 My loved and my lost ones you bring me- 
 
 My heart holds a feast with them all. 
 
 "£brrc is a Erunb tint miuhctb closer tjjan a brother. 
 — Prov. xviii, 24. 
 
 4 
 
 ^ : 3 < 
 
 
Memories. 
 
 Q;JjfHEN fall the evening shadows, long and deep, across the 
 Wh hill ; 
 %fsS>l When all the air is fragrance, and all the breezes still ; 
 
 When the summer sun seems pausing above the mountain's brow, 
 As if he left reluctantly a scene so lovely now ; 
 
 Then I linger on the pathway, and I fondly gaze, and long, 
 As if reading some old story those deep purple clouds among ; 
 
 Then Memory approaches, holding up her magic glass, 
 Pointing to familiar figures, which across the surface pass. 
 
 'J'ct tljirte enes look rigbt otr, anb let tlrine cnclibs look straight 
 before tbec." — Prov. iv, 25. 
 

 ■O— > « < ♦ ! • 
 
 MKMORIES. 
 
 And often do I question, as I view that phantom train, 
 Whether most with joy or sadness I behold them thus again. 
 
 They are there, those scenes of beauty, where life's brightest hours 
 
 have fled, 
 And I haste, with dear companions, the old paths again to tread ; 
 
 But, suddenly dissolving, all the loveliness is flown, 
 
 And I find a thorny wilderness, where I must walk alone. 
 
 Thou art there, so loved and honored, as in each former hour, 
 When we read thine eyes deep meaning, when we heard thy words 
 of power ; 
 
 When our souls, as willing captives, have sought to follow thine, 
 Tracing the eternal footsteps of Might and Love Divine. 
 
 But o'er that cherished image falls a veil of clouds and gloom, 
 And beside a bier I tremble, or I weep above a tomb 
 
 And ever will the question come, O Memory! again, 
 Whether in thy magic mirror there is most of bliss or pain ? 
 
 Would I not wish the brightness were for ever hid from view, 
 If but those hours of darkness could be all forgotten too ? 
 
 " ponbcr tbe path of tbn feet, anb let all tbn buns be cstublisbeb.' 
 — Prov. iv, 26. 
 
 a*S^' ^ 
 
 is 
 
MEMORIES. 
 
 Then, weary and desponding, my spirit seeks tp rise 
 Away from earthly conflicts, from mortal smiles or sighs. 
 
 I do not think the blessed ones with Jesus have forgot 
 The changing joys and sorrows which have marked their earthly 
 lot; 
 
 But now, on Memory's record their eyes can calmly dwell ; 
 They can see, what here they trusted — God hath done all things 
 well; 
 
 And vain regrets and longings are as old things passed away ; 
 No shadows dim the sunshine of that bright eternal day ! 
 
 " Unitize patlj of tbt just is as tin sinning Itgjjt, tljat sbjmeijj more 
 anb matt unto tin nerfjtt ban." — Prov. iv, 18. 
 
 ^1e) 
 
Bread Upon the Waters. 
 
 'ID the losses and the gains ; 
 
 Mid the pleasures and the pains, 
 And the hopings and the fears, 
 And the restlessness of years, 
 We repeat this promise o'er — 
 We believe it more and more — 
 Bread upon the waters cast 
 Shall be gathered at the last. 
 
 Gold and silver, like the sands, 
 Will keep slipping through our hands 
 Jewels, gleaming like a spark, 
 Will be hidden in the dark ; 
 
 "Cast i bit breab upon the toatcrs: for thou sbalt finir it after maun 
 
 bans." — Eccles. xi, i. 2 
 
i r 
 
 20 
 
 BREAD UPON THE WATERS. 
 
 Sun and moon and stars will pale, 
 But these words will never fail ; 
 Bread upon the waters cast 
 Shall be gathered at the last. 
 
 Soon, like dust, to you and me, 
 Will our earthly treasures be ; 
 But the loving word and deed 
 To another in his need, 
 They will unforgotten be! 
 They will live eternally — 
 Bread upon the waters cast 
 Shall be gathered at the last. 
 
 Fast the moments slip away, 
 Soon our mortal powers decay, 
 Low and lower sinks the sun, 
 What we do must soon be done ; 
 Then what rapture, if we hear 
 Thousand voices ringing clear — 
 Bread upon the waters cast 
 Shall be gathered at the last. 
 
 e tl)at Ijatlj pttir ituon fyt poor knbetjj unla tin |Tcrb; anb tbjat 
 folnclj §z |mtl) gibtn foill bj pau bjm again." — Prov. xix, 17. 
 
 M^'<f) 
 
 &s5 
 
VMM ,f^» 
 
 Bridges. 
 
 HAVE a bridge within my heart, 
 Known as the Bridge of Sighs ; 
 X It stretches from life's sunny part, 
 To where its darkness lies. 
 
 And when upon this bridge I stand, 
 
 To watch life's tide below, 
 Sad thoughts come from the shadowy land 
 
 And darken all its flow. 
 
 Then, as it winds its way along 
 
 To sorrow's bitter sea, 
 Oh! mournful as the spirit-song 
 
 That upward floats to me. 
 
 ■>\\Ol 
 
 tine enc trttlilrtl) bofcon, anb rensctb not, foithout ;inn 
 intermission." — Lam. iii, 49. 
 
 $H» 
 

 BRIDGES. 
 
 A song which breathes of blessings dead, 
 Of friends and friendships flown ; 
 
 And pleasures gone ! — their distant tread, 
 Now to an echo grown. 
 
 And hearing thus, beleaguering fears 
 Soon shut the present out, 
 
 While joy but in the past appears, 
 And in the future doubt. 
 
 "Stum thou us unto thee, |. ? orb, anb un shall bt turneb 
 our bans as of olb." — Lam. v, 21. 
 
 rciuto 
 
s^ 
 
 ^^ 
 
 &.& 
 
 ERIDGES. 
 
 Oh! often then will deeper grow 
 The night that round me lies; 
 
 I wish that life had run its flow, 
 Or never found its rise! 
 
 I have a bridge within my heart, 
 Known as the Bridge of Faith ; 
 
 It spans, by a mysterious art, 
 The streams of life and death. 
 
 And when upon this bridge I stand, 
 
 To watch the tide below, 
 Sweet thoughts come from the sunny land 
 
 And brighten all its flow. 
 
 Then, as it winds its way along 
 
 Down to a distant sea, 
 Oh ! pleasant is the spirit-song 
 
 That upward floats to me. 
 
 A song of blessings never sere, 
 
 Of love "beyond compare," 
 Of pleasures flowed from troublings here 
 
 To rise serenely there. 
 
 "Sbc |forb is inn portion, saitb mi; soul; therefore toill .Jl hope 
 bim." — Lam. iii, 24. 
 
(3a© 
 
 rc4 [~£)U_ 
 
 24 
 
 <^1 
 
 BRIDGES. 
 
 And, hearing thus, a peace divine 
 Soon shuts each sorrow out ; 
 
 And all is hopeful and benign, 
 Where all was fear and doubt. 
 
 Oh! often then will brighter grow 
 The light that round me lies, 
 
 I see from life's beclouded flow 
 A crystal stream arise. 
 
 &J^£> 
 
 Iforb, tljoit Ijast pltabcb tin musts of mo soul 
 rcbrcnub mi) life." — Lam. iii, 58. 
 
 tbou bast 
 
 SMe) 
 
 g* "ft 
 

A Thanksgiving. 
 
 <J|yOR the wealth of pathless forests, 
 
 Whereon no axe may fall ; 
 For the winds that haunt the branches 
 
 The young bird's timid call ; 
 For the red leaves dropped like rubies 
 
 Upon the dark green sod ; 
 For the waving of the forests, 
 
 I thank Thee, O my God ! 
 
 For the sound of water gushing 
 
 In bubbling beads of light ; 
 For the fleets of snow-white lilies 
 
 Firm anchored out of sight ; 
 For the reeds among the eddies ; 
 
 The crystal on the clod ; 
 For the flowing of the rivers, 
 
 I thank Thee, O my God! 
 
 |t is :i tjoot) thing to o,iur thanks unto the ¥orb, anb to sing praises 
 unto thn name, 1$ Jtlost iliiqh." — Psa. xcii, I. 
 
A THANKSGIVING. 
 
 For the rosebud's break of beauty 
 
 Along the toiler's way ; 
 For the violet's eye that opens 
 
 To bless the new-born day ; 
 For the bare twigs that in summer 
 
 Bloom like the prophet's rod ; 
 For the blossoming of flowers, 
 
 I thank Thee, O my God ! 
 
 For the lifting up of mountains, 
 
 In brightness and in dread ; 
 For the peaks where snow and sunshine 
 
 Alone have dared to tread ; 
 For the dark of silent gorges, 
 
 Whence mighty cedars nod ; 
 For the majesty of mountains, 
 I thank Thee, O my God! 
 
 For the splendor of the sunsets, 
 
 Vast mirrored on the sea ; 
 For the gold-fringed clouds that curtain 
 
 Heaven's inner mystery ; 
 For the molten bars of twilight, 
 
 Where thought leans glad yet awed ; 
 For the glory of the sunsets/ 
 
 I thank Thee, O my God ! 
 
 tfmnks alfoans for all tbings unto (Sob ana tbc Jktb.tr in tljt 
 namt of our f orb $tsus Christ." — Eph. v, 20. 
 
®v 
 
 tr 
 
 A THANKSGIVING. 
 
 For the earth and all its beauty ; 
 
 The sky and all its light ; 
 For the dim and soothing shadows, 
 
 That rest the dazzled sight ; 
 For unfading fields and prairies, 
 
 Where sense iu vain has trod ; 
 For the world's exhaustless beauty, 
 
 I thank Thee, O my God! 
 
 For an eye of inward seeing ; 
 
 A soul to know and love ; 
 For these common aspirations, 
 
 That our high heirship prove ; 
 For the hearts that bless each other 
 
 Beneath Thy smile, Thy rod ; 
 For the amaranth saved from Eden, 
 
 I thank Thee, O my God ! 
 
 For the hidden scroll, o'erwritten 
 
 With one dear name adored ; 
 For the Heavenly in the human, — 
 
 The spirit in the Word ; 
 For the tokens of Thy presence 
 
 Within, above, abroad ; 
 For thine own great gift of Being 
 
 I thank Thee, O my God! 
 
 -LUCY LARCOM. 
 
 h\ cbern thing gibe tlmnhs : for this is the bill of (Sob in Christ 
 Resits concerning non." — Thes. v, 18. 
 
 
The Atheist. 
 
 HE fool hath said " There is no God!" 
 
 No God ! — Who lights the morning sun, 
 And sends him on his heavenly road, 
 
 A far and brilliant course to run ? 
 
 Who, when the radiant day is done, 
 Hangs forth the moon's nocturnal lamp, 
 
 And bids the planets, one by one, 
 Steal o'er the night vales, dark and damp? 
 
 No God ! — Who gives the evening dew, 
 
 The fanning breeze, the fostering shower ? 
 Who warms the spring-morn's budding bough, 
 
 And plants the summer's noontide flower ? 
 
 Who spreads in the autumnal bower 
 The fruit tree's mellow stores around, 
 
 And sends the winter's icy power, 
 To invigorate the exhausted ground ? 
 
 )t fool bat I) saib in Iris Iwari, %\txt is no 
 — Psa. xiv, I. 
 
£S>> 
 
 W 
 
 THE ATHEIST. 
 
 No God ! — Who makes the bird to wing 
 
 Its flight like arrow through the sky, 
 And gives the deer its power to spring 
 
 From rock to rock triumphantly? 
 
 Who formed Behemoth, huge and high, 
 That at a draught the river drains, 
 
 And great Leviathan to lie, 
 Like floating isle, on ocean plains ? 
 
 No God! — Who warms the heart to heave 
 
 With thousand feelings soft and sweet, 
 And prompts the aspiring soul to leave 
 
 The earth we tread beneath our feet, 
 
 And soar away on pinions fleet 
 Beyond the scenes of mortal strife, 
 
 With fair ethereal forms to meet, 
 That tell us of the after life ? 
 
 No God! — Who fixed the solid ground 
 
 Of pillars strong, that alter not ? 
 Who spread the curtained skies around ? 
 
 Who cloth the ocean bounds allot ? 
 
 Who all things to perfection brought 
 On earth below, in heaven above ? 
 
 Go ask the fool, of impious thought, 
 Who dares to say, " There is no God ! " — WM. KNOX. 
 
 " if knob tint thou canst bo cbcrntbino, anb that no thought can b 
 tuitbholbcn from thcc." — Job xlii, 2. 
 
 ft!* 
 
 ■5§H 
 
" The Master is Come and Callethfor Thee." 
 
 FOT only once he comes, 
 
 In that dim hour when, life and death between, 
 Floats the half liberated soul, while far 
 And faint the nearer lamps and voices grow, 
 And farther, fainter, rather guessed than seen, 
 Glimmers the light of heaven like glimmering star, 
 And sounds the summons which the dying know 
 To be his voice whom spirits all obey ; — 
 Not only then, dear Lord, but every day. 
 
 Yes, every day he comes ! 
 Not in the earthly form that once he bore, 
 Nor in the glorious shape which now he wears ; 
 In mean attire, and toil-worn, painful guise, 
 He stands and calls beside our path, our door ; 
 
 taster is tomt, artfcr tallctlj for tl)«. 
 — Jno. xi, 28. 
 
site 
 
 " THE MASTER IS COME AND CALLETH FOR THEE." 
 
 Weary and spent he comes, his wound he bares, 
 And bends on us his deep appealing eyes, 
 Which voiceless, find a voice, aiid speak and say, 
 " 'Tis I who call thee, child ; wilt thou obey ? " 
 
 In various shapes he comes ; 
 When life grows difficult, and cares wax strong, 
 And pain and patience prove too hard a load, 
 And grief makes sorrowful the fairest noon, 
 And sorrows press and crowd, an armed throng, 
 And fierce temptations lurk along the road, 
 And day is hot, and night falls all too soon, — 
 Still in these grievous things himself we see, 
 And puzzled, trustful murmur, "It is he!" 
 
 Be glad because he comes ! 
 That his blest visits are of every day, 
 To sweeten toil, to give that toil reward : 
 And when the summons soundeth clear and low, 
 Let us rebuke our lagging souls, and say, 
 " It is — oh, wondrous thought ! — it is the Lord 
 Who deigns to claim thy help and service so ! 
 Be quick, my soul, nor mar thy high estate ; 
 Thy Lord and Master calls, let him not wait." 
 
 — SUSAN COOLIDGE. 
 
 "fJIjBseb arc those scrbunts Inborn tbc lorb foben be comctb shall 
 fin!) toutcbing." — Luke xii, 37. 
 
The Croats Cross. 
 
 ■yiy; HEN light the purple crocus springs, 
 
 And lifts to heaven its shining head, 
 My spirit on the morning's wings 
 Seeks the far city of the dead, 
 Where kindred blossoms rise, I know, 
 Over the sleeping dust below. 
 
 I mind me of the winter day, 
 
 The sunny sky, the grave new made, 
 
 The cross trac'd on the yielding clay, 
 The tear-wet bulbs within it laid : 
 
 Dark and unlovely to our eyes, 
 
 Not like the beauty that should rise. 
 
 4^ 
 
 "K am pfflkttir bixv irnrclj : qutchert me, # Ijforb, attorbtnj unto 
 tl)g foorir." — Psa. cxix, 107. 
 
THE CROCUS CROSS 
 
 Safe planted from the storm and 
 
 cold, 
 We left them waiting for the 
 
 hour 
 When wintry days should all be 
 
 told, 
 And spring awake the perfect 
 
 flower ; 
 The glorious form that should 
 
 appear 
 From the dull roots we buried 
 
 there. 
 
 Not for a careless eye to see, 
 
 That mystic cryptogram was 
 
 set ; 
 A mute appeal, our God, to 
 
 Thee, 
 A prayer that Thou wilt not 
 
 forget, 
 Beneath that shadowed cross there 
 
 lies 
 Somewhat of Thine that must 
 
 arise. 
 
 Ill "®k'S *frrf fr««l i» II" £orb slndl be ;is mount giott, (ninth cannot 
 r-X^ br remobeb, but abibctb for cbcr."— Psa. exxv, i. Jt'k 
 
 W 
 
 s&r 
 
THE CROCUS CROSS. 
 
 W 
 
 And hast not Thou, with loving thought, 
 Even in these flowers set Thy sign, 
 
 That so our grieving hearts be taught 
 Thy resurrection's truth divine, 
 
 Each spring repeating to our eyes, 
 
 Thy word of comfort, " He shall rise ? " 
 
 Then let us rest in simple faith, 
 
 On the sure promise Thou hast given : 
 
 We know that Thou hast conquered death, 
 We know Thou rulest earth and Heaven, 
 
 Fixed on Thy truth our hopes remain, 
 
 We know that " He shall rise again." 
 
 "®I)u brother shall rise again. 
 — Jno. xi, 23. 
 
 
 &y> 
 
"He Shall Drink of the Brook in the Way." 
 
 'HE way is hot, the way is long, 
 'Tis weary hours to even-song, 
 
 And we must travel though we tire ; 
 But all the time beside the road 
 Trickle the small, clear rills of God, 
 At hand for our desire. 
 
 Quick mercies, small amenities, 
 Brief moments of repose and ease, 
 
 We stoop, and drink, and so fare on, 
 Unpausing, but re-nerved in strength 
 From hour to hour, until at length 
 
 Night falleth, and the day is done. 
 
& 
 
 eb^s 
 
 r 36 " HE SHALL DRINK OF THE BROOK IN THE WAY." 
 
 
 The birds sip of the wayside rill, 
 And raise their heads in praises, still 
 
 Upborne upon their flashing wings : 
 So drinking thus along the way, 
 Our little meed of thanks we pay 
 
 To Him who fills the water springs, 
 
 And deals with equal tenderness 
 The larger mercies and the less : 
 
 " O Lord, of good the fountain free, 
 Close by our hard day's journeying 
 Be thou the all-sufficing spring, 
 
 And hourly let us drink of thee." 
 
 — SUSAN COOLIDGE. 
 
 "§ff. ann man tbirst, let fotm comt unto me, antr brink." 
 — Jno. vii, 37. 
 
v>r) 
 
 if 
 
 Self-Love. 
 
 j\s H, I could go through all life's troubles singing, 
 Turning earth's night to day, 
 If self were not so fast around me, clinging 
 To all I do or say. 
 
 My very thoughts are selfish, always building 
 
 Mean castles in the air ; 
 I use my love for others for a gilding 
 
 To make myself look fair. 
 
 I fancy all the world engrossed with judging 
 
 My merit or my blame ; 
 Its warmest praise seems an ungracious grudging 
 
 Of praise which I might claim. 
 
 ii 
 
 £bon sbalt lofat tbn neighbor as tbnsclf." 
 — Matt, xxii, 39. 
 
 m^ 
 

 1^ 
 
 r 38 
 
 SELF-LOVE. 
 
 In youth, or age, by city, wood, or mountain, 
 
 Self is forgotten never ; 
 Where'er we tread, it gushes like a fountain, 
 
 Its waters flow forever. 
 
 O miserable omnipresence, stretching 
 
 Over all time and space, 
 How have I run from thee, yet found thee reaching 
 
 The goal in every race. 
 
 Inevitable self! vile imitation 
 
 Of universal light, — 
 Within our hearts a dreadful usurpation 
 
 Of God's exclusive right ! 
 
 — F. W. FABER. 
 
 '"§.nh iafyanatbtt sljall **alt bjmsfilf sljall bt abastb ; anb fyt tbat 
 sfrall Ijumbk Ijimself glrall be eralttb." — Matt, xxiii, 12. 
 
 )W i 
 
 ^jr 
 
.11, Jesus! on the mountain 
 
 Beside Thee I would stand, 
 Drink from no other fountain, 
 
 Feed from no other hand, 
 Gaze on no other glory, 
 
 Lean on no other breast, 
 Thus, thus would I adore Thee, 
 
 My Everlasting Rest ! 
 
 My Lord ! Thy beauty seemeth 
 
 So fair, so passing fair, 
 I stand like one who dreameth, 
 
 With Thee transfigured there! 
 Keep me, all else forgetting, 
 
 Still standing at Thy side, 
 Upon Thy holy mountain, 
 
 Whatever may betide. 
 
 — L. T. IN "WORD AND WORK." 
 
 "$ am tbe bran, the truth, ano tin life: no man tomctb unto the 
 <4fatlKr, but bi) mc." — Jno. xiv, 6. 
 
 )i — J@3 
 
 K®r 
 
Lines Written in a Churchyard. 
 
 RETHINKS it is good to be here; 
 
 If thou wilt, let us build — but for whom ? 
 
 Nor Elias nor Moses appear ; 
 But the shadows of eve that encompass with gloom 
 The abode of the dead and the place of the tomb. 
 
 Shall we build to Ambition ? Ah no ! 
 Affrighted he shrinketh away ; 
 
 For see, they would pen him below 
 In a small narrow cave and begirt with cold clay, 
 To the meanest of reptiles a peer and a prey. 
 
 To Beauty ? Ah no ! she forgets 
 The charms which she wielded before ; 
 
 Nor knows the foul worm that he frets 
 The skin which but yesterday fools could adore, 
 For the smoothness it held, or the tint which it wore. 
 
 |t is gooo for us to be Ijere: anb lit us make time tabernacles; one 
 for tl)ee, atto one for ptoses, aitb one for ©lias." — Mark ix, 5. 
 
 ST*'© 
 
 >£. 
 
LINES WRITTEN IN A CHURCHYARD. 
 
 Shall we build to the purple of pride ? 
 To the trappings which dizen the proud ? 
 
 Alas! they are all laid aside, 
 And here's neither dress nor adornment allowed, 
 But the long winding-sheet, and the fringe of the shroud. 
 
 To Riches? Alas, 'tis in vain! 
 Who hid, in their turns have been hid : 
 
 The treasures are squandered again ; 
 And here in the grave are all metals forbid, 
 But the tinsel that shines on the dark coffin-lid. 
 
 To the pleasures which Mirth can afford, 
 The revel, the laugh, and the jeer ? 
 
 Ah ! here is a plentiful board! 
 But the guests are all mute as their pitiful cheer, 
 And none but the worm is a reveler here. 
 
 Shall we build to Affection and Love ? 
 Ah no ! they have withered and died, 
 
 Or fled with the spirit above, 
 Friends, brothers, and sisters are laid side by side, 
 Yet none have saluted, and none have replied. 
 
 "| bafat stcn all the foorhs that arr boncunber tbt sun: anb, bebolb, 
 all is banitn anb bctation of spirit." — Eocles. i, 14. 
 
ebs® 
 
 
 42 
 
 LINES WRITTEN IN A CHURCHYARD. 
 
 Unto Sorrow ? — the dead cannot grieve ; 
 Not a sob, not a sigh meets mine ear, 
 
 Which compassion itself could relieve, 
 Ah, sweetly they slumber, nor love, hope, or fear ; 
 Peace, peace is the watchword, the only one here. 
 
 Unto Death, to whom monarchs must bow ? 
 Ah no ! for his empire is known, 
 
 And here there are trophies enow ! 
 Beneath, the cold dead, and around, the dark stone, 
 Are the signs of a sceptre that none may disown. 
 
 The first tabernacle to Hope we will build, 
 And look for the sleepers around us to rise ; 
 
 The second to Faith, that insures it fulfilled ; 
 And the third to the Lamb of the great sacrifice, 
 Who bequeathed us them both when he rose to the skies. 
 
 — HERBERT KNOWLES. 
 
 L "®|rai raiseb Ijtm up from i\t bestir, anb tjabe \xm glorg ; tljat jjflur 
 fattlj anb Ijopc miglji be in dob." — 1 Peter, i, 21. 
 
Yearning. 
 
 N thy closet daily hiding, 
 
 Talk with God ; 
 He will take away the chiding 
 
 And the rod. 
 And in the place of sore distress 
 Build thy life in holiness 
 
 One star lifts above another 
 
 Towards His light ; 
 One ray other rays shall gather 
 
 In its flight ; 
 And ere long thy peace shall be 
 Sure as His who leadeth thee. 
 
 'I stretch forth mir hanbs unto tbec: mg soul tijirstctb after tbec, us 
 a tbirsti) lanb." — Psa. cxliii, 6. 
 
Satisfied. 
 
 *OT here ! not here ! not where the sparkling waters 
 Fade into mocking sounds as we draw near ; 
 *S?£a Where in the wilderness each footstep falters ; 
 I shall be satisfied — but O, not here ! 
 
 Not here, where all our dreams of bliss deceive us, 
 Where the worn spirit never gains its goal ; 
 
 Where, haunted ever by the thoughts that grieve us, 
 Across us floods of bitter memory roll. 
 
 There is a land where every pulse is thrilling 
 
 With rapture, earth's sojourners may not know ; 
 
 Where heaven's repose the weary heart is stilling, 
 And peacefully life's time-crossed currents flow. 
 
 "| lobe tljt ^forb, because \t I)Htj) Ijcaro mo boice ani> mtr 
 supplications." — Psa. cxvi, i. 
 
 -ST* he) 
 
 
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 I 
 
 SATISFIED. 
 
 Far out of sight, while mortal robes enfold us, 
 Lies the fair country where our hearts abide ; 
 
 And of its bliss is naught more wondrous told us 
 Than those few words, " I shall be satisfied." 
 
 What ! truly satisfied! The soul's vague longing, 
 The aching void which nothing earthly fills ? 
 
 O, what desires upon my soul are thronging 
 As I look upward to the heavenly hills! 
 
 Thither my weak and weary steps are tending ; 
 
 Saviour and Lord, with thy frail child abide ! 
 Guide me toward home, where all my wanderings ending, 
 
 I then shall see thee and " be satisfied." 
 
 (There the brickcb cease from troubling; ttnb there the tocarn be at 
 rest." — Job iii, 17. 
 
There is no Death. 
 
 'HERE is no death! The stars go down 
 To rise upon some fairer shore : 
 And bright in Heaven's jewelled crown 
 They shine forever more. 
 
 There is no death ! The dust we tread 
 Shall change beneath the summer showers 
 
 To golden grain or mellowed fruit, 
 Or rainbow-tinted flowers. 
 
 The granite rocks disorganize, 
 
 And feed the hungry moss they bear ; 
 
 The forest leaves drink daily life, 
 From out the viewless air. 
 
 <JFor if toe btlubt tbat Jftsus b«a ana rose again, zbtw so i\tm also I 
 tojncjj sleep in Jesus toil! <&ah bring toitlj Ijim." — Thes. iv, 14. /hX^ 
 
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 4^^ 
 
 THERE IS NO DEATH. 
 
 
 47 
 
 There is no death! The leaves may fall, 
 And flowers may fade and pass away ; 
 
 They only wait through wintry hours, 
 The coming of the May. 
 
 There is no death! An angel form 
 
 Walks o'er the earth with silent tread ; 
 
 He bears our best loved things away ; 
 And then we call them "dead." 
 
 He leaves our hearts all desolate, 
 
 He plucks our fairest, sweetest flowers ; 
 
 Transplanted into bliss, they now 
 Adorn immortal bowers. 
 
 The bird like voice, whose joyous tones 
 Made glad these scenes of sin and strife, 
 
 Sings now an everlasting song, 
 Around the tree of life. 
 
 Where'er he sees a smile too bright, 
 ( >r heart too pure for taint and vice, 
 
 He bears it to that world of light, 
 To dwell in Paradise. 
 
 L 
 
 ^ 
 
 " #or to mc to Hue is Christ, anb to btc is gain. 
 —Phil, i, 21. 
 
 *£ 
 
THERE IS NO DEATH. 
 
 Born unto that undying life, 
 
 They leave us but to come again ; 
 
 With joy we welcome them the same, — 
 ®mnt their sin and pain. 
 
 And ever near us, though unseen, 
 The dear immortal spirits tread ; 
 
 For all the boundless universe 
 Is life — tljm art no bcab. 
 
 — LORD LYTTON. 
 
 ""§t tbou faitbfnl unto beat!;, anb $ bill gibe tbtc a trofon of lift." 
 
 — Rev. ii, 10. d 
 
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 38 
 
 Charity. 
 
 [IE blessings which the weak and poor can scatter 
 Have their own season. 'T is a little thing 
 To give a cup of water ; yet its draught 
 Of cool refreshment, drained by fevered lips, 
 May give a shock of pleasure to the frame 
 More exquisite than when nectarean juice 
 Renews the life of joy in happiest hours, 
 It is a little thing to speak a phrase 
 Of common comfort, which, by daily use, 
 Has almost lost its sense ; yet on l lie ear 
 Of him who thought to die unmourned, 't will fall 
 Like choicest music ; fill the glazing eye 
 With gentle tears; relax the knotted hand 
 To know the bonds of fellowship again, — 
 And shed on the departing soul a sense 
 More precious than the benison of friends 
 About the honored death-bed of the rich, — 
 To him who else were lonely, that another 
 Of the great family is near, and feels. 
 
 — THOMAS N. TALFOURD. 
 
 
 Charitn suffered) long, nnb is hinb ; rlnritn enbicth not; elr.iriti? 
 
 (minted) not itself, is not pnffeb nn." — I Cor. xiii, 4. ^ 
 
 > . j(M 
 
The Chamber of Peace. 
 
 "®Iu Iptlgrint %g laitr in e large upper chamber, facing i\t sun- 
 rising. k\z name of tin chamber foas |)eac.e."— Bunyan's Pilgrim's 
 Progress 
 
 FTER the burden and heat of the day, 
 The starry calm of night ; 
 After the rough and toilsome way, 
 A sleep in the robe of white. 
 
 O blessed Pilgrim ! we see thy face 
 
 As an angel's face mighf seem, 
 For, lying pale in that shadowy place, 
 
 Thou dreamest a golden dream. 
 
 The stars are watching the sleeping saint, 
 
 And lighting the sleeping brow ; 
 But the light of the stars is cold and faint 
 
 To the glory he dreameth now : 
 
 "Jar (je foill speak peace unto bjs people, ano to Iris saints." 
 — Psa. Ixxxv, 8. 
 
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 m 
 
 f 
 
 THE CHAMBER OF PEACE. 
 
 For the things that are hid from waking eyes 
 
 Shine clear to the veiled sight ; 
 From the chamber dim where the Pilgrim lies 
 
 We can watch the fountains of light. 
 
 The journey is over, the fight is fought, 
 He hath seen the Home of his love; 
 
 And the smile on the dreamer's face is caught 
 From the land of smiles above. 
 
 We also have sometimes lain asleep 
 
 In the blessed Chamber of Peace ; 
 Too weary to wrestle, or watch, or weep, 
 
 For a while the struggle must cease — 
 
 Wc give thanks for the weakness that makes us lie 
 
 So helpless and calm for a while ; 
 The roar of the battle goes hoarsely by, 
 
 And we hear it, in dreams, with a smile. 
 
 Oh, sweet is the slumber wherewith the King 
 
 Hath caused the weary to rest ! 
 For, sleeping, we hear the angels sin 
 
 We lean on the Master's breast. 
 
 %s 
 
 "£bc ¥orb toil! bless Ins people foitb peace." 
 — Psa. xxix, ii. 
 
THE CHAMBER OF PEACE. 
 
 Thou hast another Chamber, dear Lord, — 
 
 The secret place of peace, 
 Where Thy precious ones are safely stored, 
 
 When their weary wanderings cease : 
 
 After the burden and heat of the day, 
 
 The starry calm of night ; 
 After the rough and toilsome way, 
 
 A sleep in the robe of white. 
 
 The sacred Chamber is still and wide, 
 
 You listen in vain for a breath ; 
 And pale lie the sleepers, side by side, 
 
 In the cold moonlight of death. 
 
 No sighs are heard in the shadowy place, 
 No voices of them that weep ; 
 
 They have fought the fight, and finished the race- 
 God giveth them rest in sleep. 
 
 Are they dreaming, the sleepers pale and still ? 
 
 For their faces are rapt and calm, 
 As though they were treading the Holy Hill, 
 
 And hearkening the angels' psalm : 
 
 "glnb lljc pratt of (Sob, fobicb passttb all nnbrrstanbtiuj, sball luep 
 rrortr Ijmtg anb minbs tbrougb Cbrtst $csus." — Phil, iv, 7. 
 
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 THE CHAMBER OF PEACE. 
 
 The things that were hid from waking eyes 
 
 Shine clear to the veiled sight ; 
 In the last deep sleep the Pilgrims rise, 
 
 To walk on the shores of Light. 
 
 Oh, sweet is the slumber wherewith the King 
 
 Hath caused the weary to rest ! 
 For, sleeping, they hear the angels sing, 
 
 They lean on the Master's breast. 
 
 And sweet is the Chamber, silent and wide, 
 
 Where lingers the holy smile 
 Of a wayfaring Man, who turned aside 
 
 To rest, long ago, for a while : 
 
 He had suffered a sorrow which none may tell, 
 He had purchased a Gift unpriced ; 
 
 When his work was over the moonlight fell 
 On the sleeping face of Christ : 
 
 The face of a Victor, dead and crowned, 
 
 With a smile divinely fair ; 
 The saints and martyrs sleeping around 
 
 Were stirred as He entered there: 
 
 " glnb l^c grains torrt opcncb : anil mann bobics of tin saints tobicb 
 
 i; slept arose." — Matt, xxvii, 52. ^ 
 
 &S)v ifi& 
 
 ^ 
 
His very Name is as ointment poured 
 
 On the moonlight pale to-night ; 
 And the Chamber is sweet to Thy servants, Lord, 
 
 For the scent of Thy raiment white. 
 
 The silent Chamber faceth the east, 
 
 Faceth the dawn of the day, 
 And the shining feet of our great High Priest 
 
 Shall break through the shadows gray. 
 
 The golden dawn of the Day of God 
 
 Shall smite on the sealed eyes ; 
 The trumpet's sound shall thunder around, 
 
 The dreamers shall wake and rise. 
 
 The night is over, the sleep is slept, 
 
 They are called from the shadowy place ; 
 
 The Pilgrims stand in the glorious land, 
 And gaze on the Master's face. 
 
 !)t gljsll inter into prate : tbcn sball rest in tljtir btbs, eatb ant 
 foallunjj in Ins uprightness." — Isa. Ivii, 2. 
 
 fir* Id 
 
 s~Z9r 
 
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 "After the Burial" 
 
 ^ES, faith is a goodly anchor, 
 
 Where skies are as sweet as a psalm, 
 At the bows it lolls so stalwart, 
 In bluff broad-shouldered calm. 
 
 A..d when o'er breakers to leeward 
 The scattered surges are hurled, 
 
 It may keep our head to the tempest, 
 With its grip on the base of the world. 
 
 But after the shipwreck, tell me 
 What help in its iron thews, 
 
 Still true to the broken hawser, 
 
 Deep down among sea-weed and ooze ? 
 
 "$5ut I foonlb not babe no« to be ignorant concerning them fubieb are 
 asleep, that ne sorroto not, as others babing no hope." — i Thes. iv, 13. 
 
 mm 
 
AFTER THE BURIAL. 
 
 "^ 
 
 In the breaking gulfs of sorrow, 
 When the helpless feet stretch out, 
 
 And you find in the deeps of darkness 
 No footing so solid as doubt — 
 
 Then better one spar of memory; 
 
 One broken plank of the past — 
 That our poor hearts may cling to, 
 
 Tho' hopeless of shore at last. 
 
 To the spirit its splendid conjectures, 
 To the heart its sweet despair, 
 
 Its tears on the thin worn locket, 
 With its beauty of deathless hair. 
 
 Immortal! I feel it, and know it ; 
 
 Who doubts it of such as she! 
 But that's the pang's very secret — 
 
 Immortal away from me. 
 
 There is a little ridge in the church-yard, 
 'T would scarce stay a child in its race, 
 
 But to me and my thoughts 'tis wider 
 Than the star-sown vague of space. 
 
 "Hjtbe not tljn face from int in tbc ban to b c it $ am in trouble; incline 
 ibjiu car unto mt." — Psa. cii, 2. 
 
 Isl>1S 
 
 
Your logic, my friend, is perfect ; 
 
 Your moral most drearily true; 
 But the earth that stops my darling's ears, 
 
 Makes mine insensate, too. 
 
 Console if you will, I can bear it, 
 'Tis a well-meant alms of breath ; 
 
 But not all the preaching since Adam 
 Has made death other than death. 
 
 " J3f d, '$ pr.tn tbcr, tbn mrrciful ktnbiuss be for run comfort, 
 auorbing to tbn fcoorb unto tbn scrbnnt." — Psa. cxix, 76. 
 
AFTER THE BURIAL. 
 
 Communion in spirit ! Forgive me, 
 
 But I who am sickly and weak 
 Would give all my income from dreamland 
 
 For her rose-leaf palm on my cheek. 
 
 That little shoe in the corner, 
 
 So worn and wrinkled and brown, 
 Its motionless hollow confronts you, 
 
 And argues your wisdom down. 
 
 — JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL, 
 
 (After the burial of his little daughter.) 
 
 '|frt tljt irag of mn trouble $ sought tlji |orb." 
 — Psa. Ixxvii, 2. 
 

 Living Waters. 
 
 ;N some wild Eastern legend the story has been told 
 Of a fair and wondrous fountain, that flowed in times of old; 
 
 I Cold and crystalline its waters, brightly glancing in the ray 
 Of the summer moon at midnight, or the sun at height of day. 
 
 And a good angel, resting there, once in a favored hour 
 
 Infused into the limpid depths a strange mysterious power ; 
 
 A hidden principle of life, to rise and gush again, 
 
 Where but some drops were scattered on the dry and barren plain. 
 
 So the traveler might journey, not now in fear and haste, 
 Far through the mountain-desert, far o'er the sandy waste, 
 If but he sought this fountain first, and from its wondrous store 
 The secret of unfailing springs along with him he bore. 
 
 Wild and fanciful the legend — yet may not meanings high, 
 Visions of better things to come, within its shadow lie ? 
 Type of a better fountain, to mortals now unsealed, 
 The full and free salvation in Christ our Lord revealed? 
 
 " tfor the "Camb tu h t c b is in the mibst of the throne shall feci} them, 
 
 ana shall Icab them unto libing fountains of bratcrs." — Rev. vii, 17 
 
 
LIVING WATERS. 
 
 Beneath the Cross those waters rise, and he who finds them there 
 All through the wilderness of life the living stream may bear ; 
 And blessings follow in his steps, until where'er he goes, 
 The moral wastes begin to bud and blossom as the rose. 
 
 Ho ! every one that thirsteth, come to this fountain side ! 
 
 Drink freely of its waters, drink, and be satisfied ! 
 
 Yet linger not, but hasten on, and bear to all around 
 
 Glad tidings of the love, and peace, and mercy thou hast found ! 
 
 To Afric's pathless deserts, to Greenland's frozen shore — 
 Where din of mighty cities sounds, or savage monsters roar — . 
 Wherever man may wander with his heritage of woe, 
 To tell of brighter things above, go, brothers, gladly go ! 
 
 Then, as of old in vision seen before the prophet's eyes, 
 Broader and deeper on its course the stream of life shall rise ; 
 And everywhere, as on it flows, shall carry light and love, 
 Peace and good-will to man on earth, glory to God above ! 
 
 zbtxv one tljat tbirstitb, tome ge to tlje boaters. 
 — Isa. lv, i. 
 
 
The Pilgrim. 
 
 'TILL onward through this land of foes 
 
 I pass in Pilgrim gui.se ; 
 I may not stop to seek repose 
 
 Where cool the shadow lies ; 
 I may not stoop amid the grass 
 
 To pluck earth's fairest flowers, 
 Nor by her springing fountains pass 
 
 The sultry noontide hours ; 
 
 Yet flowers I wear upon my breast 
 
 That no earth-garden knows — 
 White lilies of immortal peace, 
 
 And love's deep-tinted rose ; 
 And there the blue-eyed flowers of faith, 
 
 And hope's bright buds of gold, 
 \s lone I tread the upward path, 
 
 In richest hues unfold. 
 
 " (Then are not of tin boric, cfacn as $ am not of the foorlb." 
 — Jno. xvii, 16. 
 
 J:: 
 
 Qi 
 
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 ix 
 
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 62 
 
 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 <*C 
 
 1 
 
 I keep my armor ever on, 
 
 For foes beset my way ; 
 I watch, lest passing on alone 
 
 I fall a helpless prey. 
 No earthly love have I — I lean 
 
 Upon no mortal breast ; 
 But my Beloved, though unseen, 
 
 Walks near and gives me rest. 
 
 Afar, around, I often see, 
 
 Throughout this desert wide, 
 His Pilgrims pressing on like me — 
 
 They often pass my side ; 
 The kindly smile, the gentle word, 
 
 For Jesus' sake I give ; 
 But love — O Thou alone adored! 
 
 For Thee alone I live. 
 
 Painful and dark the pathway seems 
 
 To distant earthly eyes ; 
 They only see the hedging thorns 
 
 On either side that rise ; 
 They can not know how soft between 
 
 The flowers of love are strewn — 
 The sunny ways, the pastures green, 
 
 Where Jesus leads His own ; 
 
 " <#o*tg Ijafat fcoUs, anb birbs of % air Ijabe mats ; but tl^t Son of 
 ^ Ulan Ijatl) not faljm to lag Iris Inab." — Luke ix, 58. ^ 
 
 m\ _ _j^ 
 
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 ^ 
 
&i0 
 
 
 I 
 
 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 They cannot see, as darkening clouds 
 
 Behind the Pilgrim close, 
 How far adown the western glade 
 
 The golden glory flows ; 
 They cannot hear 'mid earthly din 
 
 The song to Pilgrims known, 
 Still blending with the angels' hymn 
 
 Around the wondrous throne. 
 
 So I, Thy bounteous token-flowers 
 
 Still on my bosom wear ; 
 While me, the fleeting love- winged hours 
 
 To Thee still nearer bear ; 
 So from my lips Thy song shall flow, 
 
 My sweetest music be ; 
 So on mine eyes the glory grow, 
 
 Till all is lost in Thee. 
 
 "Jlinb fcobosocbcr botl) not bear bis cross, ano come afUr me, cannot 
 
 be inn bisctplc." — Luke xiv, 27. ^ 
 
 (9 
 
 ty 
 
 ir 
 
Our Ships at Sea. 
 
 OW many of us have ships at sea, 
 
 Freighted with wishes and hopes and fears, 
 Tossing about on the waves, while we 
 
 Linger and wait on the shore for years, 
 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. 
 
 "$t is goob tlrat a man sljoulb botb Ijopc anb quictln foait for the 
 salbation of fyt "£oxii." — Lam. hi, 26. 
 
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 ^*§?'j3/ 
 
 OUR SHIPS AT SEA. 
 
 65 1 
 
 yub 
 
 Long have we watched beside the shore 
 To catcli the gleam of a coming sail, 
 
 Sf'V, 
 
 "Jftar not, nor be bismaiicb; be strong anb of 900b courage." 
 — Josh, x, 25. 
 
 w 
 
OUR SHIPS AT SEA. 
 
 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 ever 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 forever more. 
 
 FLORENCE GROVER. 
 
 "$U«ss«b is tin mail; tbat txnstety in tin .Wortr, anfcr fol^ost jjopt tin i i, i 
 |Torb is." — Jer. xvii, 7. -Alii 
 
KK 
 
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 L-AJ) 
 
 r 
 
 Heaven by Littles. 
 
 j]f | EAVEN is not reached by a single bound ; 
 
 But we build the ladder, by which we rise 
 
 From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, 
 
 And we mount to its summit round by round. 
 
 I count these things to be grandly true! 
 That a noble deed is a step toward God — 
 Lifting the soul from the common sod 
 
 To a pure'" air and a broader view. 
 
 We rise by the things that are under our feet ; 
 By what we have mastered of greed and gain, 
 By the pride deposed, and the passion slaii, 
 
 And the vanquished ill that we hourly meet. 
 
 "£6c lunbln alTrctioiui) one to another tottb brotlurln lobe." 
 — Rom. xii, 10. 
 
Coming. 
 
 T may be in the evening, 
 
 When the work of the day is done, 
 And you have time to sit in the twilight 
 
 And watch the sinking sun, 
 While the long bright day dies slowly 
 
 Over the sea, 
 And the hour grows quiet and holy 
 
 With thoughts of me ; 
 While you hear the village children 
 
 Passing along the street, 
 Among those thronging footsteps 
 
 May come the sound of my feet 
 Therefore I tell you : Watch 
 
 By the light of the evening star, 
 When the room is growing dusky 
 
 As the clouds afar ; 
 
 rlr ge ijjmfow : for ju hnofo not fcoljin the master of fyt bouse 
 tonutlj." — Mark xiii, 35. 
 
dh 
 
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 COMING. 
 
 69 
 
 diisB 
 
 Let the door be on the latch 
 
 In your home, 
 For it may be through the gloaming 
 
 I will come. 
 
 "It may be when the midnight 
 
 Is heavy upon the land, 
 And the black waves lying dumbly 
 
 Along the sand ; 
 When the moonless night draws close, 
 And the lights are out in the house ; 
 When the fires burn low and red, 
 And the watch is ticking loudly 
 
 Beside the bed ; 
 Though you sleep, tired out, on your couch, 
 Still your heart must wake and watch 
 
 In the dark room, 
 For it may be that at midnight 
 
 I will come. 
 
 "It may be at the cock-crow, 
 When the night is dying slowly 
 
 In the sky, 
 And the sea looks calm and holy, 
 
 Waitine; for the dawn 
 
 "At tbtn, or ut miimtgbt, or at the coclurofoing, or in the morning.' 
 — Mark xiii, 35. 
 
 \g)r 
 
COMING. 
 
 Of the golden sun 
 
 Which draweth nigh ; 
 When the mists are on the valleys, shading 
 
 The rivers chill, 
 And my morning-star is fading, fading 
 
 Over the hill : 
 Behold I say unto you : Watch ; 
 Let the door be on the latch 
 
 In your home ; 
 In the chill before the dawning, 
 Between the night and morning, 
 
 I may come. 
 
 ' It may be in the morning, 
 
 When the sun is bright and strong 
 And the dew is glittering sharply 
 
 Over the little lawn ; 
 When the waves are laughing loudly 
 
 Along the shore, 
 And the little birds are singing sweetly 
 
 About the door ; 
 With the long day's work before you, 
 
 You rise up with the sun, 
 And the neighbors come in to talk a little 
 
 Of all that must be done, 
 
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 "Sake we Jmir, foatdj ana nrau: for m knob not fobtn tijjt lime is. 
 ^ — Mark xiii, 33. 
 
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 COMING. 
 
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 But remember that I may be the next 
 
 To come in at the door, 
 To call you from all your busy work 
 
 For evermore : 
 As you work your heart must watch 
 For the door is on the latch 
 
 In your room, 
 And it may be in the morning 
 
 I will come." 
 
 So He passed down my cottage garden, 
 By the path that leads to the sea, 
 
 Till He came to the turn of the little road 
 Where the birch and laburnum tree 
 
 Lean over and arch the way ; 
 
 There I saw Him a moment stay, 
 And turn once more to me, 
 As I wept at the cottage door, 
 
 And lift up His hands in blessing — 
 Then I saw His face no more. 
 
 And I stood still in the doorway, 
 
 Leaning against the wall, 
 Not heeding the fair white roses, 
 
 Thoucrh I crushed them and let them fall 
 
 f.ox the Son of jttan shall com: in the glorn of his J'athcr foitb his 
 angels." — Matt, xvi, 27. 
 
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COMING. 
 
 Only looking down the pathway, 
 
 And looking toward the sea, 
 And wondering, and wondering 
 
 When He would come back for me 
 Till I was aware of an Angel 
 
 Who was going swiftly by, 
 With the gladness of one who goeth 
 
 In the light of God Most High. 
 
 He passed the end of the cottage 
 Toward the garden gate — 
 
 "^eljolb, be tomctb bit I) cloubs; nub cbcrn tne sbull sec J) int." , i j 
 
 t- — Rev. i, 7. -^ik- 
 
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 (I suppose he was come down 
 
 At the setting of the sun 
 
 To comfort some one in the village 
 
 Whose dwelling was desolate) — 
 And he paused before the door 
 
 Beside my place, 
 And the likeness of a smile 
 
 Was on his face : 
 " Weep not," he said, "for unto you is given 
 
 To watch for the coming of His feet 
 Who is the glory of our blessed heaven ; 
 
 The work and watching will be very sweet, 
 
 Even in an earthly home ; 
 And in such an hour as you think not 
 
 He will come." 
 
 So I am watching quietly 
 
 Every day. 
 Whenever the sun shines brightly, 
 
 I rise and say : 
 "Surely it is the shining of His face!" 
 And look unto the gates of His high place 
 
 Beyond the sea ; 
 For I know He is coming shortly 
 
 To summon me. 
 
 "$crcuftcr shall nc sec the Son of Wijin sitting on the right (rcnb of 
 uotocr, unit coming in the cloubs of heahen." — Matt, xxvi, 64. 
 
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 COMING. 
 
 And when a shadow falls across the window 
 
 Of my room, 
 Where I am working my appointed task, 
 I lift my head to watch the door and ask 
 
 If He is come ; 
 And the Angel answers sweetly 
 
 In my home : 
 "Only a few more shadows, 
 
 And He will come." 
 
 -MRS. B. MACANDREW. 
 
 kjr ttstifijtlj tbjse tbhtgs saitb, jSimlj) J roint qutchlir. 
 — Rev. xxii, 20. 
 
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 Under the Shadow of the Almighty. 
 
 CV^NDER the shadow of his wings ; 
 H|- Jr Oh sweetest rest ! 
 
 VJt' Thou canst not find, my soul, an hiding-place 
 So safe as in thy Father's arms of grace ; 
 lie calls them blest 
 Who find the joy his promise brings. 
 
 There is no other resting place, 
 My soul, so dear ; 
 The shadow of his wings is great and wide, 
 And yet so near it draws thee to his side, 
 So very near, 
 'Tis like a glimpse of his loved face. 
 
 Under the shadow of his wings ; 
 Oh, who may stay ? 
 
 "T.ccp me us the apple of the cite, hibc me nnber the shabofo of tbit 
 
 Goings." — Psa. xvii, 8. rM^Ti 
 
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 UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE ALMIGHTY. 
 
 They who find rest within his secret place, 
 They who find joy but in his own rich grace, 
 And only they, 
 May know the joy the shadow brings. 
 
 For joy, not born of earthly things, 
 Fills all the place ; 
 Come near, my soul, come closer, closer still, 
 See! thou art shielded now from ever ill — 
 Rest in God's grace, 
 Under the shadow of his wings. 
 
 -MILLIE COLCORD. 
 
 "$)ja, in tl^i sbabofo of tlji) hmigs foil! $ mttk* mj) rcfugs." 
 — Psa. lvii, 1. 
 
 @t'<® 
 
Time. 
 
 CWARTHLY things 
 
 Are but the transient pageants of an hour; 
 
 And earthly pride is like the passing flower, 
 
 That springs to fall, and blossoms but to die 
 
 'Tis as the tower erected on a cloud, 
 
 Baseless and silly as the schoolboy's dream. 
 
 Ages and epochs that destroy our pride, 
 
 And then record its downfall, what are they 
 
 But the poor creatures of man's teeming brain ? 
 
 Hath Heaven its ages? or doth Heaven preserve 
 
 Its stated eras? Doth the Omnipotent 
 
 Hear of to-morrows or of yesterdays? 
 
 There is to God nor future nor a past ; 
 
 Throned in His might, all times to Him are present ; 
 
 He hath no lapse, no past, no time to come ; 
 
 He sees before Him one eternal Now. 
 
 "$cbolb, nob is the arrrptcb time; brbolb, noto is the ban of 
 salbation." — 2 Cor. vi, 2. 
 
TIME. 
 
 Time moveth not ! — our being 'tis that moves ; 
 And we, swift gliding down life's rapid stream, 
 Dream of swift ages and revolving years, 
 
 Ordained to chronicle our pass- 
 ing days : 
 So th° young sailor in the gal- 
 lant bark, 
 Scudding" before the wind, be- 
 holds the coast 
 Receding from his eyes, and 
 
 thinks the while, 
 Struck with amaze, that he is 
 
 motionless, 
 And that the land is sailing. 
 
 Such, alas! 
 Are the illusions of this proteus 
 
 life! 
 All, all is false : through every 
 
 phasis still 
 'Tis shadowy and deceitful. It 
 assumes 
 
 The semblances of things and specious shapes ; 
 But the lost traveler might as soon rely 
 On the evasive spirit of the marsh, 
 
 or in tin multitude of breams ano mart}) fconrbs tlizve art als 
 biurrs faanttics : but fear tljon (Sob." — Eccl. v, 7. 
 
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 TIME. 
 
 Whose lantern beams, and vanishes, and flits, 
 O'er bog, and rock, and pit, and hollow way, 
 As we on its appearances. 
 
 On earth 
 There is nor certainty nor stable hope. 
 As well the weary mariner, whose bark 
 Is tossed beyond Cimmerian Kosphorus, 
 Where storm and darkness hold their drear domain, 
 And sunbeams never penetrate, might trust 
 To expectation of serener skies, 
 And linger in the very jaws of death, 
 Because some peevish cloud were opening, 
 Or the loud storm had bated in its rage ; 
 As we look forward in this vale of tears 
 To permanent delight — from some slight glimpse 
 Of shadow}-, unsubstantial happiness. 
 
 The good man's hope is laid far, far beyond 
 
 The sway of tempests, or the furious sweep 
 
 Of mortal desolation — He beholds, 
 
 Unapprehensive, the gigantic stride 
 
 Of rampant Ruin, or the unstable waves 
 
 Of dark Vicissitude ■—Even in death — 
 
 In that dread hour, when, with a giant pang, 
 
 111 " [h.\, though $ toalk through the uallcn of the sbafcoto of bcatb, 
 
 J$L | toil! fear no ebil."— Psa. xxiii, 4. J|L 
 
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TIME. 
 
 Tearing the tender fibres of the heart, 
 
 The immortal spirit struggles to be free — 
 
 Then, even then, that hope forsakes him not, 
 
 For it exists beyond the narrow verge 
 
 Of the cold sepulchre. The petty joys 
 
 Of fleeting life indignantly it spurned, 
 
 And rested on the bosom of its God. 
 
 This is man's only reasonable hope ; 
 
 And 'tis a hope which, cherished in the breast, 
 
 Shall not be disappointed. Even He, 
 
 The Holy One — Almighty — who elanced 
 
 The rolling world along its airy way, 
 
 Even He will deign to smile upon the good, 
 
 And welcome him to these celestial seats, 
 
 Where joy and gladness hold their changeless reign. 
 
 — HENRY KIRKE WHITE. 
 
 e fotelub is brifacrt afxmjr in bis fcoirbcimcss; but tin rtgbtrous 
 Ijtttb I^opt in Ins iuatb." — Prov. xiv, 32. 
 
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^5p HE tomb is empty ; wouldst thou have it full ? 
 
 lh Still sadly clasping the unbreathing clay ; 
 
 3* O weak in faith, O slow of heart and dull, 
 
 To doat on darkness, and shut out the day ! 
 
 The tomb is empty; He who, three short clays, 
 After a sorrowing life's long weariness, 
 
 Found refuge in this rocky resting-place, 
 Has now ascended to the throne of bliss. 
 
 Here lay the Holy One, the Christ of God, 
 He who for death gave death, and life for life ; 
 
 Our heavenly Kinsman, our true flesh and blood ; 
 Victor for us on hell's dark field of strife. 
 
 This was the Bethel, where, on stony bed, 
 
 While angels went and came from morn till even, 
 
 Our truer Jacob laid his wearied head ; 
 This was to him the very gate of heaven. 
 
 |)e is not berc: for be is risen." 
 — Matt, xxviii, 6. 
 
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 82 
 
 HE IS RISEN. 
 
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 The Conqueror, not the conquer'd, He to whom 
 The keys of death and of the grave belong, 
 
 Cross'd the cold threshold of the stranger's tomb, 
 To spoil the spoiler and to bind the strong. 
 
 Here death had reigned ; into no tomb like this 
 Had man's fell foe aforetime found his way ; 
 
 So grand a trophy ne'er before was his, 
 So vast a treasure, so divine a prey. 
 
 But now his triumph ends ; the rock-barr'd door 
 Is open'd wide, and the Great Pris'ner gone ; 
 
 Look round and see, upon the vacant floor 
 The napkin and the grave-clothes lie alone. 
 
 Yes, death's last hope, his strongest fort and prison 
 
 Is shatter'd, never to be built again ; 
 And He, the mighty Captive, He is risen, 
 
 Leaving behind the gate, the bar, the chain. 
 
 Yes, He is ris'n who is the First and Last ; 
 
 Who was and is ; who liveth and was dead ; 
 Beyond the reach of death he now has pass'd, 
 
 Of the one glorious Church the glorious Head. 
 
 — HORATIUS BONAR, D. D. 
 
 "U ascma unto mir J^tbtr, aiiir uour (Jfatljer; ana to mn 
 jjonr (£>ob." — John xx, 17. 
 
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 Even-Song. 
 
 LL day the birds are singing as they flit from grove and tree, 
 But at twilight hath their music the sweetest sound to me, 
 
 For then all tones are gathered into one full-tided chord, 
 And up from wood and meadow arises " Praise the Lord." 
 
 The soft wind bears it onward, low murmuring in the pines, 
 I hear it in the rustle of the moth amid the vines. 
 
 The bee that swingeth homeward, after honey-seeking hours, 
 Hath the secret, in his whirring, of the vivid life of flowers. 
 
 The cattle slowly wending from the pasture-land their way, 
 In every tinkle of their bells, tell of the ending day. 
 
 Then, sudden from the orchard, out rings the robin's note, 
 In silver trills around me his rapture seems to float. 
 
 " JH the beabcns rejoice, ana let the earth be glab ; let the sea roar, 
 ttttb the fulness thereof." — Psa. xevi, n. 
 
EVEN-SONG. 
 
 llje fielb be jogful, anb all tljat is therein: iljtn sljall all tlje 
 trees of tbe fcooob rejoice." — Psa. xcvi, 12. 
 
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 EVEN-SONG. 
 
 85 
 
 And, listening, my spirit is borne to realms afar, 
 
 Yet near, as near as heaven, where the happy ransomed are. 
 
 I join my silence unto the many-threaded strain 
 
 That unto God uplifted, goes on through joy and pain. 
 
 Away from space and limits, away from time and sense, 
 I send my thought to find its rest in God's kind providence. 
 
 For, at night, when work is over, and cares awhile retreat, 
 
 The soul must breathe its even-song low at the Father's feet. 
 
 — MARGARET E. SANGSTER. 
 
 "IRcjoke in the $orb, ne righteous; anb gibe (banks at the 
 remembrance of bis holiness." — Psa. xcvii, 12. 
 
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 A Little Longer. 
 
 ,H, to be in Jesus's bosom, 
 
 There to hide my pain and care, 
 There to feel his arms around me, 
 All my trouble ended there! 
 
 Oh, to be in quiet lying 
 
 On his peace-insuring breast, 
 
 There forgetting sin and sorrow, 
 There forevermore at rest ! 
 
 Ties, that hold us here, unknotted 
 
 In the faith we there must know- 
 Willing, in his trusted presence, 
 To let earthly dear things go: 
 
 Willing to resign the dearest, 
 Even the flesh of our flesh born, 
 
 Even the baby, in our dying 
 Left so humanly forlorn ! 
 
 tg soul IongetJ), jna, rbcn latntrtb for Ibe courts of t|ie 3forb. 
 — Psa. lxxxiv, 2. 
 
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BE 
 
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 A LITTLE LONGER. 
 
 Ah! I feel his tiny fingers 
 Reaching helplessly to me ; 
 
 Let me still a little longer 
 
 Painful, sorrowing, troubled be, 
 
 So I yet may be his comfort, 
 Shield him from the bitter cold, 
 
 Lead him by my guiding counsel 
 To a tender Saviour's fold ! 
 
 Not until my task is ended, 
 
 Task of toil or agony, 
 Would I close my weary eyelids 
 
 And in bliss forever be : 
 
 Not until life's work is finished 
 Would I seek the perfect rest 
 
 That awaits the poor believer 
 Sinking tired on Jesus' breast. 
 
 — MARY B. DODGE. 
 
 "j£)t aslub life of tluc, anb thou gabest it him." 
 — Psa. xxi, 4. 
 
 
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 Evening. 
 
 ... JENTLY the dew falls on the grass, 
 IW ^ ne wulc k are hushed to rest, 
 q^j And softly sinks the crescent moon, 
 Adown the quiet west. 
 
 And one by one, as shadows fall, 
 The stars come out on high, 
 
 Till in full brightness spreads unveiled 
 The glory of the sky. 
 
 I sit upon the summer hills, 
 Far from the noisy throng, 
 
 And hear the modest night-bird sing 
 Her low and plaintive song. 
 
 The little streamlets bright and clear 
 
 Go singing on their way, 
 While countless insect voices weave 
 
 Their never-ending lay. 
 
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 "gdl tl)t) foorks shall praist fytt, 
 — Psa. cxlv, 10. 
 
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 EVENING. 
 
 " 3f et cbcrn thing that Ira lb br cut b praise the M"or&." 
 — Psa. cl, 6. " 
 
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EVENING. 
 
 
 God, in such an hour as this, 
 How yearns the soul to know 
 
 The mysteries of the heavens above 
 And of the earth below! 
 
 An atom in the boundless whole, 
 A speck upon the air, 
 
 1 seem as one engulfed and lost, 
 
 Without a Father's care. 
 
 My life I draw, I know not how, 
 From the mysterious past ; 
 
 Before me stretches all unknown _ 
 A future strange and vast. 
 
 What part have I in this wide realm ? 
 
 What place have I to fill ? 
 Or can the smallest issue hang 
 
 Upon my wavering will ? 
 
 Yet folded in these shades of night, 
 
 My busy thoughts arise, 
 To range afar the fields of earth, 
 
 And wander through the skies. 
 
 ' Utorir, Ijob manifolb art tbjj famrks ! in totsbom bast lljou utabe 
 J,t limn all." — Psa. civ, 24. g. 
 
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 EVENING. 
 
 Is there a hand that reaches clown 
 
 From out this vast unknown ? 
 Is there a love that beckons me 
 
 To the eternal throne ? 
 
 I ask the silent stars above, 
 
 As men have asked of old, 
 No voice comes from them, as they look 
 
 On mountains still and cold. 
 
 The entrance of Thy Word, O God ! 
 
 Alone can break this night, 
 And shed o'er all the way I go 
 
 A clear and living light. 
 
 By faith, I take that blessed Word 
 
 And follow at its call ; 
 The God who made the heavens and earth, 
 
 Can see and know them all. 
 
 — REV. I. N. TARBOX, D. D. 
 
 "£bn feorb is a lump nnto mn feet, anb a light unto inn path.' 
 i; Psa. cxix, 105. 
 
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 Trust 
 
 PICTURE memory brings to me ; 
 /M.»r I look across the years and see 
 ^ Myself beside my mother's knee. 
 
 I feel her gentle hand restrain 
 
 My selfish moods, and know again 
 
 A child's blind sense of wrong and pain. 
 
 But wiser now, a man gray grown, 
 My childhood's needs are better known, 
 My mother's chastening love I own. 
 
 Gray grown, but in our Father's sight 
 A child still groping for the light 
 To read His works and ways aright. 
 
 I bow myself beneath His hand : 
 That pain itself for good was planned, 
 I trust, but cannot understand. 
 
 GT'H 
 
 |ge that for tb« f orb, trust in i\t %axb ; \i is tbw ^elp attir %ir 
 
 BJjitlir." — Psa. cxv, n. L 
 
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 TRUST. 
 
 I fondly dream it needs must be 
 That as my mother dealt with me, 
 So with His children dealeth He. 
 
 I wait and trust the end will prove 
 That here and there, below, above, 
 The chastening heals, the pain is love 
 
 — JOHN G. WHITTIER. 
 
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 38lcsscb is tb/at man tbat mahctb tbt 5forb his trust." 
 — Psa. xl, 4. 
 
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Christian's Clock. 
 
 " gino Christian mabe a serine for tlje Incurs % Iforb liab gtben 
 (jim ; anb from tlje sljrine a golben tlmia bias linker to tlje guat bell 
 at tb,e prauer-gate, anb to ben tlje bell strutk, tlje angel ojieneb t(je gate 
 anb gabe back tlje anstoer." — Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress. 
 
 ^HE bell tolls one- 
 Teach me to say, 
 " Thy will be done." 
 
 The bell tolls ttoo— 
 Help me each day 
 Thy will to do. 
 
 The bell tolls tbree- 
 
 I ask in faith 
 To follow Thee. 
 
 "Jor b» me tbg bags shall be multiplied, ana tlje gears of tljg life 
 
 sljall be iuereaseb." — Prov. ix, n. ^ 
 
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christian's clock. 
 
 The bell tolls four- 
 
 I pray for trust 
 For evermore. 
 
 The bell tolls filn— 
 For Christian speech 
 Help me to strive. 
 
 The bell tolls siv — 
 
 Teach me my itiope 
 On Thee to fix. 
 
 The bell tolls scben- 
 
 O make my life 
 A way to heaven. 
 
 The bell tolls tight- 
 May I in peace 
 And patience wait. 
 
 The bell tolls nine- 
 Let tflpritn 
 Be ever mine. 
 
 iV.ist not thnsclf of to-morrotu ; for thou hnototst not tolr.it a b.iii 
 nun bvinq forth. — Prov. xxvii, i. 
 
CHRISTIAN S CLOCK. 
 
 The bell tolls ten — 
 
 I pray for love 
 To God and men. 
 
 It tolls elcben — 
 
 Let me each hour 
 Be nearer heaven. 
 
 ©fcoclbxr strokes I hear! 
 
 Now perfect lobe 
 Hath cast out fear. 
 
 "S^erefore be ju also rabtr : for tit satl^ an boar as ge tlrink not tlje 
 
 j?on of ||Tan tometlj." — Matt, xxiv, 44. ^ 
 
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The Rose-Bud. 
 
 HEN Nature tries her finest touch, 
 Waving her vernal wreath, 
 Mark ye how close she veils her round, 
 Not to be traced by sight or sound, 
 Nor soiled by ruder breath ? 
 
 Whoever saw the earliest Rose 
 First open her sweet breast ? 
 Or, when the summer sun goes down, 
 The first soft star in evening's crown 
 Light up her gleaming crest ? 
 
 Fondly we seek the dawning bloom 
 On features wan and fair, — 
 
 The gazing eye no change can trace, 
 
 But look away a little space, 
 Then turn, and lo! 'tis there. 
 
 Jil 
 
 44 
 
 " ^nit shoulb sleep, ;tnb rise night ;inb b.uj, anb the scrb sboulb 
 spring anb qroto up, In hnotoctb not hoto." — Mark iv, 27, 
 
 
THE ROSE-BUD. 
 
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 i "got % eartl) brtngetl) fortlj frait of bttBtli; first % blubt, fytn | 
 k % fax, after tljat il» full torn in % tar." — Mark iv, 28. W 
 
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 THE ROSE-BUD. 
 
 But there's a sweeter flower than e'er 
 
 Blushed on the rosy spray — 
 A brighter star, a richer bloom, 
 Than e'er did western heaven illume 
 At close of summer day. 
 
 'Tis love, the last best gift of heaven 
 
 Love gentle, holy, pure : 
 But tenderer than a dove's soft eye, 
 The searching sun, the open sky, 
 
 She never could endure. 
 
 Even human love will shrink from sight 
 
 Here in the coarse, rude earth : 
 How then should rash intruding glance 
 Break in upon her sacred trance, 
 Who boasts a heavenly birth ? 
 
 So still and secret is her growth, 
 
 Ever the truest heart, 
 Where deepest strikes her kindly root, 
 For hope or joy, for flower or fruit, 
 
 Least known its happy part. 
 
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 "£3clobcb, let us lobe one another: for lobe is of (6ob ; nnb ebcrn one 
 that lobcth is born of (5ob, anb knotoctb cOob." — i Tohn iv, 7. 
 
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 THE ROSE-BUD. 
 
 God only, and good angels, look 
 
 Behind the blissful screen — 
 As when, triumphant o'er His -woes, 
 The Son of God by moonlight rose, 
 By all but heaven unseen : 
 
 As when the Holy Maid beheld 
 
 Her risen Son and Lord: 
 Thought has not colors half so fair, 
 That she to paint that hour may dare 
 
 In silence best adored. 
 
 The gracious dove, that brought from heaven 
 
 The earnest of our bliss, 
 Of many a chosen witness telling, 
 Of many a happy vision dwelling, 
 
 Sings not a note of this 
 
 So, truest image of the Christ, 
 
 Old Israel's long-lost Son, 
 What time, with sweet forgiving cheer, 
 He called His conscious brethren near, 
 
 Would weep with them alone. 
 
 klobtb, if (Sob so lobto its, ok onght also to labt oiu another." 
 
 — i John iv, ii. > 
 
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 THE ROSE-BUD. 
 
 He could not trust his melting soul 
 
 But in His Maker's sight — 
 Then why should gentle hearts and true 
 Bare to the rude world's withering view 
 
 Their treasures of delight ? 
 
 No ; let the dainty Rose awhile 
 Her bashful fragrance hide — 
 Rend not her silken veil too soon, 
 But leave her, in her own soft noon, 
 To flourish and abide. 
 
 jfu that lofacth not, hnofocth not <£>otr ; for <&ob is lobe." 
 — I John iv, 8. 
 
'Shew also serfie fobo anh stantr anir foait." — Milton. 
 
 HE fields are whitening 'neath the ripening grain ; 
 I long to toil among the reapers there ; 
 What full ripe sheaves I'll gather, ere the rain, 
 To show my gratitude for God's dear care! 
 
 Thus saying, proud and resolute I stood 
 Amid the ever-busy, hurrying throng ; 
 
 Waiting to see, in somewhat anxious mood, 
 The Lord and Master, as He passed along, 
 
 He came. Quick pressing through the eager throng, 
 I stood beside Him, near the open gate ; 
 
 "Master, what shall I do ? My soul is strong — " 
 He turned, and softly said, " Here stand and wait ! : 
 
 " ffilait on tlje ITorb: fat of goofr courage, anb \z shall strengthen 
 t|jme heart : foait, | sau, on tlje JTorb." — Psa. xxvii, 14. 
 
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 WAITING. 
 
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 The hot blood to my brow and temples flew — 
 I struggled fiercely with my hapless fate — 
 
 "Oh, Master, have you naught for me to do ? " 
 
 " Yes," He replied at once, " Here stand and wait.' 
 
 He passed along ; and thro' the weary hours 
 I stood with restless hands and aching heart ; 
 
 I would not even pluck the fragrant flowers 
 Beneath my feet, while thus I stood apart. 
 
 Again He passed — and in my grief I said, 
 " I'd rather die than only stand and wait !" 
 
 One look of sad rebuke ; no word He said, 
 But left me weeping by the open gate. 
 
 The weary, weary hours come and pass ; 
 
 I watch the reapers cut the bearded grain ; 
 I see their heavy sheaves, and sigh, alas, 
 
 That I may only watch and wait. 
 
 The night draws near. I seek Him once again — 
 "Oh, Master, see — 'tis growing dark, and late! 
 
 I have no sheaves!" His sweet voice soothes my pain, 
 "They serve me best who patient stand and wait !" 
 
 
 "Bcst in the £orb, anb bail puticntln for him." 
 — Psa. xxxvii, 7. 
 
io4 
 
 WAITING. 
 
 So, patiently, I strive to stand and wait 
 
 Thro' all the glories of the fading years ; 
 Wait till His hand shall lead me thro' the gate, 
 
 And change my sighs to songs, to smiles my tears. 
 
 — REBECCA RUTER SPRINGER. 
 
 "Jor tlje $Tora is a (Soo of jubgnunt; blesstb are all tbrn tjnit bait 
 ^ for bint." — Isa. xxx, 18. ^ 
 
 1^ ^(d 
 
Lessons Sweet. 
 
 <SJ|X ESSONS sweet of spring returning, 
 nff-- Welcome to the thoughtful heart ! 
 «S< May I call ye sense or learning, 
 
 Instinct pure, or heav'n-taught art? 
 Be your title what it may, 
 Sweet the lengthening April day. 
 While with you the soul is free, 
 Ranging wild o'er hill and lea. 
 
 Soft as Memnon's harp at morning. 
 
 To the inward ear devout, 
 Touch'd by light, with heavenly warning 
 
 Your transporting chords ring out. 
 Every leaf in every nook, 
 Every wave in every brook, 
 Chanting with a solemn voice, 
 Minds us of our better choice. 
 
 " 3.n& then shall spring nu us among the grass, as toillotas bn the 111 
 
 -^> toater eonrscs."— Isa. xliv, 4. @N1e) 
 
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 Needs no show of mountain hoary, 
 Winding shore or deepening glen, 
 Where the landscape in its glory- 
 Teaches truth to wandering men : 
 Give true hearts but earth and sky, 
 And some flowers to bloom and die, — 
 Homely scenes and simple views 
 Lowly thoughts may best infuse. 
 
 See the soft green willow springing 
 
 Where the waters gently pass, 
 Every way her free arms flinging 
 O'er the moist and reedy grass. 
 Long ere winter blasts are fled, 
 See her tipp'd with vernal red, 
 And her kindly flower display'd 
 Ere her leaf can cast a shade. 
 
 Though the rudest hand assail her, 
 
 Patiently she droops awhile, 
 But when showers and breezes hail her, 
 
 Wears again her willing smile. 
 Thus I learn Contentment's power 
 From the slighted willow bower, 
 Ready to give thanks and live 
 On the least that Heaven may give. 
 
 hit gobliness fcoitb contentment is great gain. 
 — 1 Tim. vi, 6. 
 
LESSONS SWEET. 
 
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 LESSONS SWEET. 
 
 If, the quiet brooklet leaving, 
 
 Up the stony vale I wind, 
 Haply half in fancy grieving 
 
 For the shades I leave behind, 
 By the dusty wayside drear, 
 Nightingales with joyous cheer 
 Sing, my sadness to reprove, 
 Gladlier than in cultur'd grove. 
 
 Where the thickest boughs are twining 
 Of the greenest darkest tree, 
 
 There they plunge, the light declining- 
 All may hear, but none may see. 
 
 Fearless of the passing hoof, 
 
 Hardly will they fleet aloof; 
 
 So they live in modest ways, 
 
 Trust entire, and ceaseless praise. 
 
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 Jtcar not: for Jl am toitjj tluc." 
 — Isa. xliii, 5. 
 
The Hour of Death. 
 
 ^K EAVES have their time to fall, 
 
 And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath, 
 ^-k And stars to set — but all, 
 
 Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death. 
 
 Day is for mortal care ; 
 Eve, for glad meetings round the joyful hearth ; 
 
 Night, for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer ;- 
 But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth. 
 
 The banquet hath its hour, 
 Its feverish hour of mirth, and song, and wine ; 
 
 There comes a day for grief's o'erwhelming power, 
 A time for softer tears — but all are thine. 
 
 "He cnnutj) fortb like a flofotr, anb is tut bofon. 
 — Job xiv, 2. 
 
Youth and the opening rose 
 May look like things too glorious for decay, 
 
 And smile at thee — but thou art not of those 
 That wait the ripen'd bloom to seize their prey. 
 
 Leaves have their time to fall, 
 And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath, 
 
 And stars to set — but all, 
 Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death. 
 
 We know when moons shall wane, 
 When summer birds from far shall cross the sea, 
 
 When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grain- 
 But who shall teach us when to look for thee ! 
 
 Is it when spring's first gale 
 Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie ? 
 Is it when roses in our paths grow pale ? — 
 They have ONE season — all are ours to die! 
 
 Thou art where billows foam, 
 Thou art where music melts upon the air ; 
 
 Thou art around us in our peaceful home, 
 And the world calls us forth — and thou art there. 
 
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 — Job xiv, 2. 
 
 
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 THE HOUR OF DEATH. 
 
 Thou art where friend meets friend, 
 Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest — 
 
 Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend 
 The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest. 
 
 Leaves have their time to fall, 
 And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath, 
 
 And stars to set — but all, 
 Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death. 
 
 — MRS. HEMANS. 
 
 ",|f a man bie, ssball Ije litre again? all tbc bans of inn auuointeb 
 
 time mill | foa.it, till ran change tome." — Job xiv, 14. 
 
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Softly. 
 
 OFTLY comes the sunset hour, 
 W With its fading light ; 
 %%g>p Softly steals a sweet repose 
 O'er the coming night. 
 
 Softly do the happy birds 
 
 Evening-notes repeat ; 
 Softly, 'mid the leafy trees, 
 
 Sigh the zephyrs sweet. 
 
 Softly fades the dying Day 
 
 In the golden west ; 
 Softly comes the silent Night 
 
 Like a dream of rest. 
 
 Softly as this sunset scene, 
 
 When I'm called away, 
 I would pass the Vale of Night 
 
 To the Gates of Day! — e. a. barnes. 
 
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 " j$c makcth the storm a calm, so that the foabes thereof arc still." 
 — Psa. cvii, 29. 
 
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The Father's Care for His Children. 
 
 'IRST Father of the holy seed, 
 If yet, invoked in hour of need, 
 
 Thou count me for Thine own, 
 Not quite an outcast if I prove, 
 (Thou joy' st in miracles of love) 
 
 Hear, from Thy mercy-throne ! 
 
 Upon thine altar's horn of gold 
 Help me to lay my trembling hold, 
 
 Though stain'd with Christian gore — 
 The blood of souls by Thee redeem'd, 
 But, while I rov'd or idly dream'd, 
 
 Lost to be found no more. 
 
 For oft, when summer leaves were bright, 
 And every flower was bath'd in light, 
 In sunshine moments past, 
 
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 — Psa. vi, 2. 
 
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 THE FATHER'S CARE FOR HIS CHILDREN. 
 
 My wilful heart would burst away 
 
 From where the holy shadow lay, 
 
 Where Heaven my lot had cast. 
 
 I thought it scorn with Thee to dwell, 
 A Hermit in a silent cell, 
 
 While, gaily sweeping by, 
 Wild Fancy blew his bugle strain, 
 And marshall'd all his gallant train 
 
 In the world's wondering eye. 
 
 I would have join'd him — but as oft 
 Thy whisper'd warnings, kind and soft, 
 
 My better soul confess'd, 
 "My servant, let the world alone — 
 Safe on the steps of Jesus' throne 
 
 Be tranquil and be blest. 
 
 "Seems it to thee a niggard hand 
 That nearest Heaven has bade thee stand, 
 
 The ark to touch and bear, 
 With incense of pure heart's desire 
 To heap the censer's sacred fire, 
 
 The snow-white ephod wear ? " 
 
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 Jfor | kiuto tbat tbou art a gracious <6ob, srtb merciful, sloto to 
 anger, anb of great luubncss." — Jonah iv, 2. 
 
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 Why should we crave the worldling's wreath, 
 On whom the Saviour deign'd to breathe, 
 
 To whom His keys were given, 
 Who lead the choir where Angels meet, 
 With Angels' food our brethren greet, 
 
 And pour the drink of heaven ? 
 
 When sorrow all our heart would ask, 
 We need not shun our daily task, 
 
 And hide ourselves for calm ; 
 The herbs we seek to heal our woe 
 Familiar by our pathway grow, 
 
 Our common air is balm. 
 
 Around each pure domestic shrine 
 Bright flowers of Eden bloom and twine, 
 
 Our hearths are altars all ; 
 The prayers of hungry souls and poor, 
 Like armed Angels at the door, 
 
 Our unseen foes appal. 
 
 Alms all around and hymns within — 
 What evil eye can entrance win 
 Where guards like these abound ? 
 
 "Smw trust in tljariots, smb some in bursts: but toe fcoill renumber 
 tl)£ name at tlje Sforb our <Sbb." — Psa. xx, 7. 
 
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THE FATHER'S CARE FOR HIS CHILDREN. 
 
 If chance some heedless heart should roam, 
 Sure, thought of these will lure it home 
 Ere lost in Folly's round. 
 
 O joys, that sweetest in decay, 
 Fall not, like wither'd leaves, away, 
 
 But with the silent breath 
 Of violets drooping one by one, 
 Soon as their fragrant task is done, 
 
 Are wafted high in death ! 
 
 — KEBLE. 
 
 "Sbou anointest mn bcab foitb oil; mn cup runneth obtr." 
 — Psa. xxiii, 5. 
 
The Covered Bridge. 
 
 ELL the fainting soul in the weary form, 
 There's a world of the purest bliss, 
 That is linked, as the soul and form are linked, 
 By a Covered Bridge, with this. 
 
 Yet to reach that realm on the other shore 
 We must pass through a transient gloom, 
 
 And must walk, Ui.seen, unhelped and alone, 
 Through that Covered Bridge— the tomb. 
 
 But we all pass over on equal terms, 
 
 For the universal toll 
 Is the outer garb, which the hand of God 
 
 Has flung around the soul. 
 
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 all." — Prov. xxii, 2. ^ 
 
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 THE COVERED BRIDGE. 
 
 Though the eye is dim, and the bridge is dark, 
 
 And the river it spans is wide, 
 Vet faith points through to a shining mount 
 
 That looms on the other side. 
 
 To enable our feet in the next day's march, 
 
 To climb up that golden ridge, 
 We must all lie down for one night's rest 
 
 Inside of the Covered Bridge. 
 
 "pc.tth is sur.illotocb up in bictorn." 
 — I Cor. xv, 54. 
 
The Lily of the Valley. 
 
 /AIR flower, that, lapt in lowly glade, 
 Dost hide beneath the greenwood shade, 
 
 Than whom the vernal gale 
 None fairer wakes, on bank or spray, 
 Our England's Lily of the May, 
 Our Lily of the Vale ! 
 
 Art thou that " Lily of the field," 
 Which, when the Saviour sought to shield 
 
 The heart from blank despair, 
 He showed to our mistrustful kind, 
 An emblem of the thoughtful mind, 
 
 Of God's paternal care ? 
 
 Not this, I trow ; for brighter shine 
 To the warm skies of Palestine 
 Those children of the East : 
 
 Jonsibtr tyt lilies of i\)t fielir, bob tbtv grofo ; tlug foil not, 
 luitbtr ao tljejj spin." — Matt, vi, 28. 
 

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 THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 
 
 There, when mild autumn's early rain 
 Descends on parched Esdrela's plain 
 And Tabor's oak-girt crest, 
 
 More frequent than the host of night, 
 Those earth-born stars, as sages write, 
 
 Their brilliant discs unfold ; 
 Fit symbol of imperial state, 
 Their sceptre-seeming forms elate, 
 
 And crowns of burnished gold. 
 
 But not the less, sweet spring-tide's flower, 
 Dost thou display the Maker's power, 
 
 His skill and handiwork ; 
 Our western valleys' humbler child, 
 Where, in green nook of woodland wild, 
 
 Thy modest blossoms lurk. 
 
 What though nor care nor art be thine, 
 The loom to ply, the thread to twine, 
 
 Yet born to bloom and fade, 
 Thee to a lovelier robe arrays, 
 Than, e'en in Israel's brightest days, 
 
 Her wealthiest kings arrayed. 
 
 "ginb net | sun unto nou, if hut cucn Solomon in all bis glorn to us 
 not urruncb like one of tluse." — Matt, vi, 20. 
 
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THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 
 
 Of thy twin-leaves the embowered screen, 
 Which wraps thee in thy shroud of green, 
 
 Thy Eden-breathing smell ; 
 Thy arched and purple-vested stem, 
 Whence pendent many a pearly gem, 
 
 Displays a milk-white bell • 
 
 Instinct with life thy fibrous root, 
 
 Which sends from earth the ascending =^nnt. 
 
 As rising from the dead, 
 And fills thy veins with verdant juice, 
 Charged thy fair blossoms to produce, 
 . And berries scarlet red ; 
 
 The triple cell, the twofold seed, 
 A ceaseless treasure-house decreed, 
 
 Whence aye thy race may grow, 
 As from creation they have grown, 
 While Spring shall weave her flowery crown, 
 
 Or vernal breezes blow ; 
 
 Who forms thee thus, with unseen hand ? 
 Who at creation gave command, 
 And willed thee thus to be ; 
 
 "Slje hrabens arc limine, 1I5E earth; also is finite: as for ilje faorlb anfr 
 ifye fulness iljereof, tljou Ijast founoeb iljem." — Psa. lxxxix, n. 
 
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 THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 
 
 And keeps thee still in being, through 
 Age after age revolving ? Who 
 But the great God is He? 
 
 Omnipotent, to woik His will ; 
 Wise, who contrives each part to fill 
 
 The post to each assigned ; 
 Still provident with sleepless care, 
 To keep ; to make thee sweet and fair 
 
 For man's enjoyment — kind ! 
 
 "There is no God, : ' the senseless say :. — 
 "O God! why cast'st thou us away?" 
 
 Of feeble faith and frail, 
 The mourner breathes his anxious thought ; 
 By thee a better lesson taught, 
 
 Sweet Lily of the Vale! 
 
 Yes, He who made and fosters thee, 
 In Reason's eye perforce must be 
 
 Of majesty divine ; 
 Nor deems she that His guardian care 
 Will He in man's support forbear, 
 
 Who thus provides for thine. 
 
 -BISHOP MANT. 
 
 ®lbrrcfort sboulb the beathen san, ®lbere is nofco tbeir Oaob." 
 -— Psa. cxv, 2. 
 
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 Casting Anchors. 
 
 HE night is dark, but God, my God, 
 
 Is here and in command ; 
 And sure am I, when morning breaks, 
 
 I shall be "at the land." 
 And since I know the darkness is 
 
 To Him as sunniest day, 
 I'll cast the anchor Patience out, 
 
 And wish, but wait for day. 
 
 Fierce drives the storm, but winds and waves 
 
 Within His hand are held, 
 And trusting in Omnipotence, 
 
 My fears are sweetly quelled. 
 If wrecked, I'm in His faithful grasp, 
 
 I'll trust Him though He slay ; 
 So, letting go the anchor Faith, 
 
 I'll wish, but wait for day. 
 
 "$jint if bat \pia.t for tljat foe see not, iljttt iro foe foitl) paticntt foait 
 for it." — Rom. viii, 25. 
 
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 CASTING ANCHORS. 
 
 Still seem the moments dreary, lung? 
 
 I rest upon the Lord ; 
 I muse on His "eternal years," 
 
 And feast upon His word, 
 His promises so rich and great, 
 
 Are my support and stay ; 
 I'll drop the anchor Hope ahead, 
 
 And wish, but wait for day. 
 
 O wisdom infinite ! O light 
 
 And love supreme, divine, 
 How can I feel one fluttering doubt, 
 
 In hands so dear as Thine ; 
 I'll lean on Thee, my best Teloved, 
 
 My heart on Thy heart I lay ; 
 And casting out the anchor Love, 
 
 I'll wish and wait for day. 
 
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 Nobody Knows but Jesus." 
 
 JjfOBODY knows but Jesus! 
 'Tis only the old refrain 
 Of a quaint, pathetic slave-song, 
 But it comes again and again. 
 
 I only heard it quoted, 
 
 And I do not know the rest ; 
 
 But the music of the message 
 Was wonderfully blessed. 
 
 For it fell upon my spirit 
 
 Like sweetest twilight psalm, 
 
 When the breezy sunset waters 
 Die into starry calm. 
 
 Nobody knows but Jesus ! 
 
 Is it not better so, 
 That no one else but Jesus, 
 
 My own dear Lord, should know ? 
 
 "Cast tlig burton upon ito i'orb, an& to sliall sustain t\n." 
 
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 When the sorrow is a secret 
 Between my Lord and me, 
 
 I learn the fuller measure 
 Of His quick sympathy. 
 
 Whether it be so heavy, 
 
 That dear ones could not bear 
 
 To know the bitter burden 
 They could not come and share ; 
 
 Whether it be so tiny, 
 That others could not see 
 
 Why it should be a trouble, 
 And seem so real to me ; 
 
 Either, and both, I lay them 
 Down at my Master's feet, 
 
 And find them, alone with Jesus, 
 Mysteriously sweet. 
 
 Sweet, for they bring me closer 
 To the dearest, truest Friend ; 
 
 Sweet, for He comes the nearer, 
 As 'neath the cross I bend ; 
 
 "<Jfor mn nohe is nisn, ani» mg burbcn is light. 
 — Matt, xi, 30. 
 
 
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 "nobody knows BUT JESUS." 
 
 
 Sweet, for they are the channels 
 Through which His teachings flow ; 
 
 Sweet, for by these dark secrets 
 His heart of love I know. 
 
 Nobody knows but Jesus ! 
 
 It is music for to-day, 
 And through the darkest hours 
 
 It will chime along the way. 
 
 Nobody knows but Jesus! 
 
 My Lord, I bless Thee now 
 For the sacred gift of sorrow 
 
 That no one knows but Thou. 
 
 — FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL. 
 
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 ''Cover Them Over." 
 
 /mOVER them over with beautiful flowers ; 
 iflli Deck them with garlands, those brothers of ours ; 
 \^G) Lying so silent, by night and by day, 
 ^ Sleeping the years of their manhood away ; 
 
 Years they had marked for the joys of the brave ; 
 
 Years they must waste in the sloth of the grave. 
 
 All the bright laurels they fought to make bloom, 
 
 Fell to the earth when they went to the tomb. 
 
 Give them the meed they have won in the past ; 
 
 (jive them the honors their merits forecast ; 
 
 Give them the chaplets they won in the strife ; 
 
 Give them the laurels they lost with their life. 
 
 Cover them over, — yes, cover them over, — 
 
 Parent, and husband, and brother, and lover ; 
 
 Crown in your heart those dead heroes of ours, 
 
 And cover them over with beautiful flowers. 
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 Cover the thousands who sleep far away — 
 
 Sleep where their friends cannot find them to-day ; 
 
 " Jf or he shall gibe his angels charge obcr thec. 
 — Psa. xci, II. 
 
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COVER THEM OVER. 
 
 They who in mountain, and hillside, and dell, 
 Rest where they wearied, and lie where they fell. 
 Softly the grass-blade creeps round their repose ; 
 Sweetly around them the wild flow'ret blows ; 
 Zephyrs of freedom fly gently o'erhead, 
 Whispering names for the patriot dead. 
 So in our minds we will name them once more, 
 So in our hearts we will cover them o'er ; 
 Roses, and lilies, and violets blue, 
 Bloom in our souls for the brave and the true. 
 Cover them over, — yes, cover them over, — 
 Parent, and husband, and brother, and lover ; 
 Think of these far-away heroes of ours, 
 And cover them over with beautiful flowers. 
 
 — FROM WILL CARLETON'S "FARM LEGENDS." 
 
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 tljou trust." — Psa. xci, 4. 
 
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 The Secret of a Happy Day. 
 
 [UST to let thy Father do 
 What He will ; 
 Ej, Just to know that He is true, 
 ^ And be still. 
 
 Just to follow hour by hour 
 
 As He leadeth ; 
 Just to draw the moment's power 
 As it needeth. 
 Just to trust Him, this is all ! 
 Then the day will surely be 
 Peaceful, whatsoe'er befall, 
 
 Bright and blessed, calm and free. 
 
 Just to let Him speak to thee 
 
 Through His Word, 
 Watching, that His voice may be 
 
 Clearly heard. 
 
 "flic secret of the £orb is fa it I) them tlv.it feur bint; Sltb he tuill 
 sheto them his cobenunt." — Psa. xxv, 14. 
 
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 THE SECRET OF A HAPPY DAY. 
 
 Just to tell Him everything 
 
 As it rises, 
 And at once to Him to bring 
 All surprises. 
 Just to listen, and to stay. 
 
 Where you cannot miss His voice. 
 This is all ! and thus to-day, 
 Communing, you shall rejoice. 
 
 Just to ask Him what to do 
 
 All the day, 
 And to make you quick and true 
 
 To obey. 
 Just to know the needed grace 
 
 He bestoweth, 
 Every bar of time and place 
 Overfloweth. 
 Just to take thy orders straight 
 
 From the Master's own command. 
 Blessed day ! when thus we wait 
 Always at our Sovereign's hand. 
 
 Just to recollect His love, 
 
 Always true ; 
 Always shining from above, 
 
 Always new. 
 
 }t bantf of our Oloa is upon all t\tm for goofr iljat swfe \xm. 
 — Ezra viii, 22. 
 
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 THE SECRET OF A HAPPY DAY. 
 
 Just to recognize its light, 
 
 All-enfolding ; 
 Just to claim its present might, 
 All-upholding. 
 Just to know it as thine own, 
 
 That no power can take away. 
 Is not this enough alone 
 
 For the gladness of the day ? 
 
 Just to trust, and yet to ask 
 
 Guidance still ; 
 Take the training or the task, 
 
 As He will. 
 Just to take the loss or gain, 
 
 As He sends it ; 
 Just to take the joy or pain, 
 As He lends it. 
 He who formed thee for His praise 
 Will not miss the gracious aim ; 
 So to-day and all thy days 
 
 Shall be moulded for the same. 
 
 Just to leave in His dear hand 
 
 Little things, 
 All we cannot understand, 
 
 All that stings. 
 
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 '§^nb the Ifori) shall guiije thee eontiiuudln. 
 — Isa. lviii, II. 
 
 
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 THE SECRET OF A HAPPY DAY. 
 
 Just to let Him take the care 
 
 Sorely pressing, 
 Finding all we let Him bear 
 Changed to blessing. 
 This is all ! and yet the way 
 
 Marked by Him who loves thee best : 
 Secret of a happy day, 
 
 Secret of His promised rest. 
 
 — FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL. 
 
 
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 all nonr care upon Inm ; for \t vaxti\ lax jjou." 
 — 1 Peter v, 7. 
 
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 ("The authorship of the following beautiful bnmn of trust is nn- 
 knofon. |lt toas founb treasurcb up in an bumble cottage in <£nglanb. 
 
 ;N the mild silence of the voiceless night, 
 
 When, chased by airy dreams the slumbers flee, 
 Whom in the darkness doth my spirit seek, 
 O God ! but thee? 
 
 And if there be a weight upon my breast — 
 Some vague impression of the day foregone — 
 Scarce knowing what it is, I fly to thee 
 And lay it down. 
 
 So if it be the heaviness that comes 
 In token of anticipated ill, 
 My bosom takes no heed of what it is, 
 Since 'tis thv will. 
 
 'Cob is foitb tbec in all that thou boest. 
 — Gen. xxi, 22. 
 
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A MIDNIGHT HYMN. 
 
 For ! in spite of past and present 
 
 care, 
 Or anything besides, how joyfully 
 Passes that almost solitary hour, 
 My God, with thee. 
 
 More tranquil than the stillness of the 
 
 night, 
 More peaceful than the silence of that 
 
 hour, 
 More blest than anything ; my bosom 
 
 lies 
 
 Beneath thy power. 
 
 1 For what is there on earth that I 
 desire, 
 Of all that it can give or take from 
 
 me ? 
 Or whom in heaven doth my spirit 
 seek, 
 
 O God ! but thee ? 
 
 lj "§lut if ann man be a faorsbiper oi (Sob, anb boetb Ins foill, bJm In 
 1^*5 InaRtby — John ix, 31. 
 
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 Joz/ Cometh. 
 
 jNLY a baby, with winsome face, 
 Daintily showing each baby grace, 
 Only filling baby's place, — 
 
 Yet the clear Lord sent it here. 
 Only a child with golden hair, 
 Gathering sunshine, instead of care, 
 Followed by many an earnest prayer, 
 
 And many an anxious fear. 
 
 Only a maiden, loving and true, 
 Waiting for some great work to do ; 
 Looking forward the long years through,- 
 
 But the Lord was over all. 
 Only a mother, with patient feet, 
 With tender love for her little one sweet, 
 Praying wisdom to guide her feet, 
 
 And the dear Lord heard the call. 
 
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 "$ tnill instruct thee anb tenth thee in the foan tohirh thou sbalt go: 
 ■^ | bill guioc tluc toith mine t\n." — Psa. xxxii, 8. -^L 
 
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 JOY COMETH. 
 
 Only a woman, faded and old, 
 With hair of gray instead of gold ; 
 With the years of her life a sum all told, 
 
 And finished the work begun. 
 Only a coffin, with flowers dressed ; 
 Only a patient face at rest, 
 With folded hands on a peaceful breast, 
 
 For the Lord hath said, " Well done." 
 
 Only a grave, in a churchyard cold, 
 
 With the pale moon shining in beams of gold, 
 
 For the Lord hath gathered safe into fold 
 
 His child, — all labor past. 
 Over the river, where angels dwell, 
 Where songs of praises raise and swell, 
 _ Where Christ is King, and all is well, 
 She met her Lord at last. 
 
 "He bill be onx gutire tbtn iutt0 btatb." 
 Psa. xlviii, 14. 
 
Suffering and Joy. 
 
 MvyTHAT though we suffer while we stay, 
 'Tis but the anguish of a day ; 
 At most, our life is but a span ; 
 A " hand's-breadth " are the days of man. 
 What if those days we "sow in tears," 
 And our hearts heave with racking fears, 
 Despairing thought and cank'ring care 
 Their impress on our spirit bear, 
 We'll hope, and faint not in the race, 
 But pray for all-suffering grace 
 To help us trust, from hour to hour, 
 The Saviour's love and watchful power, 
 Ere long, our earth-life being done, 
 The battle fought, the victory won, 
 With joy we'll lay our armor down, 
 And at his feet receive the crown. 
 
 (The sufferings of this present time .ire not oiortlin to be eompurcb 
 
 toitb tbc qlorn fobtcb shall be rebcaleb in us." — Rom. viii, 18. £. T 
 
Sometimes. 
 
 'HILDHOOD'S dreams! those beautiful dreams; 
 
 Echoes of long ago ; 
 Voiceless visitants, trooping in 
 
 With stately step and slow : 
 Heroes and lovers — the grand ideals 
 
 Pictured in innocent rhyme ; 
 Castles so grand that stood in the land 
 
 Of sweet and charmed "Sometime." 
 
 Oh, the witching air of that land so fair ! 
 
 E'en the veil of time scarce hides 
 Where hope's bright wing is hovering, 
 
 And the bliss we covet bides. 
 To day may ring with tireless hand 
 
 Joy's purest, richest chime ; 
 But, oh, we long for a grander song 
 
 In the realm of glad "Sometime." 
 
 "|lcj0tring in bop*.' 
 — Rom. xii, 12. 
 
SOMETIMES. 
 
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 141 "1 
 
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 "JUb tjjai from n cbilb thou hast kuofon tin Ijoln script nrrs." 
 — 2 Tim. iii, 15. 
 
 
 
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SOMETIMES. 
 
 Who that has lived, and loved, and fought 
 
 The battle of life with a will, 
 But can see by the way some landmark lay 
 
 "Where hopes lie buried still ? 
 With a sigh and a tear o'er the lowly bier, 
 
 We hasten on to the shrine 
 Where every soul may its burden roll, 
 
 In the fairy land "Sometime." 
 
 But what are a few dark, weary days ? 
 
 What matter our buried joys ? 
 When we stand at last on the verge of time 
 
 They will seem like useless toys : 
 For hope still beckons and points beyond 
 
 To a glorious, golden clime ; 
 Listening and longing, we seem to hear 
 
 The sweet refrain " Sometime." 
 
 — ARTHUR'S MAGAZINE. 
 
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 ofrr i\t (Sob of bopj fill nou tottb all jon anb jita« in Mubittg, 
 tljat ge man; abounb in Ijcrpe." — Rom. xv, 13. 
 
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 Tell Me, Ye Winged Winds. 
 
 ELL me, ye winged winds, 
 
 That round my pathway roar, 
 Do ye not know some spot 
 
 Where mortals weep no more ? 
 Some lone and pleasant dell, 
 
 Some valley in the west, 
 Where, free from toil and pain, 
 The weary soul may rest ? 
 The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low, 
 And sighed for pity as it answered, — "No." 
 
 Tell me, thou mighty deep, 
 
 Whose billows round me play, 
 Know'st thou some favored spot, 
 
 Some island far away, 
 Where weary man may find 
 
 The bliss for which he sighs, — 
 Where sorrow never lives, 
 
 And friendship never dies? 
 The loud waves, rolling in perpetual flow, 
 Stopped for a while, and sighed to answer, — "No." 
 
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 " Ttb.ui tint is bom of a bo nun is of fcto buns, anb full of trouble." 
 — Job xiv, i. 
 
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144 
 
 TELL ME, YE WINGED WINDS. 
 
 And thou, serenest moon, 
 
 That, with such lovely face, 
 Dost look upon the earth, 
 
 Asleep in night's embrace ; 
 Tell me, in all thy round 
 
 Hast thou not seen some spot 
 Where miserable man 
 
 May find a happier lot ? 
 Behind a cloud the moon withdrew in woe, 
 And a voice, sweet but sad, responded, — "No." 
 
 Tell me, my secret soul, 
 
 O, tell me, Hope and Faith, 
 Is there no resting-place 
 
 From sorrow, sin, and death ? 
 Is there no happy spot 
 
 Where mortals may be blessed, 
 Where grief may find a balm, 
 
 And weariness a rest ? 
 Faith, Hope, and Love, best boons to mortals given, 
 Waved their bright wings, and whispered, — "Yes, in heaven!" 
 
 — CHARLES MACKAY. 
 
 \tt man is born unto trouble, as fyt sparks fig upfoaro." 
 —Job v, 7. 
 

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 a. 
 
 7%e Two Sunsets. 
 
 *0 bird-song floated down the hill, 
 The tangled bank below was still ; 
 
 No rustle from the birchen stem, 
 No ripple 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 : 
 
 "|)c nppointcb tbe moon for seasons : ibc sun hnofoctb bis going 
 
 bofou." — Psa. civ, 19. J 
 
 &£>i /fiS 
 
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 146 
 
 THE TWO SUNSETS. 
 
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 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 ; 
 
 ■ -. "■■■■.. ■ - ■■ ■ ■ ■ 
 
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 While dark, through willowy vistas seen, 
 The river rolled in shade between. 
 
 From out the darkness, where we trod, 
 We gazed upon those hills of God, 
 
 "'gut Mixta nou tijat.fjar inn name sljall tbe JSntt af righteousness 
 arise fcottl) paling in Ins omxgs." — Mai. iv, 2. 
 
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 fife 
 
 THE TWO SUNSETS. 
 
 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, 
 
 And the night cometh, chill with dew, 
 O Father ! let Thy light break through ! 
 
 M 
 
 "$ut it shall come to puss, that at ebening time it shall be light 
 — Zech. xiv, 7. 
 
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S"S 
 
 Iff 
 
 148 
 
 THE TWO SUNSETS. 
 
 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 ? " 
 
 — JOHN G. WHITTIER. 
 
 2tn gl)3ir% rigljtjous sjjhu fcrilj as ijje sun in % hingirom of 
 tlmr Jatbrr." — Matt, xiii, 43. 
 
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 Unspoken Prayer. 
 
 <j£ 00 tired — too worn to pray, 
 1^ I can but fold my hands, 
 Entreating in a voiceless way, 
 
 Of him who understands 
 How flesh and heart succumb — 
 How will sinks, weary — weak, 
 
 Dear Lord, my languid lips are dumb, 
 
 See what I cannot speak. 
 Just as the wearied child, 
 
 Through sobbing pain opprest, 
 Drops, hushing all its wailings wild, 
 
 Upon its mother's breast — 
 
 So on thy bosom, I 
 
 Would cast my speechless prayer. 
 Nor doubt that thou wilt let me lie 
 
 In trustful weakness there, 
 And though no conscious thought 
 
 Before me rises clear, 
 
 " JTct us lift up our heart foitb our bnnbs unto ("Job in tin btabens." 
 — Lam. iii, 41. 
 
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UNSPOKEN PRAYER. 
 
 The prayer of wordless language wrought, 
 
 Thou yet will deign to hear, 
 For when, at best I plead — 
 
 What so my spirit saith — 
 I only am the bruised reed, 
 
 And thou the breathing breath. 
 
 — MARGARET J. PRESTON. 
 
 "gtnb it sjjall tome to pass, tljat before tl)ejr eall, $ foill answer 
 — Isa. lxv, 24. 
 
/ Would Have Gone. 
 
 I WOULD have gone, God bade me stay, 
 I would have worked, God bade me rest ; 
 
 I He broke my will from day to day ; 
 He read my yearnings unexpressed, 
 And said them nay. 
 
 Now I would stay, God bids me go, 
 Now I would rest, God bids me work ; 
 He breaks my heart, tossed too and fro ; 
 My soul is wrung with doubts that lurk 
 And vex it so. 
 
 I go, Lord, where Thou sendest me! 
 Day after day, I plod and moil, 
 But Christ, my Lord, when will it be 
 That I may let alone my toil, 
 And rest with Thee ? 
 
 " Ijabtng mabc hnoton unto us the mnstenj of his bill, atcorbing to 
 his goob pleasure." — Eph. i, 9. 
 
HIS is the room where she slept, 
 Only a year ago — 
 Quiet, and carefully swept, 
 Blinds and curtains like snow. 
 There by the bed in the dusty gloom, 
 
 She would kneel with her tiny clasped hands and pray ; 
 Here is the little white rose of a room, 
 With the fragrance fled away ! 
 
 Nelly, grandfather's pet, 
 
 With her wise little face — 
 I seem to hear her yet 
 Singing about the place ; 
 But the crowds roll on. and the streets are drear, 
 And the w orld seems hard with a bitter doom, 
 And Nelly is singing elsewhere — and here 
 Is the little white rose of a room. 
 
 "lUmtmbtt nob il;m Creator in fyt onus of tbw goutlj. 
 — Eccl. xii, i. 
 
grandfather's pet. 
 
 Why, if she stood just there, 
 
 As she used to do, 
 With her long light yellow hair, 
 
 And her eyes of blue — 
 
 If she stood, I say, at the edge of the bed, 
 And ran to my side with a living touch, 
 
 Though I know she is quiet and buried and dead, 
 I should not wonder much ; 
 
 " ^rc then not all ministering spirits. 
 — Heb. i, 14. 
 
GRANDFATHER S PET. 
 
 For she was so young, you know — 
 
 Only seven years old, 
 And she loved me, loved me so, 
 Though I was gray and old ; 
 And her face was so wise, and so sweet to see, 
 And it still looked living, when she lay dead, 
 As she used to plead for mother and me 
 By the side of that very bed! 
 
 I wonder, now, if she 
 
 Knows I am standing here, 
 Feeling wherever she be, 
 We hold the place so dear ? 
 It cannot be that she sleeps too sound, 
 Still in her little night-gown dressed, 
 Not to hear my footsteps sound 
 In the room where she used to rest. 
 
 I have felt hard fortune's stings, 
 
 And battled in doubt and strife, 
 And never thought much of things 
 Beyond this human life ; 
 But I cannot think that my darling died 
 
 Like great, strong men, with their prayers un' rue- 
 Nay, rather she sits at God's own side, 
 And sings as she used to do ! 
 
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 II^uI) bopj bat babt ass an aiuljor of tlje soul, both sure anb stebfast, 
 anb bjl^iclj tttttrrtl) into tbat foitbin ilje foil." — Heb. vi, 19. 
 
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 If and If 
 
 ;F all the pity and love untold 
 
 Could scatter abroad in coins of gold, 
 
 There would not be, on the whole round earth, 
 One hungry heart, nor one wretched hearth. 
 
 And, oh, if the kind words never said 
 
 Could bloom into flowers, and spread and shed 
 
 Their sweetness out on the common air, 
 The breath of heaven would be everywhere ! 
 
 — MARY AINGK DE VERE. 
 
 " 3.nb this commanbmcnt babe toe from him, (That be fabo lobctb (Soi> 
 
 lobe his brother also." — i John iv, 21. 4, 
 
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The Dying Girl and 
 Flowers. 
 
 EAR them not from grassy 
 dells, 
 0£k Where wild bees have 
 
 honey cells ; 
 Not from where sweet water- 
 sounds 
 Thrill the greenwood to its 
 
 bounds ; 
 Not to waste their scented 
 
 breath 
 On the silent room of Death ! 
 
 Kindred to the breeze 
 
 they are, 
 And the glow-worm's 
 
 emerald star ; 
 
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 THE DYJNG GIRL AND FLOWERS. 
 
 And the bird, whose song is free 
 And the many-whispering tree : 
 Oh! too deep a love, and fain, 
 They would win to earth again. 
 
 Spread them not before the eyes 
 Closing fast on summer skies ! 
 Woo thou not the spirit back 
 From its lone and viewless track, 
 With the bright things which have birth 
 Wide o'er all the colored earth ! 
 
 With the Violet's breath would rise 
 Thoughts too sad for her who dies ; 
 From the Lily's pearl-cup shed, 
 Dreams too sweet would haunt her bed ; 
 Dreams of youth — of spring-time eves — 
 Music — beauty — all she leaves ! 
 
 Hush! 'tis thou that dreaming art, 
 Calmer is her gentle heart. 
 Yes ! o'er fountain, vale, and grove, 
 Leaf and flower, hath gushed her love ; 
 But that passion, deep and true, 
 Knows not of a last adieu. 
 
 "$ mill both Ian me bofon in peace, anb sleep. 
 — Psa. iv, 8. 
 
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 157 Iff 
 
 
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THE DYING GIRL AND FLOWERS. 
 
 Types of lovelier forms than these, 
 In their fragile mould she sees ; 
 Shadows of yet richer things, 
 Born beside immortal springs, 
 Into fuller glory wrought, 
 Kindled by surpassing thought. 
 
 Therefore in the Lily's leaf 
 She can read no word of grief ; 
 O'er the Woodbine she can dwell, 
 Murmuring not — Farewell! farewell! 
 And her dim, yet speaking eye, 
 Greets the Violet solemnly. 
 
 Therefore, once, and yet again, 
 Strew them o'er her bed of pain : 
 From her chamber take the gloom, 
 With a light and flush of bloom : 
 So should one depart, who goes 
 Where no death can touch the Rose. 
 
 "$ laic nu bofon anb sUpt; $ afoalub; for i|« ITorb sustahua nu." 
 — Psa. iii, 5. 
 
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My Prayer. 
 
 IVE me a song, and I will sing it! 
 Give me an offering, I will bring it ! 
 Give me Thyself, and I will take Thee ! 
 Withdraw Thyself, and I forsake Thee ! 
 My land lies fallow : Master, till me ! 
 My henrt lies empty : Master, fill me! 
 It plays the traitor : Master, win me! 
 It faints! it dies! Put new life in me! 
 It goes astray : good Shepherd, lead me ! 
 It sighs for hunger : come and feed me! 
 It is so poor! Give riches to me! 
 It is corrupt : O Lord, renew me! 
 So ignorant ! Oh ! wilt Thou teach me ? 
 Has wandered far! But Thou can'st reach me 
 Is sore diseased : Physician, heal me ! 
 Exposed to danger : oh, conceal me ! 
 It trembles! In Thine arms, oh, fold me! 
 Begins to sink! O Saviour, hold me! 
 
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 " Jf nc abibe in me, anb mn faorbs abtbc tit nou, nc shall ask fa bat 
 nc mill, anb it shall be bone unto nou." — John xv, 7. 
 
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 MY PRAYER. 
 
 Is sinking fast ! Lord, look upon me! 
 
 So cold and dark ! Oh, shine upon me ! 
 
 A poor, lost sinner ! Come and find me ! 
 
 A rebel! May Thy love now bind me! 
 
 A prodigal ! Wilt Thou receive me ? 
 
 A beggar ! Oh ! wilt Thou relieve me ? 
 
 A backslider ! Wilt Thou restore me ? 
 
 Unholy ! May Thy presence awe me ! 
 
 Unfit to die ! O God, prepare me ! 
 
 So weak ! On eagles' wings, oh, bear me ! 
 
 So comfortless ! Lord Jesus, cheer me ! 
 
 So lonely ! God of love, draw near me ! 
 
 By sin accused ! Good Lord, acquit me ! 
 
 Unfit for Heaven's pure service ! Fit me ! 
 
 Unfit for work on earth ! But use me ! 
 
 A suppliant ! Do not Thou refuse me ! 
 
 Oh ! come and fill the hungry with good things, 
 
 For Thou hast all I need, Thou King of kings ! 
 
 je Jratlj filhb tht hungry bitty gooir things. 
 —Luke i, 53. 
 

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 The Buried Flower. 
 
 N the silence of my chamber, 
 
 When the night is still and deep, 
 And the drowsy heave of ocean 
 Mutters in its charmed sleep, 
 
 Oft I hear the angel voices 
 
 That have thrilled me long ago, — 
 
 Voices of my lost companions, 
 Lying deep beneath the snow. 
 
 Where are now the flowers we tended ? 
 
 Withered, broken, branch and stem ; 
 Where are now the hopes we cherished ? 
 
 Scattered to the winds with them. 
 
 '^Inb, bebolb, angels came ;tnb ministcrcb unto bhn. 
 — Matt, iv, II. 
 
 
THE BURIED FLOWER. 
 
 
 "dtbtrn plant, fcobitl) mn btab^nb Jfa%r ^atlj not plantto, sljall b 
 roottb up." — Matt, xv, 13. 
 

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 THE BURIED FLOWER. 
 
 For ye, too, were flowers, ye dear ones ! 
 
 Nursed in hope and reared in love, 
 Looking fondly ever upward 
 
 To the clear blue heaven above ; 
 
 Smiling on the sun that cheered us, 
 Rising lightly from the rain, 
 
 Never folding up your freshness 
 Save to give it forth again. 
 
 ***** 
 
 O, 't is sad to lie and reckon 
 All the days of faded youth, 
 
 All the vows that we believed in, 
 All the words we spoke in truth. 
 
 Severed, — were it severed only 
 By an idle thought of strife, 
 
 Such as time may knit together ; 
 Not the broken chord of life ! 
 
 ***** 
 
 O, I fling my spirit backward, 
 And I pass o'er years of pain ; 
 
 All I loved is rising round me, 
 All the lost returns again. 
 
 "fin numorn of the just is blcsscb." 
 — Prov. x, 7. 
 
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 164 
 
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 THE BURIED FLOWER. 
 
 Brighter, fairer far than living, 
 With no trace of woe or pain, 
 
 Robed in everlasting beauty, 
 Shall I see thee once again, 
 
 By the light that never fadeth, 
 Underneath eternal skies, 
 
 When the dawn of resurrection 
 Breaks o'er deathless Paradise. 
 
 -WILLIAM EDMONSTOWNE AYTOUNE. 
 
 }t Ijope of tlic righteous sjjall be glainuss. 
 -Prov. x, 28. 
 
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 Prayer. 
 
 JfY God! is any hour so sweet, 
 
 From blush of morn to evening star, 
 As that which calls me to Thy feet — 
 The hour of prayer. 
 
 Blest is that tranquil hour of morn, 
 And blest that hour of solemn eve, 
 
 When on the wings of prayer upborne, 
 The world I leave ! 
 
 For then a dayspring shines on me, 
 Brighter than moon's ethereal glow, 
 
 And richer dews descend from Thee 
 Than earth can know. 
 
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 — CHARLOTTE ELLIOTT. 
 
 "| fcoill pran fcoitb the spirit, anb $ bill pran (nitb tbe unbrrstanbing 
 also." — i Cor. xiv, 15. 
 
 
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Babes Always." 
 
 IS late — in my lone chamber, 
 
 Borne through the echoing hall, 
 I hear the wind's hoarse sobbing, 
 
 The rain-drops' plashing fall ; 
 And the street-lamp, on the ceiling, 
 Throws many a weird-like form— 
 Tree-shadows, dancing wildly 
 To the music of the storm. 
 
 Called I my vigil lonely ? 
 
 The door is still and fast : 
 O'er threshold and o'er carpet 
 
 No mortal foot has passed 
 No rustle of white raiment 
 
 Or warm breath stirs the air ; 
 Yet I speak aloud my greeting — 
 
 " My darlings ! are you there ? " 
 
 h not forgetful to .entertain strangers ; for tljerebu some Jjata 
 •entertatnetr angels unafoares." — Heb. xiii, 2. 
 
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" BABES ALWAYS." 
 
 Not the two who, by me kneeling, 
 Said, "Our Father," hours ago ; 
 
 Whose cheeks now dent their pillows- 
 Live roses upon snow. 
 
 "Urvccut nc be conbertcb, ttltb become as little cbilbren, nc shall not n j 
 cuter into tlje hinjbom of lieabcn." — Matt, xviii, 3. r£ich\ 
 
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" BABES ALWAYS." 
 
 They dream not of the graveyard 
 
 And of the hillocks twain, 
 Snow-heaped to-night (Lord help me !) 
 
 And dripping with the rain! 
 
 Twelve years ! — a manly stripling, 
 
 Our boy, by this had grown ! 
 Is it four years, or twenty, 
 
 Since I kissed the eyelids down 
 Of her whose baby-sweetness 
 
 Was a later gift from God, 
 And straightened in the coffin 
 
 Wee feet that never trod ? 
 
 These are not strangers' glance:. 
 
 That eagerly seek mine ; 
 I know the loving straining 
 
 Of the arms that round me twine. 
 Thou hast kept them babes, O Father ! 
 
 Who, not 'mid Heaven's bowers, 
 Learning the speech of angels, 
 
 Forget this home of ours ; 
 
 Or her, who braved Death's anguish 
 
 To win them to her breast, 
 If they fled into the sunshine — 
 
 Free birds from narrow nest — 
 
 Gpia 
 
 Iuca tljat 2* btsptse not ant at tl^tst litih ants. 
 — Matt, xviii, 10. 
 
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 BABES ALWAYS. 
 
 169 
 
 They come to me when longing 
 And pain are at their height, 
 
 To tell me of the safety, 
 The love and the delight 
 
 Of that eternal dwelling, 
 
 (With our name upon the door!) 
 The ring of baby-voices 
 
 Shall gladden evermore; 
 
 "puffer little children to come unto me, nnb forbib them not: for of 
 such is the hingbom of (Ooo." — Luke xviii, 16. 
 
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 "BABES always." 
 
 Till, 'neath their tender soothing, 
 I lift my heart and smile, 
 
 And gather faith and courage 
 To bide my " little while." 
 
 either tan tjjeg hit anjr more: for tljen are equal unto tin angels. 
 — Luke xx, 36. 
 
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 Be Kind and Forgiving. 
 
 tHANK God, that in life's little day, 
 Between our dawn and setting, 
 We have kind deeds to give away ; 
 "^ Sad hearts for which our own may pray, 
 
 And strength, when we are wronged, to stay, 
 Forgiving and forgetting. 
 
 ****** i 
 
 We are all travelers, who throng 
 
 A thorny road together ; 
 And if some pilgrim not so strong 
 As I, but foot-sore, does me wrong, 
 I'll make excuse— the road is long, 
 
 And stormy is the weather. 
 
 What comfort will it yield the day 
 Whose light shall find us dying, 
 
 To know that once we had our way, 
 
 Against a child of weaker clay, 
 
 And bought our triumph in the fray 
 With purchase of his sighing. 
 
 " (Jforgibe, anb nc shall be forgibcn. 
 — Luke vi, 37. 
 
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The Glorified. 
 
 WHERE are they, the saintly, 
 
 That oft with me have trod, 
 With each returning Sabbath, 
 
 The holy courts of God ? 
 With whom I took sweet counsel, 
 
 When with one heart we came 
 To worship at his altars, 
 
 And speak the sacred name. 
 
 With these still, peaceful moments 
 
 Fond memories oft come back 
 Of faces that once gladdened 
 
 Life's all too shaded track ; 
 Again I hear their voices ; 
 
 Once more I catch their smile ; 
 I greet them in the vision 
 
 And clasp them as erewhile ! 
 
 "®I)at ge ht not slothful, but follcfcturs oi them fojjo throng (j faitlj 
 ano patientt inljmt the promises." — Heb. vi, 12. 
 
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 THE GLORIKIKD. 
 
 Ah! they are with the blessed, 
 
 Earth's weary travails past ; 
 And where they need no temple, 
 
 Exulting serve at last ; 
 To do God's will they cease not, 
 
 Yet evermore they rest ; 
 All tireless as the angels, 
 
 They evermore are blest. 
 
 Robed in its summer glories 
 
 This earth to-day is fair, 
 But one eternal beauty 
 
 Blooms ever faultless there ; 
 Here mortal vigor faileth, 
 
 Is lost in quick decay ; 
 There life's full fount o'erfloweth 
 
 And wasteth not away. 
 
 Oft, oft my spirit yearneth 
 
 To reach that goodly land ; 
 To join the grand assembly, 
 
 God's own immortal band ; 
 To see in clear, full vision, 
 
 Him whom I love unseen, 
 Yet must I wait ; imparted 
 
 Hangs the dark veil between. 
 
 " gin presence shall go foitb tbee, ano $ toill gibe thee rest. 
 Vp) — Exod. xxxiii, 14. 
 
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 THE GLORIFIED. 
 
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 O welcome the glad rising 
 
 Of that bright, blissful morn, 
 When, life's long toils all ended, 
 
 Its latest evening gone, 
 Thou, Lord, the veil dividing, 
 
 Shalt bid me come to thee ; 
 Ani I, with all thy ransomed, 
 
 Shall serve eternally ! 
 
 But till that summons cometh — 
 
 The years will not be long — 
 What ills soe'er befall me, 
 
 All patient, faithful, strong, 
 Let me in love still serving, 
 
 Without one lingering fear, 
 Tread on my way unshrinking, 
 
 Till thy kind voice I hear. 
 
 O blessed, blessed meeting, 
 
 With those who in thee died ! 
 With faithful saints and martyrs 
 
 Who for thee death defied ! 
 Methinks when their full chorus, 
 
 That mighty host shall raise, 
 Each farthest star shall echo, 
 
 The hymns of rapturous praise ! 
 
 — RAY PALMER, D. D. 
 
 " (Jfirr nobs ixtt set 
 
 jrouglj h glass, barklu ; but tljeit fact to fate." 
 — i Cor. xiii, 12. 
 
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 jNLY a mortal's powers, 
 
 Weak at their fullest strength : 
 Only a few swift-flashing hours, 
 Short at their fullest length. 
 
 Only a page for the eye, 
 Only a word for the ear, 
 
 Only a smile, and by and by 
 Only a quiet tear. 
 
 Only one heart to give, 
 
 Only one voice to use; 
 Only one little life to live, 
 
 And only one to lose. 
 
 Poor is my best, and small ; 
 
 How could I dare divide? 
 Surely my Lord shall have it all, 
 
 He shall not be denied! 
 
 "<nritl)cr count ^l mi) life bear unto mnself. 
 — Acts xx, 24. 
 
 
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 ONLY. 
 
 All! for far more I o\ve_ 
 Than all I have to bring ; 
 
 All ! for my Saviour loves me so ! 
 All ! for I love my King ! 
 
 All ! for it is His own, 
 
 He gave the tiny store ; 
 All! for it must be His alone; 
 
 All ! for I have no more. 
 
 All ! for the last and least 
 
 He stoopeth to uplift : 
 The altar of my great High Priest 
 
 Shall sanctify my gift. 
 
 — FRAISXES RIDLEY HAVERGAL. 
 
 soul sljaU make bit boast in t\)t ,¥ori>.' 
 — Psa. xxxiv, 2. 
 
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The Shepherd's Voice. 
 
 //& HEY hear His voice! 
 
 I Jt 
 
 11 is their Shepherd's, and they know it well. 
 
 They follow Him, 
 Where'er He leads, Shepherd of Israel. 
 
 A stranger-voice 
 They know not, love not, follow not, but flee. 
 
 One voice alone 
 Attracts ; 'tis His who said, "Come unto me." 
 
 He knows His sheep, 
 He counts them, and He calleth them by name, 
 
 He goes before ; 
 They follow as He leads, through flood or flame. 
 
 n sbtcp bear mn boicc, anb $ knoto them, anb then folloto mc' 
 b- — John x, 27. 
 
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THE SHEPHERD S VOICE. 
 
 He leads them out, 
 Into the pastures green, by waters still, 
 
 He leads them in ; 
 And guards them safe within the fold from ill. 
 
 O wise and good, 
 O strong and loving One, mighty to save ; 
 
 Thine own Thou wilt 
 Still keep and bring them up from the deep grave. 
 
 No want is theirs ; 
 Thy fulness at their side doth ever stand ; 
 
 No peril theirs, 
 For none can ever pluck them from Thy hand. 
 
 And when this day 
 Of storm and scattering is ended here, 
 
 Thou wilt bring them 
 To -greener pastures and to streams more clear. 
 
 Amen, amen! 
 Good Shepherd, hasten Thou that glorious day, 
 
 When we shall all 
 In the one fold abide with Thee for aye. 
 
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 "J|nfcr | gttrc unto fytm itsrnal lift; antr iljeg sjjall ntbet pmsjj, i 
 neither sljall ann man pluik tljra ant oi m» Ijana." — John x, 28. dw^) 
 
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 THE SHEPHERD'S VOICE. 
 
 Then in the midst 
 And we delivered from all fear and sin ! 
 
 No hunger more, 
 No thirst, nor heat, upon these hills of green. 
 
 O Lamb of God, 
 True Shepherd and true Lamb, Thou both in one ; 
 
 Us lead, us feed, 
 Till all our wandering's done, we reach the throne. 
 
 — H. BONAR, D. D. 
 
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 "iic suitb unto bim, ifceb inn Iambs." 
 — John xxi, 15. 
 
 
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 The Vaudois Missionary. 
 
 LADY fair, these silks of mine 
 
 Are beautiful and rare — 
 The richest web of the Indian loom, 
 
 Which beauty's self might wear. 
 And these pearls are pure and mild to behold, 
 
 As with radiant light they vie ; 
 I have brought them with me a weary way : 
 
 Will my gentle lady buy ? " 
 
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 "| counsel fytt to buir of mt golb trice in tin fire, tljat tlpa mag est 
 
 bt rich." — Rev. iii, 18. fi 
 
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 THE VAUDOIS MISSIONARY. 
 
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 181 
 
 
 
 The lady smiled on the worn old man, 
 
 Through the dark and clustering curls 
 Which veiled her brow, as she bent to view 
 
 His silk and glittering pearls : 
 She placed their price in the old man's hand, 
 
 And lightly turned away ; 
 But she paused at the wanderer's earnest call — 
 
 "My gentle lady, stay!" 
 
 " Oh lady fair, I have yet a gem 
 
 Which a purer lustre flings 
 Than the diamond flash of the jewelled crown 
 
 On the lofty brow of kings : 
 A wonderful pearl of exceeding price, 
 
 Whose virtue shall not decay ; 
 Whose light shall be as a spell to thee, 
 
 And a blessing on thy way!" 
 
 The lady glanced at the mirroring steel, 
 
 Where her youthful form was seen, 
 Where her eyes shone clear, and her dark locks waved 
 
 Their clasping pearls between ; 
 "Bring forth thy pearl of exceeding worth, 
 
 Thou traveler gray and old, 
 Name but the price of thy precious gem, 
 
 And my pages shall count thy gold." 
 
 "25lho, tribcn lie hub fonnb one pearl of grr.it price, bunt ano solb nil i 
 tlr.d be bab, una bought it." — Matt, xiii, 46. j* 
 
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 T 182 THE VAUDOIS MISSIONARY. 
 
 The cloud went off from the pilgrim 7 s brow, 
 
 As a small and meagre book, 
 Unchased with gold or diamond gem, 
 
 From his folding robe he took : 
 "Here, lady fair, is the pearl of price — 
 
 May it prove as such to thee ! 
 Nay, keep thy gold — I ask it not — 
 
 For the word of God is free." 
 
 The hoary traveler went his way, 
 
 But the gift he left behind 
 Hath had its pure and perfect work 
 
 On that high-born maiden's mind ; 
 And she hath turned from her pride of sin 
 
 To the lowliness of truth, 
 And given her human heart to God 
 
 In its beautiful hour of youth. 
 
 And she hath left the old gray walls 
 
 Where an evil faith hath power, 
 The courtly knights of her father's train, 
 
 And the maidens of her bower ; 
 And she hath gone to the Vaudois vale. 
 
 By lordly feet untrod, 
 Where the poor and needy of earth are rich 
 
 In the perfect love of God ! 
 
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 '»$fea, tome, bug tohte anir milk bit bout montn anfc foitljoitt price." 
 
 — Isa. Iv, 1. 4*rs 
 
Out of the Deeps. 
 
 \Y the wild billows overwhelmed, 
 Tossed on the stormy wave, 
 '7L Thou who dost know when sparrows fall, 
 Stretch forth thine arm to save. 
 
 Against my unprotected face 
 
 Is dashed the bitter spray ; 
 The slender spar my hands had grasped, 
 
 The storm-tides wrench away. 
 
 Mine eyes across the watery waste 
 Have strained for sight of land ; 
 
 But there is never shore nor sail, 
 Nor hope of helping hand. 
 
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 " ^rc not fibc spurrofos solo for ttoo farthings, ;inb not one of them 
 is forgotten before 6ob?" — Luke xii, 6. 
 
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 OUT OF THE DEEPS. 
 
 Strange birds swoop 'neath the leaden sky, 
 
 And circle round my head, 
 Waiting impatiently till I 
 
 (Ah, ghastly thought!) am dead. 
 
 The cruel rocks rise just ahead — 
 
 My strength is nearly gone ; 
 One of us, grim old Death, must lose 
 
 This fight before the dawn. 
 
 How dear hath grown this slighted life! 
 
 From gates of Paradise, 
 Already opening, to Earth, 
 
 I turn with yearning cries. 
 
 The terrors of the night approach : 
 
 Too weak to longer strive, 
 Agnin to Thee my prayers I breathe : 
 
 Sweet Saviour, let me live ! 
 
 -LULU M. W, 
 
 "dfear not therefore : ju an ai more bahu tljan mang sparrofos." 
 — Luke xii, 7. 
 
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 Lead, Kindly Light. 
 
 ^Jlff EAD kindly Light ! amid the encircling gloom, 
 
 Lead thou me on ; 
 The night is dark, and I am far from home, 
 
 Lead thou me on ; 
 Keep thou my feet ; I do not ask to see 
 The distant scene ; one step enough to me. 
 
 I was not ever thus, nor prayed that thou 
 Should'st lead me on ; 
 
 I loved to choose and see my path ; but now- 
 Lead thou me on ; 
 
 I loved the garish day, and spite of fears, 
 
 Pride ruled my will. Remember not past years. 
 
 So long thy power has blessed me, sure it still 
 
 Will lead me on 
 O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till 
 
 The night is gone ; 
 And with the morn those angel faces smile 
 Which I have long since, and lost awhile. 
 
At Dawn. 
 
 (rondeau.) 
 T dawn of day, when cow-bells ring, 
 O'er mellowing meadow-lands, where cling 
 ■-^"Y The clover-scented wreaths of mist, 
 
 Half pearl in hue, half amethyst, 
 Glad sky-bound larks leap up and sing. 
 
 And so my heart dolh heavenward spring, 
 When, like some virginal- queen, you bring 
 
 Fresh, opening buds by zephyrs 
 kissed, 
 At dawn of day. 
 
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 AT DAWN. 
 
 The breath, the balm, the glow you fling, 
 Like dew-drops from some bright bird's wing, 
 
 Thrill all my being, as I list 
 
 To melodies which must desist 
 When night-fall hath discrowned me, king 
 
 At dawn of day. — john morgan. 
 
 "§ut if a man bulk in tfu night, be stumblctb, because tliere is no 
 
 Iigbt in bint."- — John xi, 10. ^ 
 
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In the Fourth Watch of the Night. 
 
 SjKO, in the moonless night, 
 
 In the rough wind's despite, 
 
 They ply the oar. 
 Keen gusts smite in their teeth ; 
 The hoarse winds chafe beneath 
 With muffled roar. 
 
 Numb fingers, failing force, 
 Scarce serve to hold the course 
 
 Hard-won half-way, 
 When o'er the tossing tide, 
 Pallid and heavy- eyed, 
 
 Scowls the dim day. 
 
 "^ittr in i\t fourtlj toatclj of \\t night Jesus foeni unto t\txa, balking 
 on t\t sn." — Matt, xiv, 25. 
 
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 IN THE FOURTH WATCH OF THE NIGHT. 
 
 189 
 
 And now in the wan light, 
 Walking the waters white, 
 
 A shape draws near. 
 Each soul, in troubled wise, 
 Staring with starting eyes, 
 
 Cries out for fear. 
 
 Each grasps his neighbor tight. 
 In helpless huddled fright 
 
 Shaken and swayed. 
 And lo ! the Master nigh 
 Speaks softly, "It is I ; 
 
 Be not afraid." 
 
 E'en so to us, that strain 
 Over life's moaning main, 
 
 Thou drawest near, 
 And, knowing not thy guise, 
 We gaze with troubled eyes, 
 
 And cry for fear. 
 
 A strange voice whispers low, 
 
 "This joy must thou forego, 
 
 Thy first and best." 
 
 )t of goob cbtcr; it is | ; be not afr.ub. 
 — Matt, xiv, 27. 
 
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 IN THE FOURTH WATCH OF THE NIGHT. 
 
 A shrouded phantom stands 
 Crossing the best-loved hands, 
 For church-yard rest. 
 
 Then, soft as is the fall 
 Of that white gleaming pall 
 
 By snowflakes made, 
 Stilling each startled cry, 
 Thou speakest, "It is I ; 
 
 Be not afraid. " 
 
 — "GOOD WORDS." 
 
 '$£ not afraib, onlg bdijfce." 
 — Mark v, 36. 
 
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 The Sunlight 
 
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 j;T gently brought to a darkened world 
 The tidings of coming day, 
 
 \ And awakened earth with a loving call 
 To straightway arise and pray. 
 
 It tenderly entered where death had been, 
 And shone on the marble brow, 
 
 Softly reminding each mourners heart 
 Of " the crown of glory now." 
 
 It paused awhile in the forest glade, 
 To strengthen a lowly flower, 
 
 And bid it show in its own sweet way, 
 God's care through its little hour. 
 
 And thence it passed to a widow's home, 
 To illumine with gleams of gold 
 
 The sacred words of a promised "rest," 
 It found in her Bible old. 
 
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 " SUist, sbhu; for tbn light is tome, nnif tbc glorn of tbt Jforb is 
 risen upon tbec." — Isa. lx, i. 
 
 
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THE SUNLIGHT. 
 
 It lingered long by a dying babe, 
 Who smiled at its golden ray, 
 
 And the mother gave with a lighter heart 
 Her child to the Lord that day. 
 
 It made its way to a gloomy cell, 
 
 Right on to the prison floor, 
 And sang of life in a brighter world, 
 
 Where fetters shall be no more. 
 
 Ah ! who can tell all the sunlight did, 
 Through that glorious summer day, 
 
 Or how the earth became cold and dark 
 When the last streak died away ? 
 
 But let us ask, Do we also shine 
 With glory from Christ our Sun ? 
 
 Will aught we do in the world for him 
 Be missed when life is done ? 
 
 "|3ut the §Tor& shall be unto tine an ebrrlasiing lijbt, anir i|)g (Soft 
 
 ijjjj glorn." — Isa. lx, 19. > 
 
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The Death of the Righteous. 
 
 |EHOLD the western evening light! 
 It melts in deepening gloom : 
 So calmly Christians sink away, 
 Descending to the tomb. 
 
 The winds breathe low, the withering leaf 
 Scarce whispers from the tree : 
 
 So gently flows the parting breath 
 When good men cease to be 
 
 How beautiful in all the hills 
 
 The crimson light is shed ! 
 'Tis like the peace the Christian gives 
 
 To mourners round his bed. 
 
 "(Chen that btocll in the hub of the slv.iboto of bcuth, upon them lv.it I) 
 
 the light shincb." — Isa. ix, 2. ^ 
 
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THE DEATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS. 
 
 How mildly on the wandering cloud 
 
 The sunset beam is cast ! 
 'Tis like the memory left behind 
 
 When loved ones breathe their last. 
 
 And now above the dews of night 
 
 The rising star appears : 
 So faith springs in the heart of those 
 
 Whose eyes are bathed in tears. 
 
 But soon the morning's happier light 
 
 Its glory shall restore, 
 And eyelids that are sealed in death 
 
 Shall wake to close no more. 
 
 nn shall tI)D ligbt break fortlj as tfyt morning." 
 — Isa. lviii, 8. 
 
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Rest 
 
 HOU for Thyself hast made us, 
 O holy Lord ! 
 And by Thy grace hast stayed us 
 Upon Thy Word. 
 Body, and soul, and spirit — all these are only Thine : 
 All bear alike the impress of ownership divine ; 
 And though the coin shows dimly — 
 
 Because of rust — 
 It bears Thy superscription, 
 And ever must. 
 
 Our hearts can know no resting, 
 
 Except in Thee ; 
 Our barks the waves are breasting 
 
 On life's rough sea ; 
 Body, and soul, and spirit, are daily worn with care, 
 The "covert of Thy wing" is sought — the needed rest is there: 
 And though the toil cease only 
 
 When Life is won ; 
 In Thee our rest remaineth, 
 
 O Christ, the Son. 
 
 " Vilrssrb are the bnib fobicb bit in ibt ^"orb." 
 — Rev. xiv, 13. 
 
Passing. 
 
 HAT ship is this comes sailing 
 Across the harbor bar, 
 So strange, yet half familiar 
 With treasure from afar ? 
 O comrades, shout ; good bells, ring out ; 
 Peal loud your merry din ! 
 O, joy! At last across the bay 
 My ship comes sailing in ! " 
 
 Men said in low whispers, 
 
 "It is the passing bell ; 
 
 At last his toil is ended." 
 
 They prayed, "God rest him well!" 
 
 "Ho, captain, my captain! 
 What store have you on board ? " 
 "A treasure far richer 
 Than gems or golden hoard ; 
 
 )ni lair up for jrourselbts treasures in Ijeaotn. 
 — Matt, vi, 20. 
 
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 PASSING. 
 
 The broken promise welded firm, 
 
 The long-forgotten kiss ; 
 
 The love more worth than all on earth, 
 
 All joys life seemed to miss." 
 The watchers sighed softly, 
 "It is the death change, 
 What vision blest has given 
 That rapture deep and strange ? " 
 
 'O captain, dear captain, 
 
 What forms are those I see 
 
 On deck there beside you ? 
 
 They smile and beckon me, 
 
 And soft voices call me — 
 
 Those voices sure I know ! " 
 
 "All friends are here that you held dear 
 
 In the sweet long ago. " 
 
 "The death smile," they murmured: 
 "It is so passing sweet, 
 We scarce have heart to hide it 
 Beneath the winding-sheet." 
 
 "O captain, I know you! 
 Are you not Christ the Lord ? 
 With light heart, and joyous, 
 I hasten now on board. 
 
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 " Jlnb, bcholb, 6ob himself is toitb us for our captain." 
 — 2 Chron. xiii, 12. 
 
PASSING. 
 
 Set sail, set sail before the gale, 
 Our trip will soon be o'er : 
 To-night we'll cast our anchor fast 
 Beside the heavenly shore. " 
 
 Men sighed, "Lay him gently 
 Beneath the heavy sod. " 
 The soul afar beyond the bar 
 Went sailing on to God. 
 
 — ALICE WILLIAMS BROTHERTON. 
 
 "§ut is passcir from beatlj unto life. 
 — John v, 24. 
 
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 New Year's Wishes. 
 
 'HAT shall I wish thee ? 
 Treasures of earth ? 
 Songs in the springtime, 
 
 Pleasure and mirth ? 
 Flowers on thy pathway, 
 
 Skies ever clear ? 
 Would this ensure thee 
 A Happy New Year ? 
 
 What shall I w ish thee ? 
 
 What can be found 
 Bringing thee sunshine 
 
 All the year round ? 
 Where is the treasure, 
 
 Lasting and dear, 
 That shall ensure thee 
 
 A Happy New Year ? 
 
 "31 man can rceribe nothing, mcpt it be gibnt bim from btaben." 
 — John iii, 27. 
 
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 NEW YEARS WISHES. 
 
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 Faith that increaseth, 
 
 Walking in light ; 
 Hope that aboundeth, 
 
 Happy and bright ; 
 Love that is perfect, 
 
 Casting out fear ; 
 These shall ensure thee 
 
 A Happy New Year. 
 
 Peace in the Saviour, 
 
 Rest at His feet, 
 Smile of His countenance 
 
 Radiant and sweet, 
 Joy in His presence ! 
 
 Christ ever near ! 
 This will ensure thee 
 
 A Happy New Year ! 
 
 — FRANCES RIDLEy HAVERGAL. 
 
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 "gi.nit 10 knoto tlje lobe of Christ, fohicJjj passrtlj knofoUbgc, thai 
 iitijjbt ht filUo feitl^ all tljt fuhuss of (Sob." — Eph. hi, 19. 
 
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Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep. 
 
 I OLDEN head so lowly bending, 
 Little feet so white and bare, 
 Dewy eyes, half shut, half opened, 
 Lisping out her evening prayer. 
 
 "Now I lay," — repeat it, darling— 
 " Lay me," lisped the tiny lips 
 
 Of my daughter, kneeling, bending 
 O'er the folded finger tips. 
 
 )e ne therefore f ollofcocrs of <Sob, as bear cbjlbren." 
 — Eph. v, i. 
 
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NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP. 
 
 "Down to sleep," — "To sleep," she murmured, 
 
 And the curly head bent low ; 
 "I pray the Lord," I gently added, 
 
 "You can say it all, I know." 
 
 " Pray the Lord," — the sound came faintly, 
 Fainter still — "My soul to keep ;" 
 
 Then the tired heart fairly nodded, 
 And the child was fast asleep. 
 
 But the dewy eyes half opened 
 
 When I clasped her to my breast, 
 And the dear voice softly whispered, 
 
 "Mamma, God knows all the rest." 
 
 Oh, the trusting, sweet confiding 
 Of the child-heart ! Would that I 
 
 Thus might trust my Heavenly Father, 
 He who hears my feeblest cry. 
 
 O, the rapture, sweet, unbroken, 
 Of the soul who wrote that prayer ! 
 
 Children's myriad voices floating 
 Up to Heaven, record it there. 
 
 ai t\t ituwijj of babes attb sucklings bast tljou orbattutr 
 strength." — Psa. viii, 2. 
 
 
NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP. 
 
 If, of all that has been written, 
 
 I could choose what might be mine, 
 
 It should be that child's petition, 
 Rising to the throne divine. 
 
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 1 ®rttst in the Jf orb, anb bo goob." 
 — Psa. xxxvii, 3. 
 
J Go to Life. 
 
 GO to life and not to death ; 
 
 From darkness to life's native sky. 
 I go from sickness and from pain 
 
 To health and immortality. 
 Let our farewell then be tearless, 
 
 Since I bid farewell to tears ; 
 Write this day of my departure 
 
 Festive in your coming years. 
 
 I go from poverty to wealth, 
 
 From rags to raiment angel-fair, 
 From the pale leanness of this flesh 
 
 To beauty such as saints shall wear. 
 Let our farewell then be tearless, 
 
 Since I bid farewell to tears ; 
 Write this day of my departure 
 
 Festive in your coming years. 
 
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 — John x, 10. 
 
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 I GO TO LIFK. 
 
 I go from chains to liberty, 
 
 These fetters will be broken soon ; 
 Forth over Eden's fragrant fields 
 
 I walk beneath a glorious noon 
 Let our farewell then be tearless, 
 
 Since I bid farewell to tears ; 
 Write this day of my departure 
 
 Festive in your coming years. 
 
 For toil there comes the crowned rest ; 
 
 Instead of burdens, eagle's wings ; 
 And I, even I, this life-long thirst 
 
 Shall quench at everlasting springs. 
 Let our farewell then be tearless, 
 
 Since I bid farewell to tears ; 
 Write this day of my departure 
 
 Festive in your coming year>. 
 
 God lives ! Who says that I must die ? 
 
 I cannot, while Jehovah Iiveth! 
 Christ lives ! I cannot die, but live ; 
 
 He life to me for ever giveth. 
 Let our farewell then be tearless, 
 
 Since I bid farewell to tears ; 
 Write this day of my departure 
 
 Festive in your coming years. 
 
 H. BONAR, D. D 
 
 "gut the gift of 6ob is eternal life through Jlcsus (Christ ourjforb." 
 
 Rom. vi, 23. J 
 
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Old Age. 
 
 /LING down the faded blossoms of the spring, 
 Nor clasp the roses with regretful hand ; 
 The joy of summer is a vanished thing ; 
 Let it depart, and learn to understand 
 The gladness of great calm— the autumn rest, 
 The Peace — of human joys the latest and the best. 
 
 Ah ! I remember how in early days 
 
 The primrose and the wild-flower grew beside 
 
 My tangled forest paths, whose devious ways 
 Filled me with joys of mysteries untried, 
 
 And terror that was more than half delight, 
 
 And sense of budding life, and longings infinite. 
 
 And I remember how, in Life's hot noon, 
 Around my path the lavish roses shed 
 
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 "|$tark*tbe perfect man, anb bebolb i\t nprigbt : for tbe enb of lljat 
 
 man is peace." — Psa. xxxvii, 37. ^ 
 
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 OLD AGE. 
 
 Color anil fragrance, and the air of June 
 
 Breathed rapture — now those summer days are fled ; 
 
 Days of sweet peril, when the serpent lay 
 
 Lurking at every turn of life's enchanted way. 
 
 The light of spring, the summer's glow are o'er, 
 
 And I rejoice in knowing that for me 
 The woodbine and the roses bloom no more, 
 
 The tender green is gone from field and tree ; 
 Brown barren sprays stand clear against the blue, 
 And leaves fall fast, and let the truthful sunlight through. 
 
 For me the hooded herbs of autumn grow, 
 Square-stemmed and sober ; mint and sage, 
 
 Horehound and balm — such plants as healers know ; 
 And the decline of life's long pilgrimage 
 
 Is soft and sweet with marjoram and thyme, 
 
 Bright with pure evening dew, not serpents' glittering slime. 
 
 And around my path the aromatic air 
 
 Breathes health and perfume, and the turfy ground 
 Is soft fur weary feet, and smooth and fair 
 
 With little thornless blossoms that abound 
 In safe dry places, where the mountain side 
 Lies to the setting sun, and no ill beast can hide. 
 
 "(Thru shall still bring forth fruit in olb age; then shall br f;it tint 
 flourishing." — Psa. xcii, 14. 
 
OLD AGE. 
 
 What is there to regret ? Why should I mourn 
 To leave the forest and the marsh behind, 
 
 Or towards the rank, low meadows sadly turn ? 
 Since here another loveliness I find, 
 
 Safer and not less beautiful — and blest 
 
 With glimpses, faint and far, of the long-wished-for Rest. 
 
 And so I drop the roses from my hand, 
 
 And let the thorn-pricks heal, and take my way 
 
 Down hill, across a fair and peaceful land 
 Lapt in the golden calm of dying day — 
 
 Glad that the night is near, and glad to know 
 
 That, rough or smooth the way, I have not far to go. 
 
 i "HJL. gooo name is better tl^an precious ointment; anir tljt ban of freatjj 
 ' tlmn ilje am of one's birtl)." — Eccl. vii, r. 
 
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 The Guardian Angel. 
 
 S WANDERED through a forest lone, 
 I met a fair young child, 
 "My little one, art not afraid, 
 
 The wood is drear and wild ? " 
 
 She shook her sunny waving curls, 
 
 And looked at me and smiled. 
 
 "Nay, but I am not all alone," 
 Still reverent answered she, 
 
 "An angel walketh by my side, 
 Though him I can not see ; 
 
 And he would tell of it in heaven, 
 If ought should injure me. 
 
 " He's ever near, and tenderly 
 A loving watch doth keep ; 
 
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 " Jn bcaben their angels bo albrans bcbolb tbc face of mil father 
 fcohicb is in beaben." — Matt, xviii, 10. 
 
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 THE GUARDIAN ANGEL. 
 
 And with his great white downy wings 
 
 He fanneth me to sleep." 
 "Nay, child, 'tis but the summer wind 
 
 That through the trees doth creep." 
 
 ' ' When I am wearied out with play, 
 
 And sit me down to rest, 
 My guardian angel lets me lie 
 
 So gently on his breast." 
 "Nay, child, 'tis but the velvet moss 
 Thy little form hath pressed." 
 
 "And when the sunlight quivers fair 
 
 Upon each leafy spray, 
 My angel on his golden harp 
 
 Sweet tunes for me doth play." 
 "Nay, through the woods in summer time, 
 
 The wild bees hum all day. " 
 
 " Or often as I sit and watch 
 
 The wild dove on the wing, 
 I hear my angel's silver voice 
 
 A solemn anthem sing." 
 "Nay, child, 'tis ocean's distant roar, 
 
 Through the forest murmuring." 
 
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 THE GUARDIAN ANGEL. 
 
 "Nay, nay, through life my mother says 
 
 He will be ever nigh, 
 But I shall never see his face 
 
 Until I come to die, 
 And then he'll bear me in his arms 
 
 Unto our God on high." 
 
 I turned me from that trusting child, 
 Who put my faith to shame, 
 
 And to my heart these ancient words 
 Of holy Scripture came: 
 
 "The angel of the Lord encamps 
 Round those that fear his name." 
 
 "c£be angel of the Jforb encampctb ronnb about tbtm that fear bint." i 
 — Psa. xxxiv, 7. -* 
 
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For Good or III ? 
 
 SNLY a word! 
 
 Yet it bore on its holy breath 
 
 A message that God had given 
 To kindly warn from the ways of Death — 
 
 And a soul was led to Heaven. 
 
 Only a word ! 
 Spoken in scorn by lips that smiled, 
 
 But a haunting doubt's black shade 
 Was cast in the trusting heart of a child, 
 
 And a life-long darkness made. 
 
 Only a word ! 
 Yet there lay in its heart, enshrined 
 
 Like the germ of a tiny seed, 
 A thought that fell in an earnest mind, 
 
 And grew to a noble deed. 
 
 "% foorb fitltr spoken is like apples of golb in pictures of stlber 
 — Prov. xxv, II. 
 

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 FOR GOOD OR ILL ? 
 
 Only a word ! 
 No more widely the ocean parts 
 
 Land from land with its ebb and flow, 
 Than one false word severed kindly hearts 
 
 That loved, in the long ago. 
 
 Only a word! 
 The whispered "Amen" of a prayer, 
 
 But it flew, like a swift -winged dove, 
 From the stormy depths of a soul's despair, 
 
 To the Father's heart of love. 
 
 Only a word ! 
 Oh, choose it wisely, weigh it well ; 
 
 Send it forth with love and faith ; 
 It may be, the message one word can tell, 
 
 Will rescue a soul from death. 
 
 3. toor!) spohcn in bur season, boh) goob is it! " 
 — Prov. xv, 23. 
 
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 Thy Will 
 
 fATHER, where'er my feet may stray, 
 Or whether in the cloud or sun, 
 Still teach me trustingly to pray 
 " Thy will be done. 1 ' 
 
 And if the darkness fill the night, 
 Whenever day its course has run ; 
 
 Or whether gloom be mine, or light, 
 "Thy will be done." 
 
 I fain would by thy hand be led, 
 Till at the last, life's conflict won, 
 
 My trembling lips have dying said, 
 " Thy will be done." 
 
 jj) faill be bone in cartl;, as it is itt Ijeabeii." 
 
 — Matt, vi, 10. £i 
 
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 THY WILL. 
 
 And guided to the unseen land, 
 
 When earth is past, and heaven begun, 
 
 In thine I fain would lay my hand ; 
 " Thy will be done." 
 
 Father, I know that in thy care 
 
 Are all my ways Till sets life's sun, 
 
 O teach me patiently to bear! 
 "Thy will be done." 
 
 — E. NORMAN GUNNISON. 
 
 "(Hot as 1 foill, but «n thou foilt. 
 — Matt, xxvi, 39. 
 
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 Good-Night Wishes. 
 
 BLESSING on my babes to-night ; 
 A blessing on their mother ; 
 ' A blessing on my kinsmen light, 
 Each loving friend and brother. 
 
 A blessing on the toiler's rest ; 
 
 The over-worn and weary ; 
 The desolate and comfortless, 
 
 To whom the earth is dreary. 
 
 )t blessing of tlie foro bt upon jjou. 
 — Psa. cxxix, 8. 
 
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 GOOD-NIGHT WISHES. 
 
 A blessing on the glad to-night ; 
 
 A blessing on the hoary ; 
 The maiden clad in beauty bright, 
 
 The young man in his glory. 
 
 A blessing on my fellow-race, 
 Of every clime and nation ; 
 
 May they partake His saving grace 
 Who died for our salvation. 
 
 If any man have wrought me wrong, 
 Still blessing be upon him ; 
 
 May I in love to him be strong, 
 Till charity has won him. 
 
 Thy blessings on me, from of old, 
 My God, I cannot number ; 
 
 I wrap me in their ample fold, 
 And sink in trustful slumber. 
 
 ■THOMAS MACKELLAR. 
 
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 — Num. xxiv, 9. 
 
 
 
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 Beyond. 
 
 iEYOND life's toils and cares, 
 Its hopes and joys, its weariness and sorrow, 
 Its sleepless nights, its days of smiles and tears, 
 Will be a long sweet life, unmarked by years, 
 One bright, unending morrow ! 
 
 Beyond Time's troubled stream, 
 Beyond the chilling waves of death's dark river, 
 Beyond life's lowering clouds and fitful gleams, 
 Its dark realities and brighter dreams — 
 
 A beautiful forever. 
 
 No aching hearts are there, 
 No tear-dimmed eye, no form by sickness wasted, 
 No cheek grown pale through penury or care, 
 No spirits crushed beneath the woes they bear, 
 
 No sighs for bliss untasted. 
 
 "USstl} talkfr us unto Ins ttunal glorn bo Cljrist Jesus. 
 —i Peter v, 10. 
 
 
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 BEYOND. 
 
 No sad farewell is heard, 
 No lonely wail for loving ones departed, 
 No dark remorse is there o'er memories stirred, 
 No smile of scorn, no harsh or cruel word 
 
 To grieve the broken-hearted. 
 
 No long dark night is there, 
 No light from sun or silvery moon is given ; 
 But Christ, the Lamb of God, all bright and fair, 
 Illumes the city with effulgence rare, 
 
 The glorious light of heaven ! 
 
 No mortal eye hath seen 
 The glories of that land beyond that river, 
 Its crystal lakes, its fields of living green, 
 Its fadeless flowers, and the unchanging sheen 
 
 Around the throne forever. 
 
 Ear hath not heard the song 
 Of rapturous praise within that shining portal ; 
 No heart of man hath dreamed what joys belong 
 To that redeemed and happy blood-washed throng, 
 
 All glorious and immortal. 
 
 " Ano so shall foe cbcr be fcoitf) the |Torb." 
 — I Thes. iv, 17. 
 
The Time for Prayer. 
 
 'HEN is the time for prayer ? 
 
 With the first beams that light the morning sky, 
 Ere for the toils of day thou dost prepare, 
 
 Lift up thy thoughts on high ; 
 Commend thy loved ones to His watchful care ; 
 
 Morn is the time for prayer. 
 
 And in the noontide hour, 
 
 If worn by toil, or by sad cares oppressed, 
 Then unto God thy spirit's sorrow pour, 
 
 And He will give thee rest ; 
 Thy voice shall reach Him through the fields of air ; 
 
 Noon is the time for prayer. 
 
 When the bright sun hath set, 
 
 While eve's bright colors deck the skies; 
 
 "(Sowing, ana morning, ana at noon, hnll ^'praj)." 
 — Psa. Iv, 17. 
 
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 THE TIME FOR PRAYER. 
 
 When with the loved at home again thou'st met, 
 
 Then let thy prayers arise ; 
 For those who in thy joys and sorrows share, 
 
 Eve is the time for prayer. 
 
 And when the stars come forth — 
 
 When to the trusting heart sweet hopes are given, 
 And the deep stillness of the hour gives birth 
 
 To pure bright dreams of heaven ; 
 Kneel to thy God — ask strength, life's ills to bear ; 
 
 Night is the time for prayer. 
 
 When is the time for prayer ? 
 
 In every hour, while life is spared to thee ; 
 In crowds or solitude, in joy or care, 
 
 Thy thoughts should heavenward flee. 
 At home, at morn and eve, with loved ones there, 
 
 Bend thou the knee in prayer ! 
 
 prun toithout erasing." 
 — i Thes. v, 17. 
 
Rock of Ages. 
 
 g^OCK of Ages, cleft for me"— 
 
 Thoughtlessly the maiden sung, 
 Fell the words unconsciously 
 
 From her girlish, gleeful tongue ; 
 Sang as little children sing ; 
 
 Sang as sing the birds in June ; 
 Fell the words like light leaves down 
 
 On the current of the tune — 
 "Rock of Ages, cleft for me, 
 
 Let me hide myself in Thee." 
 
 "Let me hide myself in Thee," 
 Felt her soul no need to hide : 
 
 Sweet the song as song could be — 
 And she had no thought beside ; 
 
 )t Iforfr is m» tack antr mg fortress. 
 — Psa. xviii, 2. 
 
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 ROCK OF AGES. 
 
 223 
 
 All the words unheedingly 
 
 Fell from lips untouched by care, 
 
 Dreaming not they each might be 
 On some other lips a prayer — 
 
 " Rock of Ages, cleft for me " — 
 Let me hide myself in Thee." 
 
 "Rock of Ages, cleft for me" — 
 
 'Twas a woman sung them now, 
 Pleadingly and prayerfully ; 
 
 Every word her heart did know. 
 Rose the song as storm-tossed bird 
 
 Beats with weary wing the air, 
 Every note with sorrow stirred — 
 
 Every syllable a prayer — 
 "Rock of Ages, cleft for me, 
 
 Let me hide myself in Thee. " 
 
 "Rock of Ages, cleft for me" — 
 
 Lips grown aged sung the hymn 
 Trustingly and tenderly — 
 
 Voice grown weak and eyes grown dim. 
 "Let me hide myself in Thee" — 
 
 Trembling though the voice and low, 
 Ran the sweet strain peacefully, 
 
 Like a river in its flow. 
 
 
 "||tn 60b is the rock of mn refuge." 
 — Psa. xciv, 22. 
 
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 ROCK OF AGES. 
 
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 Sung as only they can sing, 
 
 Who behold the promised rest — 
 
 "Rock of Ages cleft for me, 
 Let me hide myself in Thee. " 
 
 " Rock of Ages, cleft for me " — 
 
 Sung above a coffin lid ; 
 Underneath, all restfully, 
 
 All life's joys and sorrows hid. 
 Never more, O storm-tossed soul, 
 
 Never more from wind or tide, 
 Never more from billow's roll, 
 
 Wilt thou need thyself to hide. 
 Could the sightless, sunken eyes, 
 
 Closed beneath the soft gray hair, 
 Could the mute and stiffened lips 
 
 Move again in pleading prayer, 
 Still, aye, still, the words would be, 
 
 "Let me hide myself in Thee." 
 
 ' $)e ©nig is mir rock anb mg salbatton. 
 — Psa. lxii, 2. 
 
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 To The Comforter. 
 
 'IGHTY Comforter, to thee 
 In our feebleness we flee ; 
 Oh, unveil thy gracious face, 
 Spread out all thy w ondrous grace. 
 
 Strengthener of the poor and weak, 
 To thy power for strength we seek ; 
 Heavenly fulness from above, 
 O descend in blessed love. 
 
 Patient Teacher of the blind, 
 Opener of the sin-seard mind, 
 Fix in us thy sure abode, 
 And reveal the Christ of God. 
 
 Guider of the erring feet 
 In the waste or busy street, 
 
 Lead us thro' life's Babel-crowds, 
 
 Through its pathless solitudes. 
 
 
 J fcoill not Icufac nou comfort less : | toill romr to nou. 
 — John xiv, 18. 
 
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 TO THE COMFORTER. 
 
 True Enricher of the poor, 
 Enter thou our lowly door ; 
 
 Let thy liberal hand impart 
 
 Heavenly riches to our heart. 
 
 Looser of the bonds of sin, 
 Oh make haste and enter in ; 
 
 Break each link, till there remains 
 
 Not one fragment of our chains. 
 
 Loving Spirit, come, oh come! 
 Find in us thy endless home ; 
 
 Find in this our world below 
 
 A dwelling for thy glory now. 
 
 Holy Light, upon us shine 
 With thy energy divine ; 
 
 Heavenly Brightness, break thou forth 
 
 Over this benighted earth. 
 
 With the eternal Father one, 
 One with the eternal Son ; 
 
 Eternal Spirit, thee we praise, 
 
 Now and through eternal days. 
 
 — HORATIUS BONAR, D. D. 
 
 "ISofcoImt fojun Iji, tin Spirit of trutlj, is tome, jje fotll guiirc gcra 
 into all trutlj." — John xvl, 13. 
 
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 •PON the hills the wind is sharp and cold, 
 
 The sweet young grasses wither on the wold, 
 And we, O. Lord ! have wander'd from Thy fold 
 But evening brings us home. 
 
 Among the mists we stumbled, and the rocks 
 Where the brown lichen whitens, and the fox 
 Watches the straggler from the scattered flocks ; 
 But evening brings us home. 
 
 The sharp thorns prick us, and our tender feet 
 Are cut and bleeding, and the lambs repeat 
 Their pitiful complaints — oh, rest is sweet 
 When esening brings us home. 
 
 We have been wounded by the hunters' darts ; 
 Our eyes are very heavy, and our hearts 
 Search for Thy coming — when the light departs 
 At evening, bring us home. 
 
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 — Isa. liii, 6. 
 
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THE E'EN BRINGS A' HAME. 
 
 The darkness gathers. Through the gloom no star 
 Rises to guide us. We have wander'd far — 
 Without Thy lamp we know not where we are ; 
 At evening bring us home. 
 
 The clouds are round us, and the snow-drifts thicken 
 O Thou, dear Shepherd ! leave us not to sicken 
 In the waste night ; our tardy footsteps quicken, 
 At evening bring us home. 
 
 "^jljolb |, tbtn |f, kill botlj searclj mv simp, snir sttk tfjem ant." 
 i; — Ezek. xxxiv, n. 
 
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 The Bird Let Loose. 
 
 jrHE bird let loose in eastern skies, 
 
 When hastening fondly home, 
 Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies 
 
 Where idle warblers roam ; 
 But high she shoots through air and light, 
 
 Above all low delay, 
 Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, 
 
 Nor shadow dims her way. 
 
 So grant me, God, from every care 
 
 And stain of passion free, 
 Aloft, through Virtue's purer air, 
 
 To hold my course to thee ! 
 No sin to cloud, no lure to stay 
 
 My soul, as home she springs ; — 
 Thy sunshine on her joyful way, 
 
 Thy freedom in her wings ! 
 
 — THOMAS MOORE. 
 
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 — Prov. xxviii, 18. 
 
Heaven at Last 
 
 NGEL-VOICES sweetly singing, 
 
 Echoes through the blue dome 
 
 ringing, 
 News of wondrous gladness 
 
 bringing ; 
 
 Ah, 'tis heaven at last ! 
 
 Now, beneath us all the grieving, 
 All the wounded spirit's heaving, 
 All the woe of hopes deceiving ; 
 
 Ah, 'tis heaven at last ! 
 
 Sin for ev£r left behind us, 
 Earthly visions cease to blind us, 
 Fleshly fetters cease to bind us ; 
 
 Ah, 'tis heaven at last! 
 
 On the jasper threshold standing, 
 I -ike a pilgrim safely landing, 
 See, the strange bright scene expand- 
 ing; 
 
 Ah, 'tis heaven at last ! 
 
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 t |rOTHAT a city! what a glory! 
 
 Far beyond the brightest 
 
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 Of the ages old and 
 hoary ; 
 
 Ah, 'tis heaven at last ! 
 
 Softest voices, silver-pealing. 
 Freshest fragrance, spirit -healing, 
 Happy hymns around us stealing : 
 
 Ah, 'tis heaven at last ! 
 
 Gone the vanity and folly, 
 Gone the dark and melancholy, 
 Come the joyous and the holy ; 
 
 Ah, 'tis heaven at last ! 
 
 Not a broken blossom yonder, 
 Not a link can snap asunder, 
 Stay'd the tempest, sheathed the 
 thunder ; 
 
 Ah, 'tis heaven at last ! 
 
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 HEAVEN AT LAST. 
 
 Not a tear-drop ever falleth, 
 Not a pleasure ever palleth, 
 Song to song for ever calleth ; 
 
 Ah, 'tis heaven at last ! 
 
 Christ himself the living splendor, 
 Christ the sunlight mild and tender ; 
 Praises to the Lamb we render; 
 
 Ah, 'tis heaven at last ! 
 
 Now at length the veil is rended, 
 Now the pilgrimage is ended, 
 And the saints their thrones ascended ; 
 Ah, 'tis heaven at last ! 
 
 Broken death's dread bands that bound us, 
 Life and victory around us ; 
 Christ, the King, himself hath crown'd us ; 
 Ah, 'tis heaven at last ! 
 
 — HORATIUS BONAR, D. D. 
 
 "§5ut gt are zamt unto mount Sion, anb unto tlje tito of ifyt Hfaing 
 
 (Sob, tjj* Inabetiljr ^zxnnnhm." — Heb. xii, 22. A 
 
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Jesu, Still the Storm. 
 
 ^fESUj still the storm! 
 
 Only thou hast power, 
 & In this troubled hour, 
 
 To bid our tremblings cease, 
 And give our spirits peace. 
 Jesu, still the storm ! 
 
 Speak the potent w ord, 
 
 " Peace, be still ! " and then 
 Calm returns again ; 
 Each billow hides its crest, 
 And lays itself to rest. 
 
 Speak the potent word! 
 
 Jesu, love us still ! 
 Oh, love on, love on, 
 As thou hast ever done ; 
 
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 JESU, STILL THE STORM. 
 
 Oh love us to the end, 
 Our one unchanging friend. 
 Jesu, love us still ! 
 
 Jesu, bless us still ! 
 Bless us on and on, 
 Till our heaven be won ; 
 Oh bless us evermore, 
 On thine own blessed shore. 
 
 Jesu, bless us still ! 
 
 — HORA.TIUS BONAR, D. D. 
 
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 — Rom. viii, 31. 
 
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 HERE is a calm for those who weep, 
 
 A rest for weary pilgrims found, 
 
 They softly lie and sweetly sleep 
 
 Low in the ground. 
 
 The storm that wrecks the winter sky 
 No more disturbs their deep repose, 
 Than summer-evening's latest sigh 
 That shuts the rose. 
 
 I long to lay this painful head 
 And aching heart beneath the soil, 
 To slumber in that dreamless bed 
 From all my toil. 
 
 For Misery stole me at my birth, 
 And cast me helpless on the wild : 
 I perish ; — O my Mother Earth. 
 
 Take home thy Child ! 
 
 "& that ibou foonltrcst bibc vat in the grnbe. 
 — Job xiv, 13. 
 
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 On thy dear lap these limbs reclined 
 Shall gently moulder into thee ; 
 Nor leave one wretched trace behind 
 Resembling me. 
 
 Hark ! a strange sound affrights mine ear, 
 My pulse, — my brain runs wild, — I rave ; 
 — Ah ! who art thou whose voice I hear ? 
 — "I am the Grave! 
 
 "The Grave, that never spake before, 
 Hath found at length a tongue to chide ; 
 O listen ! " "I will speak no more : — 
 Be silent, Pride!" 
 
 "Art thou a Wretch of hope forlorn, 
 The victim of consuming care ? 
 Is thy distracted conscience torn 
 By fell despair ? 
 
 "A bruised reed he will not break; 
 Afflictions all his children feel ; 
 He wounds them for his mercy's sake, 
 He wounds to heal. 
 
 jam i\i fnrir Inbttl) \t tjmsteiuth." 
 — Heb. xii, 6. 
 
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 "There is a calm for those who weep, 
 A rest for weary Pilgrims found ; 
 And while the mouldering ashes sleep 
 Low in the ground, 
 
 "The Soul, of origin divine, 
 God's glorious image, freed from clay, 
 In heaven's eternal sphere shall shine, 
 A star of day. 
 
 "The Sun is but a spark of fire, 
 A transient meteor in the sky ; 
 The Soul, immortal as its Sire, 
 Shall never die." 
 
 — JAMES MONTGOMERY. 
 
 " Jfcar not them fcobicb kill the boon, but ;ue not able to hill the 
 soul." — Matt, x, 28. 
 
 
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The Tide. 
 
 HE tide is out ! 
 Low lie the dank sea-weeds. The life is gone 
 That gave them strength to rise ; and now forlorn, 
 
 Low from the rocks they lie, 
 Waiting in patience for the morrow morn, 
 
 When strong with life, and high, 
 
 The tide will then come in. 
 
 The tide is out ! 
 Far out at sea I watch the dancing waves 
 Rising to meet the sea-gull, as she laves 
 
 In them her weary breast. 
 Fearless of all, the elements she braves, 
 
 Seeking like me for rest, — 
 
 Her tide is never in. 
 
 
 jen a man's feaos phase tyt forir, \t maketl) ebett Jjis enemies tor 
 be at peace baity j)im." — Prov. xvi, 7. 
 
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 THE TIDE. 
 
 The tide is out ! 
 Low, lifeless like the sea-weed, now I lie, 
 Wishing that, like the gull, I swift could fly 
 
 From 'neath the burning sun 
 And scorching sands, that make me long to die, 
 
 Fearing that I am one 
 
 Whose tide will ne'er come in. 
 
 The tide is out ! 
 Sinking upon the sand, with bended knee ; 
 The cruel sand that soon will bury me, 
 
 Unless the tide will soon come in ; 
 With humble heart, Father, I pray to Thee, 
 
 Cleanse me from grief and sin, 
 
 And make my tide come in. 
 
 The tide is in! 
 Swift surging o'er the sand. And now no more 
 Beside the barren, desolate sea-shore 
 
 I watch the sun-dried rocks, 
 And think my life like theirs is thirsting, sore, 
 
 While cooling waters mock — 
 
 For now the tide is in. 
 
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 THE TIDE. 
 
 The tide is in ! 
 My happy life seems to me in its prime, 
 Full of sweet hope, whose fruit will come in time, 
 
 Bringing glad rest and peace. 
 But it was not always so ; there was a time 
 
 When sorrow s would not cease, 
 
 But now — the tide is in. 
 
 The tide is in ! 
 With grateful heart I lift mine eyes above 
 To Him who sent the tide, whose name is Love ; 
 
 Who saw me tired lie 
 In a strange land, like Noah's weary dove, 
 
 Not knowing He was nigh 
 
 Who makes the tide come in. 
 
 The tide is in ! 
 And lifting my drooped head, I now in haste 
 Go forth to meet my work, across the waste ; 
 
 Eager to live my life 
 As Thou hast made it, who gave me a taste 
 
 Of weary care and strife, 
 
 Before my tide came in. 
 
 n righteous, m\tn ibt faint, nrtb tbttr faorks, are in tin Jjanb- ot 
 (S5ofr." — Eccl. ix, 1. 
 

 THE TIDE. 
 
 The tide is in ! 
 But, ah ! the time will come, I know full well, 
 That it will leave me ; when, I can not tell ; 
 
 But when that time shall come, 
 I pray that Thou my strong thoughts will quell, 
 
 And take me to that home 
 
 Where tides are always in. 
 
 -MARY \V. MCLAIN. 
 
Trust in the Lord. 
 
 iH, heard ye the bird-song this morning, 
 So joyous, so fresh, and so bright ? 
 It ripples as drops from a fountain, 
 And sparkles like stars in the night. 
 
 Notes soft and low, sweetly blending 
 With warblings ecstatic, are heard ; 
 
 Oh, who did imagine such rapture 
 Could dwell in the breast of a bird ! 
 
 Was ever a measure so joyous, 
 
 So filled with impassioned delight ? 
 
 How happy if we could but catch it, 
 And stay the sweet melody's flight. 
 
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 "Sxust in iht forb, anb bo goob; so sl^alt tbou bfocll in t\t Ianb, 
 
 anb bertljj tjwa sljali b* fob." — Psa. xxxvii, 3. 
 
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 TRUST IN THE LORD. 
 
 Again and again 'tis repeated, 
 
 From morn to the close of the day, 
 
 Though the wind is yet cold and chilling, 
 And of sunshine there scarce is a ray. 
 
 Have birds more blessings than mortals, 
 That they should be happier than we ? 
 
 Our mercies are numbered by thousands — 
 They have but a nest and a tree. 
 
 Have birds more wisdom than mortals, 
 More trust in the sweet promise given ? 
 
 Is this tender love but for sparrows ? 
 Have we no kind Father in heaven ? 
 
 We strive to attain what we cannot, 
 
 Of to-morrow the burden we bear ; 
 They, caroling sweetly, despair not, 
 
 And pick up the crumbs with care. 
 
 This the lesson of life. If we learn it, 
 
 Glad songs of devotion will rise, 
 As we gather the sweet crumbs of comfort 
 
 And trust to the God of the skies. 
 
 — MRS. M. M. LYLE. 
 
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 — Prov. iii, 5. 
 
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 jfY GOD ! I know that I must die," 
 My mortal life is passing hence ; 
 On earth I neither hope nor try 
 
 To find a lasting residence. 
 Then teach me by thy heavenly grace 
 With joy and peace my death to face. 
 
 My God! I know not when I'll die, 
 What is the moment or the hour, 
 
 How soon the clay may broken lie, 
 How quickly pass away the flower ; 
 
 Then may thy child prepared be 
 
 Through time to meet eternity. 
 
 My God ! I know not how I die, 
 
 For death has many ways to come — 
 
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 DEATH ANTICIPATED. 
 
 In dark, mysterious agony, 
 
 Or gentle as a sleep to some, 
 Just as thou wilt, if but it be 
 
 Forever, blessed Lord, with thee. 
 
 My God! I know not where I'll die, 
 
 Where is my grave, beneath what strand ; 
 
 Yet from its gloom I do rely 
 To be delivered by thy hand. 
 
 Content I take what spot is mine, 
 
 Since all the earth, my Lord, is thine. 
 
 My gracious God : when I must die, 
 
 Oh, bear my happy soul above 
 With Christ, my Lord, eternally 
 
 To share thy glory and thy love ! 
 Then comes it right and well to me 
 
 When, where and how my death shall be. 
 
 "$ui be tbat shall enbure unto tbc enb, tbe same sball be sabcb 
 — Matt, xxiv, 13. 
 
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 To-Morrow. 
 
 O-MORROW— mortal, boast not thou 
 Of time and tide that are not now! 
 But think in one revolving day 
 How earthly things may pass away ! 
 
 To-day — while hearts with rapture spring, 
 The youth to beauty's lip may cling ; 
 To-morrow — and that lip of bliss 
 May sleep unconscious of his kiss. 
 
 To-day the blooming spouse may press 
 Her husband in a fond caress ; 
 To-morrow — and the hands that pressed 
 May wildly strike her widowed breast. 
 
 To-day — the clasping babe may drain 
 The milk-stream from its mother's vein, 
 To-morrow — like a frozen rill, 
 That bosom-current may be still. 
 
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 h sbonlfr not irast tit ourselbes, but in €ob foljitlj raisci!) tbj 
 
 btab." — 2 Cor. i, 9. > 
 
 
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 TO-MORROW. 
 
 To-day — thy merry heart may feast 
 On herb, and fruit, and bird, and beast 
 To-morrow — spite of all thy glee, 
 The hungry worms may feast on thee. 
 
 To-morrow ! mortal, boast not thou 
 Of time and tide that are not now ! 
 But think, in one revolving day, 
 That e'en thyself may pass away. 
 
 — WM. KNOX. 
 
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 "<£o-ban if ne bill btar his faoicc, jmrben not nour btarts." 
 — Heb. iv, 7. 
 
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The Time is Short. 
 
 SOMETIMES feel the thread of life is slender, 
 And soon with me the labor will be wrought ; 
 Then grows my heart to other hearts more tender. 
 The time, 
 The time is short. 
 
 A shepherd's tent of reeds and flowers decaying, 
 
 That night -winds soon will crumble into naught ; 
 So seems my life, for some rude blast delaying. 
 
 The time, 
 
 The time is short. 
 
 Up, up my soul ! the long-spent time redeeming ; 
 
 Sow thou the seeds of better deed and thought ; 
 Light other lamps while yet thy light is beaming. 
 
 The time, 
 
 The time is short. 
 
 "|5ut tins $ san, brethren, t\z time is slwt.' 
 — I Cor. vii, 29. 
 
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 THE TIME IS SHORT. 
 
 249 
 
 Think of the good thou might'st have done when brightly 
 
 The suns to thee life's choicest seasons brought ; 
 Hours lost to God in pleasures passing lightly. 
 
 The time, 
 
 The time is short. 
 
 Think of the drooping eyes thou might'st have lifted 
 To see the good that Heaven to thee hath taught ; 
 The unhelped wrecks thav past life's bark have drifted. 
 
 The time, 
 
 The time is short. 
 
 Think of the feet that fall by misdirection, 
 Of noblest souls to loss and ruin brought, 
 
 Because their lives are barren of affection. 
 The time, 
 The time is short. 
 
 The time is short. Then be thy heart a brother's 
 
 To every heart that needs thy help in aught ; 
 Soon thou may'st need the sympathy of others. 
 
 The time, 
 
 The time is short. 
 
 "lie that lofactb bis brother abibttb in the light. 
 — 1 John ii, 10. 
 
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 THE TIME IS SHORT. 
 
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 If thou hast friends, give them thy best endeavor, 
 
 Thy warmest impulse and thy purest thought, 
 Keeping in mind, in word and action ever, 
 
 The time, 
 
 The time is short. 
 
 Each thought resentful from thy mind be driven, 
 And cherish love by sweet forgiveness brought ; 
 Thou soon wilt need the pitying love of Heaven. 
 
 The time, 
 
 The time is short. 
 
 Where summer winds, aroma-laden, hover, 
 
 Companions rest, their work forever wrought ; 
 Soon other graves the moss and fern will cover. 
 
 The time, 
 
 The time is short. 
 
 Up, up, my soul ! ere yet the shadow falleth ; 
 Some good return in later seasons wrought, 
 Forget thyself when duty's angel calleth. 
 The time, 
 The time is short. 
 
 "$3t not obtreonu of toil, but obtrconu cbil bjitb goob. 
 — Rom. xii, 21. 
 
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 THE TIME IS SHORT. 
 
 By all the lapses thou hast been forgiven, 
 By all the lessons prayer to thee hath taught, 
 To others teach the sympathies of heaven. 
 
 The time, 
 
 The time is short. 
 
 To others teach the overcoming power 
 
 That thee at last to God's sweet peace hath brought ; 
 Glad memories make to bless life's final hour. 
 
 The time, 
 
 The time is short. 
 
 — HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH. 
 
 " Jfor none of us lifactb to himself, anb no man birth to himself.' 
 — Rom. xiv, 7. 
 
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HE day dies slowly in the western sky : 
 
 The sunset splendor fades, and wan and cold 
 The far peaks wait the sunrise ; cheerily 
 
 The goatherd calls his wanderers to the fold. 
 My weary soul, that fain would cease to roam, 
 Take comfort ; evening bringeth all things home. 
 
 Homeward the swift -winged sea-gull takes her flight ; 
 
 The ebbing tide breaks softer on the sand ; 
 The red-sailed 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 ! 
 
 — H. M. 
 
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 "Stbere remainetb tbmfore a rest to tbe people of 
 -Heb. iv, 9. 
 
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 Index to First Lines. 
 
 A blessing on my babes to-night, 
 
 A picture memory brings to me, 
 
 After the burden and heat of the day, 
 
 All day the birds are singing, as they flit from grove and 
 
 Angel voices sweetly singing, 
 
 At dawn of day when cow-bells ring. 
 
 Bear them not from grassy dells, 
 Behold the western evening light, 
 Beyond life's toils and cares, 
 By the wild billows overwhelmed, 
 
 Childhood's dreams, those beautiful dreams, 
 Cover them over with beautiful flowers, 
 
 Earthly things, - 
 
 Fair flower, that lapt in low ly glade, 
 
 Father, where'er my feet may stray, 
 
 First Father of the holy seed, - - - - 
 
 Fling down the faded blossoms of the spring, 
 
 For the wealth of pathless forests, 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 216 
 
 92 
 
 5o 
 tree, 83 
 
 - 230 
 186 
 
 - 156 
 193 
 
 - 218 
 
 183 
 
 140 
 
 129 
 
 77 
 
 \&®\ 
 
 r\^>r~ 
 
INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 
 
 
 Gently the dew falls on the grass, 
 Give me a song and I will sing it, 
 Golden head so lowly bending, 
 
 Heaven is not reached by a single bound, 
 How many of us have ships at sea ? 
 
 I go to life and not to death, 
 
 I have a bridge within my heart, ... 
 
 I sometimes feel the thread of life is slender, 
 
 I wandered through a forest lone, ... 
 
 I would have gone, God bade me stay, - 
 
 If all the pity and love untold, 
 
 In some wild eastern legend, the story has been told, 
 
 In thy closet daily hiding, - 
 
 In the silence of my chamber, 
 
 In the mild silence of the voiceless night, 
 
 It gently brought to a darkened world, 
 
 It may be in the evening, - 
 
 Jesu, still the storm, . - 
 
 Just to let thy Father do, - - ■ 
 
 Lead, kindly light, .... 
 
 Leaves have their time to fall, 
 
 Lessons sweet of spring returning, 
 
 Lo, in the moonless night, - - - - 
 
 Methinks it is good to be here, - 
 
 3H- 
 
 iS9 
 20 1 
 
 67 
 
 204 
 
 21 
 
 248 
 
 209 
 
 151 
 
 155 
 
 59 
 
 43 
 
 161 
 
 135 
 
 191 
 
 68 
 
 233 
 
 185 
 no 
 
 io5 
 
 israr 
 
'Mid the losses and the gains, 
 Mighty Comforter to thee, 
 My God ! I know that I must die, - 
 My God ! is any hour so sweet, - 
 
 No bird-song floated down the hill, - 
 
 Nobody knows but Jesus, 
 
 Not here ! not here ! not where the sparkling waters, 
 
 Not only once he comes, ... 
 
 O, heard ye the bird-song this morning, 
 
 Oh, I could go through all life's troubles singing, 
 
 Oh! to be in Jesus's bosom, 
 
 Oh, Jesus! on the mountain, 
 
 Oh ! where are they the saintly, ... 
 
 Only a baby with winsome face, 
 
 Only a mortal's powers, .... 
 
 Only a word, ..... 
 
 Rock of ages, cleft for me, - 
 
 Soft falls through the gathering twilight, 
 
 Softly comes the sunset hour, 
 
 Still onward through this land of foes, - 
 
 Tell me ye winged winds, .... 
 
 Tell the fainting soul in the weary form, 
 
 Thank God that in life's little day, - 
 
 The bell tolls one, .... 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 225 
 244 
 165 
 
 145 
 126 
 
 44 
 30 
 
 242 
 
 37 
 86 
 
 39 
 172 
 
 137 
 175 
 212 
 
 222 
 
 13 
 
 "3 
 
 61 
 
INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 
 
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 PAGE. 
 
 The bird let loose in eastern skies, - - - - 229 
 
 The blessings which the poor and weak can scatter, - 49 
 
 The day dies slowly in the western sky, - - - 252 
 
 The fields are whitening 'neath the ripening grain, - 102 
 
 The fool hath said " There is no God," - - - 28 
 
 The night is dark, but God, my God, - - - 124 
 
 The tide is out, ...... 238 
 
 The tomb is empty, would'st thou have it full, - - 81 
 The way is hot, the way is long, - - - "35 
 
 There is a calm for those who weep, - - - 235 
 
 There is no death ! the stars go down, - - - 46 
 
 This is the room where she slept, ... j£ 2 
 
 Thou for Thyself hast made us, .... t g§ 
 
 'Tis late in my lone chamber, .... 166 
 
 To-morrow — mortal boast not thou, - - - 246 
 
 Too tired — too worn to pray, - 149 
 
 Under the shadow of His wings, - - - "75 
 
 Upon the hills the wind is sharp and cold, - - 227 
 
 What shall I wish thee ? - - - - - 199 
 
 What ship is this comes sailing, - - - - 196 
 
 What though we suffer while we stay, - - 139 
 
 When fall the evening shadows, long and deep, across the hill, 16 
 
 When is the time for prayer, .... 220 
 
 When light the purple crocus springs, ... 32 
 When nature tries her finest touch, - - - "97 
 
 Yes ! faith is a goodly anchor, .... 55 
 
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