JESUS

If I Him but have,If he be but mine—If my heart, hence to the grave,Ne'er forgets his love divine—Know I naught of sadness,Feel I naught but worship, love, and gladness.If I Him but have,Glad with all I part;Follow on my pilgrim staff,My Lord, only, with true heart;Leave them, nothing saying,On broad, bright, and crowded highways straying.If I Him but have,Glad I fall asleep;Aye the flood that his heart gaveStrength within my heart shall keep;And with soft compellingMake it tender, through and through it swelling.If I Him but have,Mine the world I hail!Glad as cherub smiling, grave,Holding back the Virgin's veil.Sunk and lost in seeing,Earthly cares have died from all my being.Where I have but HimIs my Fatherland,And all gifts and graces comeHeritage into my hand;Brothers long deploredI in his disciples find restored.—George Macdonald.

If I Him but have,If he be but mine—If my heart, hence to the grave,Ne'er forgets his love divine—Know I naught of sadness,Feel I naught but worship, love, and gladness.

If I Him but have,

If he be but mine—

If my heart, hence to the grave,

Ne'er forgets his love divine—

Know I naught of sadness,

Feel I naught but worship, love, and gladness.

If I Him but have,Glad with all I part;Follow on my pilgrim staff,My Lord, only, with true heart;Leave them, nothing saying,On broad, bright, and crowded highways straying.

If I Him but have,

Glad with all I part;

Follow on my pilgrim staff,

My Lord, only, with true heart;

Leave them, nothing saying,

On broad, bright, and crowded highways straying.

If I Him but have,Glad I fall asleep;Aye the flood that his heart gaveStrength within my heart shall keep;And with soft compellingMake it tender, through and through it swelling.

If I Him but have,

Glad I fall asleep;

Aye the flood that his heart gave

Strength within my heart shall keep;

And with soft compelling

Make it tender, through and through it swelling.

If I Him but have,Mine the world I hail!Glad as cherub smiling, grave,Holding back the Virgin's veil.Sunk and lost in seeing,Earthly cares have died from all my being.

If I Him but have,

Mine the world I hail!

Glad as cherub smiling, grave,

Holding back the Virgin's veil.

Sunk and lost in seeing,

Earthly cares have died from all my being.

Where I have but HimIs my Fatherland,And all gifts and graces comeHeritage into my hand;Brothers long deploredI in his disciples find restored.

Where I have but Him

Is my Fatherland,

And all gifts and graces come

Heritage into my hand;

Brothers long deplored

I in his disciples find restored.

—George Macdonald.

———

Quiet from God! How beautiful to keepThis treasure the All-merciful hath given;To feel, when we awake or when we sleep,Its incense round us like a breath from heaven.To sojourn in the world, and yet apart;To dwell with God, and still with man to feel;To bear about forever in the heartThe gladness which his spirit doth reveal.—Sarah J. Williams.

Quiet from God! How beautiful to keepThis treasure the All-merciful hath given;To feel, when we awake or when we sleep,Its incense round us like a breath from heaven.

Quiet from God! How beautiful to keep

This treasure the All-merciful hath given;

To feel, when we awake or when we sleep,

Its incense round us like a breath from heaven.

To sojourn in the world, and yet apart;To dwell with God, and still with man to feel;To bear about forever in the heartThe gladness which his spirit doth reveal.

To sojourn in the world, and yet apart;

To dwell with God, and still with man to feel;

To bear about forever in the heart

The gladness which his spirit doth reveal.

—Sarah J. Williams.

———

Some souls there are, beloved of God,Who, following where the saints have trod,Learn such surrender of the willThey seem insensible of ill.Yet, finely strung and sensitive,They live far more than others live,And grief's and pain's experienceMust be to them far more intense.O mystery—that such can knowA life impregnable to woe!O paradox that God aloneIn secret proveth to his own!It must be that supremest graceSo nerves them for the heavenly raceTheir litanies are turned to psalms,Their crosses, even here, to palms.—Harriet McEwen Kimball.

Some souls there are, beloved of God,Who, following where the saints have trod,Learn such surrender of the willThey seem insensible of ill.

Some souls there are, beloved of God,

Who, following where the saints have trod,

Learn such surrender of the will

They seem insensible of ill.

Yet, finely strung and sensitive,They live far more than others live,And grief's and pain's experienceMust be to them far more intense.

Yet, finely strung and sensitive,

They live far more than others live,

And grief's and pain's experience

Must be to them far more intense.

O mystery—that such can knowA life impregnable to woe!O paradox that God aloneIn secret proveth to his own!

O mystery—that such can know

A life impregnable to woe!

O paradox that God alone

In secret proveth to his own!

It must be that supremest graceSo nerves them for the heavenly raceTheir litanies are turned to psalms,Their crosses, even here, to palms.

It must be that supremest grace

So nerves them for the heavenly race

Their litanies are turned to psalms,

Their crosses, even here, to palms.

—Harriet McEwen Kimball.

———

When, courting slumber,The hours I number,And sad cares cumberMy weary mind,This thought shall cheer me:That thou art near me,Whose ear to hear meIs still inclined.My soul thou keepest,Who never sleepest;'Mid gloom the deepestThere's light above;Thine eyes behold me,Thine arms enfold me;Thy word has told meThat God is love.

When, courting slumber,The hours I number,And sad cares cumberMy weary mind,This thought shall cheer me:That thou art near me,Whose ear to hear meIs still inclined.

When, courting slumber,

The hours I number,

And sad cares cumber

My weary mind,

This thought shall cheer me:

That thou art near me,

Whose ear to hear me

Is still inclined.

My soul thou keepest,Who never sleepest;'Mid gloom the deepestThere's light above;Thine eyes behold me,Thine arms enfold me;Thy word has told meThat God is love.

My soul thou keepest,

Who never sleepest;

'Mid gloom the deepest

There's light above;

Thine eyes behold me,

Thine arms enfold me;

Thy word has told me

That God is love.

———

We are not angels, but we mayDown in earth's corners kneel,And multiply sweet acts of love,And murmur what we feel.—Frederick William Faber.

We are not angels, but we mayDown in earth's corners kneel,And multiply sweet acts of love,And murmur what we feel.

We are not angels, but we may

Down in earth's corners kneel,

And multiply sweet acts of love,

And murmur what we feel.

—Frederick William Faber.

———

Through thee, meseems, the very rose is red,From thee the violet steals its breath in May,From thee draw life all things that grow not gray,And by thy force the happy stars are sped.—James Russell Lowell.

Through thee, meseems, the very rose is red,From thee the violet steals its breath in May,From thee draw life all things that grow not gray,And by thy force the happy stars are sped.

Through thee, meseems, the very rose is red,

From thee the violet steals its breath in May,

From thee draw life all things that grow not gray,

And by thy force the happy stars are sped.

—James Russell Lowell.

———

Come to us, Lord, as the daylight comesWhen the darkling night has gone,And the quickened East is tremulousWith the thrill of the wakened dawn.Come to us, Lord, as the tide comes onWith the waves from the distant sea;Come, till our desert places smile,And our souls are filled with thee.

Come to us, Lord, as the daylight comesWhen the darkling night has gone,And the quickened East is tremulousWith the thrill of the wakened dawn.

Come to us, Lord, as the daylight comes

When the darkling night has gone,

And the quickened East is tremulous

With the thrill of the wakened dawn.

Come to us, Lord, as the tide comes onWith the waves from the distant sea;Come, till our desert places smile,And our souls are filled with thee.

Come to us, Lord, as the tide comes on

With the waves from the distant sea;

Come, till our desert places smile,

And our souls are filled with thee.

———

There are in this loud, stunning tideOf human care and crime,With whom the melodies abideOf th' everlasting chime!Who carry music in their heartThrough dusky lane and wrangling mart,Plying their daily task with busier feetBecause their secret souls a holy strain repeat.—John Keble.

There are in this loud, stunning tide

Of human care and crime,

With whom the melodies abide

Of th' everlasting chime!

Who carry music in their heart

Through dusky lane and wrangling mart,

Plying their daily task with busier feet

Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat.

—John Keble.

———

Earth's crammed with heaven,And every common bush afire with God;But only he who sees takes off his shoes.The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries,And daub their natural faces unawareMore and more from the first similitude.—Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

Earth's crammed with heaven,

And every common bush afire with God;

But only he who sees takes off his shoes.

The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries,

And daub their natural faces unaware

More and more from the first similitude.

—Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

———

O Name all other names above,What art thou not to me,Now I have learned to trust thy loveAnd cast my care on thee!The thought of thee all sorrow calms;Our anxious burdens fall;His crosses turn to triumph palmsWho finds in God his all.—Frederick Lucian Hosmer.

O Name all other names above,

What art thou not to me,

Now I have learned to trust thy love

And cast my care on thee!

The thought of thee all sorrow calms;

Our anxious burdens fall;

His crosses turn to triumph palms

Who finds in God his all.

—Frederick Lucian Hosmer.

———

Far off thou art, but ever nigh,I have thee still, and I rejoice,I prosper circled with thy voice;I shall not lose thee though I die.—Alfred Tennyson.

Far off thou art, but ever nigh,I have thee still, and I rejoice,I prosper circled with thy voice;I shall not lose thee though I die.

Far off thou art, but ever nigh,

I have thee still, and I rejoice,

I prosper circled with thy voice;

I shall not lose thee though I die.

—Alfred Tennyson.

———

Let the Loved One but smile on this poor heart of mine,I will sell the two worlds for one drop of his wine.—From the Persian.

Let the Loved One but smile on this poor heart of mine,I will sell the two worlds for one drop of his wine.

Let the Loved One but smile on this poor heart of mine,

I will sell the two worlds for one drop of his wine.

—From the Persian.

———

Thy presence, Lord, the place doth fill,My heart is now thy throne,Thy holy, just and perfect willNow in my flesh is done.My steadfast soul, from falling free,Doth now no longer rove,For Christ is all the world to meAnd all my heart is love.—Charles Wesley, altered by J. M.

Thy presence, Lord, the place doth fill,My heart is now thy throne,Thy holy, just and perfect willNow in my flesh is done.

Thy presence, Lord, the place doth fill,

My heart is now thy throne,

Thy holy, just and perfect will

Now in my flesh is done.

My steadfast soul, from falling free,Doth now no longer rove,For Christ is all the world to meAnd all my heart is love.

My steadfast soul, from falling free,

Doth now no longer rove,

For Christ is all the world to me

And all my heart is love.

—Charles Wesley, altered by J. M.

———

Two worlds are ours; 'tis only sinForbids us to descryThe mystic heaven and earth withinPlain as the sea and sky.Thou who hast given me eyes to seeAnd love this sight so fair,Give me a heart to find out thee,And read thee everywhere.—John Keble.

Two worlds are ours; 'tis only sinForbids us to descryThe mystic heaven and earth withinPlain as the sea and sky.

Two worlds are ours; 'tis only sin

Forbids us to descry

The mystic heaven and earth within

Plain as the sea and sky.

Thou who hast given me eyes to seeAnd love this sight so fair,Give me a heart to find out thee,And read thee everywhere.

Thou who hast given me eyes to see

And love this sight so fair,

Give me a heart to find out thee,

And read thee everywhere.

—John Keble.

———

Speak to him, thou, for he hears,And spirit with spirit can meet;Closer is he than breathing,And nearer than hands and feet.—Alfred Tennyson.

Speak to him, thou, for he hears,And spirit with spirit can meet;Closer is he than breathing,And nearer than hands and feet.

Speak to him, thou, for he hears,

And spirit with spirit can meet;

Closer is he than breathing,

And nearer than hands and feet.

—Alfred Tennyson.

———

Heaven above is softer blue,Earth around is sweeter green,Something lives in every hueChristless eyes have never seen.Birds with gladder songs o'erflow,Flowers with deeper beauties shine;Since I knew, as now I know,I am his and he is mine.

Heaven above is softer blue,Earth around is sweeter green,Something lives in every hueChristless eyes have never seen.

Heaven above is softer blue,

Earth around is sweeter green,

Something lives in every hue

Christless eyes have never seen.

Birds with gladder songs o'erflow,Flowers with deeper beauties shine;Since I knew, as now I know,I am his and he is mine.

Birds with gladder songs o'erflow,

Flowers with deeper beauties shine;

Since I knew, as now I know,

I am his and he is mine.

———

Unheard, because our ears are dull,Unseen, because our eyes are dim,He walks the earth, the Wonderful,And all good deeds are done to him.—John Greenleaf Whittier.

Unheard, because our ears are dull,Unseen, because our eyes are dim,He walks the earth, the Wonderful,And all good deeds are done to him.

Unheard, because our ears are dull,

Unseen, because our eyes are dim,

He walks the earth, the Wonderful,

And all good deeds are done to him.

—John Greenleaf Whittier.

———

Where'er I look one Face alone I see,With every attribute of beauty in it blent;Still, still the Godhead's face entrances me,Yielding transcendency of all that can be spent.—From the Persian.

Where'er I look one Face alone I see,With every attribute of beauty in it blent;Still, still the Godhead's face entrances me,Yielding transcendency of all that can be spent.

Where'er I look one Face alone I see,

With every attribute of beauty in it blent;

Still, still the Godhead's face entrances me,

Yielding transcendency of all that can be spent.

—From the Persian.

———

Not only in the cataract and the thunderOr in the deeps of man's uncharted soul,But in the dew-star dwells alike the wonderAnd in the whirling dust-mite the control.—Charles G. D. Roberts.

Not only in the cataract and the thunderOr in the deeps of man's uncharted soul,But in the dew-star dwells alike the wonderAnd in the whirling dust-mite the control.

Not only in the cataract and the thunder

Or in the deeps of man's uncharted soul,

But in the dew-star dwells alike the wonder

And in the whirling dust-mite the control.

—Charles G. D. Roberts.

———

'Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hoursAnd ask them what report they bore to heaven.—Edward Young.

'Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hoursAnd ask them what report they bore to heaven.

'Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hours

And ask them what report they bore to heaven.

—Edward Young.

———

A governed heart, thinking no thought but good,Makes crowded houses holy solitude.—Edwin Arnold.

A governed heart, thinking no thought but good,Makes crowded houses holy solitude.

A governed heart, thinking no thought but good,

Makes crowded houses holy solitude.

—Edwin Arnold.

———

But where will God be absent; in his faceIs light, and in his shadow healing, too.—Robert Browning.

But where will God be absent; in his faceIs light, and in his shadow healing, too.

But where will God be absent; in his face

Is light, and in his shadow healing, too.

—Robert Browning.

———

And good may ever conquer ill,Health walk where pain has trod;"As a man thinketh, so is he";Rise, then, and think with God.

And good may ever conquer ill,

Health walk where pain has trod;

"As a man thinketh, so is he";

Rise, then, and think with God.

———

God is law, say the wise; O Soul, and let us rejoice,For, if He thunder by law, the thunder is yet his voice.—Alfred Tennyson.

God is law, say the wise; O Soul, and let us rejoice,For, if He thunder by law, the thunder is yet his voice.

God is law, say the wise; O Soul, and let us rejoice,

For, if He thunder by law, the thunder is yet his voice.

—Alfred Tennyson.

———

Whatever road I take, it joins the streetWhich leadeth all who walk it thee to meet.

Whatever road I take, it joins the street

Which leadeth all who walk it thee to meet.

———

O work thy works in God.He can rejoice in naughtSave only in himselfAnd what himself hath wrought.

O work thy works in God.

He can rejoice in naught

Save only in himself

And what himself hath wrought.

———

To live, to live, is life's great joy; to feelThe living God within—to look abroad,And, in the beauty that all things reveal,Still meet the living God.—Robert Leighton.

To live, to live, is life's great joy; to feelThe living God within—to look abroad,And, in the beauty that all things reveal,Still meet the living God.

To live, to live, is life's great joy; to feel

The living God within—to look abroad,

And, in the beauty that all things reveal,

Still meet the living God.

—Robert Leighton.

Immortal Love, forever full,Forever flowing free,Forever shared, forever whole,A never-ebbing sea!No fable old, nor mythic lore,Nor dream of bards and seers,No dead fact stranded on the shoreOf the oblivious years;—But warm, sweet, tender, even yetA present help is he;And faith has still its Olivet,And love its Galilee.The healing of his seamless dressIs by our beds of pain;We touch him in life's throng and press,And we are whole again.Through him the first fond prayers are saidOur lips of childhood frame,The last low whispers of our deadAre burdened with his name.O Lord and Master of us all!Whate'er our name or sign,We own thy sway, we hear thy call,We test our lives by thine.We faintly hear, we dimly see,In differing phrase we pray;But, dim or clear, we own in theeThe Light, the Truth, the Way!To do thy will is more than praise,As words are less than deeds,And simple trust can find thy waysWe miss with chart of creeds.No pride of self thy service hath,No place for me and mine;Our human strength is weakness, death,Our life, apart from thine.Apart from thee all gain is loss,All labor vainly done;The solemn shadow of thy crossIs better than the sun.Alone, O Love, ineffable!Thy saving name is given:To turn aside from thee is hell,To walk with thee is heaven.—John Greenleaf Whittier.

Immortal Love, forever full,Forever flowing free,Forever shared, forever whole,A never-ebbing sea!

Immortal Love, forever full,

Forever flowing free,

Forever shared, forever whole,

A never-ebbing sea!

No fable old, nor mythic lore,Nor dream of bards and seers,No dead fact stranded on the shoreOf the oblivious years;—

No fable old, nor mythic lore,

Nor dream of bards and seers,

No dead fact stranded on the shore

Of the oblivious years;—

But warm, sweet, tender, even yetA present help is he;And faith has still its Olivet,And love its Galilee.

But warm, sweet, tender, even yet

A present help is he;

And faith has still its Olivet,

And love its Galilee.

The healing of his seamless dressIs by our beds of pain;We touch him in life's throng and press,And we are whole again.

The healing of his seamless dress

Is by our beds of pain;

We touch him in life's throng and press,

And we are whole again.

Through him the first fond prayers are saidOur lips of childhood frame,The last low whispers of our deadAre burdened with his name.

Through him the first fond prayers are said

Our lips of childhood frame,

The last low whispers of our dead

Are burdened with his name.

O Lord and Master of us all!Whate'er our name or sign,We own thy sway, we hear thy call,We test our lives by thine.

O Lord and Master of us all!

Whate'er our name or sign,

We own thy sway, we hear thy call,

We test our lives by thine.

We faintly hear, we dimly see,In differing phrase we pray;But, dim or clear, we own in theeThe Light, the Truth, the Way!

We faintly hear, we dimly see,

In differing phrase we pray;

But, dim or clear, we own in thee

The Light, the Truth, the Way!

To do thy will is more than praise,As words are less than deeds,And simple trust can find thy waysWe miss with chart of creeds.

To do thy will is more than praise,

As words are less than deeds,

And simple trust can find thy ways

We miss with chart of creeds.

No pride of self thy service hath,No place for me and mine;Our human strength is weakness, death,Our life, apart from thine.

No pride of self thy service hath,

No place for me and mine;

Our human strength is weakness, death,

Our life, apart from thine.

Apart from thee all gain is loss,All labor vainly done;The solemn shadow of thy crossIs better than the sun.

Apart from thee all gain is loss,

All labor vainly done;

The solemn shadow of thy cross

Is better than the sun.

Alone, O Love, ineffable!Thy saving name is given:To turn aside from thee is hell,To walk with thee is heaven.

Alone, O Love, ineffable!

Thy saving name is given:

To turn aside from thee is hell,

To walk with thee is heaven.

—John Greenleaf Whittier.

———

I'll not leave Jesus,—never, never!Ah, what can more precious be?Rest and joy and light are everIn his hand to give to me.All things that can satisfy,Having Jesus, those have I.Love has bound me fast unto him,I am his and he is mine;Daily I for pardon sue him,Answers he with peace divine.On that Rock my trust is laid,And I rest beneath its shade.Without Jesus earth would weary,Seem almost like hell to be;But if Jesus I see near meEarth is almost heaven to me.Am I hungry, he doth giveBread on which my soul can live.Spent with him, one little hourGiveth a year's worth of gain;Grace and peace put forth their powerJoy doth wholly banish pain;One faith-glance that findeth himMaketh earthly crowns look dim.O how light upon my shoulderLies my cross, now grown so small!For the Lord is my upholder,Fits it to me, softens all;Neither shall it always stay,Patience, it will pass away.Those who faithfully go forwardIn his changeless care shall go,Nothing's doubtful or untoward,To the flock who Jesus know.Jesus always is the same;True and faithful is his name.

I'll not leave Jesus,—never, never!Ah, what can more precious be?Rest and joy and light are everIn his hand to give to me.All things that can satisfy,Having Jesus, those have I.

I'll not leave Jesus,—never, never!

Ah, what can more precious be?

Rest and joy and light are ever

In his hand to give to me.

All things that can satisfy,

Having Jesus, those have I.

Love has bound me fast unto him,I am his and he is mine;Daily I for pardon sue him,Answers he with peace divine.On that Rock my trust is laid,And I rest beneath its shade.

Love has bound me fast unto him,

I am his and he is mine;

Daily I for pardon sue him,

Answers he with peace divine.

On that Rock my trust is laid,

And I rest beneath its shade.

Without Jesus earth would weary,Seem almost like hell to be;But if Jesus I see near meEarth is almost heaven to me.Am I hungry, he doth giveBread on which my soul can live.

Without Jesus earth would weary,

Seem almost like hell to be;

But if Jesus I see near me

Earth is almost heaven to me.

Am I hungry, he doth give

Bread on which my soul can live.

Spent with him, one little hourGiveth a year's worth of gain;Grace and peace put forth their powerJoy doth wholly banish pain;One faith-glance that findeth himMaketh earthly crowns look dim.

Spent with him, one little hour

Giveth a year's worth of gain;

Grace and peace put forth their power

Joy doth wholly banish pain;

One faith-glance that findeth him

Maketh earthly crowns look dim.

O how light upon my shoulderLies my cross, now grown so small!For the Lord is my upholder,Fits it to me, softens all;Neither shall it always stay,Patience, it will pass away.

O how light upon my shoulder

Lies my cross, now grown so small!

For the Lord is my upholder,

Fits it to me, softens all;

Neither shall it always stay,

Patience, it will pass away.

Those who faithfully go forwardIn his changeless care shall go,Nothing's doubtful or untoward,To the flock who Jesus know.Jesus always is the same;True and faithful is his name.

Those who faithfully go forward

In his changeless care shall go,

Nothing's doubtful or untoward,

To the flock who Jesus know.

Jesus always is the same;

True and faithful is his name.

———

If Jesus came to earth again,And walked and talked in field and street,Who would not lay his human painLow at those heavenly feet?And leave the loom, and leave the lute,And leave the volume on the shelf,To follow him, unquestioning, mute,If 'twere the Lord himself?How many a brow with care o'erworn,How many a heart with grief o'er-laden,How many a man with woe forlorn,How many a mourning maiden,Would leave the baffling earthly prize,Which fails the earthly weak endeavor,To gaze into those holy eyesAnd drink content forever!His sheep along the cool, the shade,By the still watercourse he leads;His lambs upon his breast are laid;His hungry ones he feeds.And I where'er he went would go,Nor question where the paths might lead;Enough to know that here belowI walked with God indeed!If it be thus, O Lord of mine,In absence is thy love forgot?And must I, when I walk, repineBecause I see thee not?If this be thus, if this be thus,Since our poor prayers yet reach thee, Lord,Since we are weak, once more to usReveal the living Word!O nearer to me, in the dark,Of life's low house, one moment stand;And give me keener eyes to markThe moving of thy hand.—Edward Bulwer Lytton.

If Jesus came to earth again,And walked and talked in field and street,Who would not lay his human painLow at those heavenly feet?

If Jesus came to earth again,

And walked and talked in field and street,

Who would not lay his human pain

Low at those heavenly feet?

And leave the loom, and leave the lute,And leave the volume on the shelf,To follow him, unquestioning, mute,If 'twere the Lord himself?

And leave the loom, and leave the lute,

And leave the volume on the shelf,

To follow him, unquestioning, mute,

If 'twere the Lord himself?

How many a brow with care o'erworn,How many a heart with grief o'er-laden,How many a man with woe forlorn,How many a mourning maiden,

How many a brow with care o'erworn,

How many a heart with grief o'er-laden,

How many a man with woe forlorn,

How many a mourning maiden,

Would leave the baffling earthly prize,Which fails the earthly weak endeavor,To gaze into those holy eyesAnd drink content forever!

Would leave the baffling earthly prize,

Which fails the earthly weak endeavor,

To gaze into those holy eyes

And drink content forever!

His sheep along the cool, the shade,By the still watercourse he leads;His lambs upon his breast are laid;His hungry ones he feeds.

His sheep along the cool, the shade,

By the still watercourse he leads;

His lambs upon his breast are laid;

His hungry ones he feeds.

And I where'er he went would go,Nor question where the paths might lead;Enough to know that here belowI walked with God indeed!

And I where'er he went would go,

Nor question where the paths might lead;

Enough to know that here below

I walked with God indeed!

If it be thus, O Lord of mine,In absence is thy love forgot?And must I, when I walk, repineBecause I see thee not?

If it be thus, O Lord of mine,

In absence is thy love forgot?

And must I, when I walk, repine

Because I see thee not?

If this be thus, if this be thus,Since our poor prayers yet reach thee, Lord,Since we are weak, once more to usReveal the living Word!

If this be thus, if this be thus,

Since our poor prayers yet reach thee, Lord,

Since we are weak, once more to us

Reveal the living Word!

O nearer to me, in the dark,Of life's low house, one moment stand;And give me keener eyes to markThe moving of thy hand.

O nearer to me, in the dark,

Of life's low house, one moment stand;

And give me keener eyes to mark

The moving of thy hand.

—Edward Bulwer Lytton.

———

There's not a craving in the mindThou dost not meet and still;There's not a wish the heart can haveWhich thou dost not fulfill.—Frederick William Faber.

There's not a craving in the mindThou dost not meet and still;There's not a wish the heart can haveWhich thou dost not fulfill.

There's not a craving in the mind

Thou dost not meet and still;

There's not a wish the heart can have

Which thou dost not fulfill.

—Frederick William Faber.

———

O Love that wilt not let me go,I rest my weary soul on thee;I give thee back the life I owe,That in thine ocean depth its flowMay richer, fuller be.O Light that followest all my way,I yield my flickering torch to thee;My heart restores its borrowed ray,That in thy sunshine's blaze its dayMay brighter, fairer be.O Joy that seekest me through pain,I cannot close my heart to thee;I trace the rainbow through the rain,And feel the promise is not vain,That morn shall tearless be.O Cross that liftest up my head,I dare not ask to fly from thee;I lay in dust life's glory dead,And from the ground there blossoms redLife that shall endless be.—George Matheson.

O Love that wilt not let me go,I rest my weary soul on thee;I give thee back the life I owe,That in thine ocean depth its flowMay richer, fuller be.

O Love that wilt not let me go,

I rest my weary soul on thee;

I give thee back the life I owe,

That in thine ocean depth its flow

May richer, fuller be.

O Light that followest all my way,I yield my flickering torch to thee;My heart restores its borrowed ray,That in thy sunshine's blaze its dayMay brighter, fairer be.

O Light that followest all my way,

I yield my flickering torch to thee;

My heart restores its borrowed ray,

That in thy sunshine's blaze its day

May brighter, fairer be.

O Joy that seekest me through pain,I cannot close my heart to thee;I trace the rainbow through the rain,And feel the promise is not vain,That morn shall tearless be.

O Joy that seekest me through pain,

I cannot close my heart to thee;

I trace the rainbow through the rain,

And feel the promise is not vain,

That morn shall tearless be.

O Cross that liftest up my head,I dare not ask to fly from thee;I lay in dust life's glory dead,And from the ground there blossoms redLife that shall endless be.

O Cross that liftest up my head,

I dare not ask to fly from thee;

I lay in dust life's glory dead,

And from the ground there blossoms red

Life that shall endless be.

—George Matheson.

———

'Twas August, and the fierce sun overheadSmote on the squalid streets of Bethnal Green,And the pale weaver, through his windows seenIn Spitalfields, look'd thrice dispirited.I met a preacher there I knew, and said:"Ill and o'erworked, how fare you in this scene?""Bravely!" said he; "for I of late have beenMuch cheered with thoughts of Christ,the living bread."O human soul! as long as thou canst soSet up a mark of everlasting lightAbove the howling senses' ebb and flowTo cheer thee, and to right thee if thou roam—Not with lost toil thou laborest thro' the night!Thou mak'st the heaven thou hop'st indeed thy home.—Matthew Arnold.

'Twas August, and the fierce sun overheadSmote on the squalid streets of Bethnal Green,And the pale weaver, through his windows seenIn Spitalfields, look'd thrice dispirited.

'Twas August, and the fierce sun overhead

Smote on the squalid streets of Bethnal Green,

And the pale weaver, through his windows seen

In Spitalfields, look'd thrice dispirited.

I met a preacher there I knew, and said:"Ill and o'erworked, how fare you in this scene?""Bravely!" said he; "for I of late have beenMuch cheered with thoughts of Christ,the living bread."

I met a preacher there I knew, and said:

"Ill and o'erworked, how fare you in this scene?"

"Bravely!" said he; "for I of late have been

Much cheered with thoughts of Christ,the living bread."

O human soul! as long as thou canst soSet up a mark of everlasting lightAbove the howling senses' ebb and flowTo cheer thee, and to right thee if thou roam—Not with lost toil thou laborest thro' the night!Thou mak'st the heaven thou hop'st indeed thy home.

O human soul! as long as thou canst so

Set up a mark of everlasting light

Above the howling senses' ebb and flow

To cheer thee, and to right thee if thou roam—

Not with lost toil thou laborest thro' the night!

Thou mak'st the heaven thou hop'st indeed thy home.

—Matthew Arnold.

———

Jesus, the very thought of theeWith sweetness fills the breast;But sweeter far thy face to see,And in thy presence rest.No voice can sing, no heart can frame,Nor can the memory find,A sweeter sound than thy blest name,O Saviour of mankind!O hope of every contrite heart!O joy of all the meek!To those who ask how kind thou art,How good to those who seek!But what to those who find? Ah, thisNor tongue nor pen can show;The love of Jesus, what it is,None but his loved ones know.Jesus, our only joy be thou,As thou our prize wilt be;In thee be all our glory now,And through eternity.—Bernard of Clairvaux, tr. by Edward Caswall.

Jesus, the very thought of theeWith sweetness fills the breast;But sweeter far thy face to see,And in thy presence rest.

Jesus, the very thought of thee

With sweetness fills the breast;

But sweeter far thy face to see,

And in thy presence rest.

No voice can sing, no heart can frame,Nor can the memory find,A sweeter sound than thy blest name,O Saviour of mankind!

No voice can sing, no heart can frame,

Nor can the memory find,

A sweeter sound than thy blest name,

O Saviour of mankind!

O hope of every contrite heart!O joy of all the meek!To those who ask how kind thou art,How good to those who seek!

O hope of every contrite heart!

O joy of all the meek!

To those who ask how kind thou art,

How good to those who seek!

But what to those who find? Ah, thisNor tongue nor pen can show;The love of Jesus, what it is,None but his loved ones know.

But what to those who find? Ah, this

Nor tongue nor pen can show;

The love of Jesus, what it is,

None but his loved ones know.

Jesus, our only joy be thou,As thou our prize wilt be;In thee be all our glory now,And through eternity.

Jesus, our only joy be thou,

As thou our prize wilt be;

In thee be all our glory now,

And through eternity.

—Bernard of Clairvaux, tr. by Edward Caswall.

———

A little talk with Jesus,How it smooths the rugged road!How it seems to help me onward,When I faint beneath my load;When my heart is crushed with sorrow,And my eyes with tears are dim,There is naught can yield me comfortLike a little talk with him.Ah, this is what I'm wanting—His lovely face to see;And, I'm not afraid to say it,I know he's wanting me.He gave his life my ransom,To make me all his own,And he'll ne'er forget his promiseTo me his purchased one.I cannot live without him,Nor would I if I could;He is my daily portion,My medicine and food.He's altogether lovely,None can with him compare;Chiefest among ten thousand,And fairest of the fair.So I'll wait a little longer,Till his appointed time,And along the upward pathwayMy pilgrim feet shall climb.There in my Father's dwelling,Where many mansions be,I shall sweetly talk with Jesus,And he will talk with me.

A little talk with Jesus,

How it smooths the rugged road!

How it seems to help me onward,

When I faint beneath my load;

When my heart is crushed with sorrow,

And my eyes with tears are dim,

There is naught can yield me comfort

Like a little talk with him.

Ah, this is what I'm wanting—His lovely face to see;And, I'm not afraid to say it,I know he's wanting me.He gave his life my ransom,To make me all his own,And he'll ne'er forget his promiseTo me his purchased one.

Ah, this is what I'm wanting—

His lovely face to see;

And, I'm not afraid to say it,

I know he's wanting me.

He gave his life my ransom,

To make me all his own,

And he'll ne'er forget his promise

To me his purchased one.

I cannot live without him,Nor would I if I could;He is my daily portion,My medicine and food.He's altogether lovely,None can with him compare;Chiefest among ten thousand,And fairest of the fair.

I cannot live without him,

Nor would I if I could;

He is my daily portion,

My medicine and food.

He's altogether lovely,

None can with him compare;

Chiefest among ten thousand,

And fairest of the fair.

So I'll wait a little longer,Till his appointed time,And along the upward pathwayMy pilgrim feet shall climb.There in my Father's dwelling,Where many mansions be,I shall sweetly talk with Jesus,And he will talk with me.

So I'll wait a little longer,

Till his appointed time,

And along the upward pathway

My pilgrim feet shall climb.

There in my Father's dwelling,

Where many mansions be,

I shall sweetly talk with Jesus,

And he will talk with me.

———

His name yields the richest perfume,And sweeter than music his voice;His presence disperses my gloom,And makes all within me rejoice;I should, were he always thus nigh,Have nothing to wish or to fear;No mortal so happy as I,My summer would last all the year.Content with beholding his face,My all to his pleasure resigned,No changes of season or placeWould make any change in my mind;While blest with a sense of his loveA palace a toy would appear;And prisons would palaces proveIf Jesus would dwell with me there.—John Newton.

His name yields the richest perfume,

And sweeter than music his voice;

His presence disperses my gloom,

And makes all within me rejoice;

I should, were he always thus nigh,

Have nothing to wish or to fear;

No mortal so happy as I,

My summer would last all the year.

Content with beholding his face,My all to his pleasure resigned,No changes of season or placeWould make any change in my mind;While blest with a sense of his loveA palace a toy would appear;And prisons would palaces proveIf Jesus would dwell with me there.

Content with beholding his face,

My all to his pleasure resigned,

No changes of season or place

Would make any change in my mind;

While blest with a sense of his love

A palace a toy would appear;

And prisons would palaces prove

If Jesus would dwell with me there.

—John Newton.

———

There is no love like the love of Jesus,Never to fade or fallTill into the fold of the peace of GodHe has gathered us all.There is no heart like the heart of Jesus,Filled with a tender lore;Not a throb or throe our hearts can knowBut he suffered before.There is no voice like the voice of Jesus;Ah! how sweet its chime,Like the musical ring of some rushing springIn the summer-time!O might we listen that voice of Jesus!O might we never roamTill our souls should rest, in peace, on his breast,In the heavenly home!—W. E. Littlewood.

There is no love like the love of Jesus,Never to fade or fallTill into the fold of the peace of GodHe has gathered us all.

There is no love like the love of Jesus,

Never to fade or fall

Till into the fold of the peace of God

He has gathered us all.

There is no heart like the heart of Jesus,Filled with a tender lore;Not a throb or throe our hearts can knowBut he suffered before.

There is no heart like the heart of Jesus,

Filled with a tender lore;

Not a throb or throe our hearts can know

But he suffered before.

There is no voice like the voice of Jesus;Ah! how sweet its chime,Like the musical ring of some rushing springIn the summer-time!

There is no voice like the voice of Jesus;

Ah! how sweet its chime,

Like the musical ring of some rushing spring

In the summer-time!

O might we listen that voice of Jesus!O might we never roamTill our souls should rest, in peace, on his breast,In the heavenly home!

O might we listen that voice of Jesus!

O might we never roam

Till our souls should rest, in peace, on his breast,

In the heavenly home!

—W. E. Littlewood.

———

"He touched her hand, and the fever left her."He touched her hand as he only can,With the wondrous skill of the Great Physician,With the tender touch of the Son of man,And the fever-pain in the throbbing templesDied out with the flush on brow and cheek,And the lips that had been so parched and burningTrembled with thanks that she could not speak,And the eyes where the fever light had fadedLooked up, by her grateful tears made dim,And she rose and ministered in her household;She rose and ministered unto him."He touched her hand, and the fever left her."O blessed touch of the Man divine!So beautiful to arise and serve himWhen the fever is gone from your life and mine.It may be the fever of restless servingWith heart all thirsty for love and praise,And eyes all aching and strained with yearningToward self-set goals in the future days.Or it may be fever of spirit anguish,Some tempest of sorrow that does not down,Till the cross at last is in meekness liftedAnd the head stoops low for the thorny crown.Or it may be a fever of pain and anger,When the wounded spirit is hard to bear,And only the Lord can draw forth the arrowsLeft carelessly, cruelly rankling there.Whatever the fever, his touch can heal it;Whatever the tempest, his voice can still.There is only a rest as we seek his pleasure,There is only a rest as we choose his will.And some day, after life's fitful fever,I think we shall say, in the home on high,"If the hands that he touched but did his bidding,How little it matters what else went by!"Ah, Lord, Thou knowest us altogether,Each heart's sore sickness, whatever it be;Touch thou our hands! Let the fever leave us,And so shall we minister unto thee!

"He touched her hand, and the fever left her."

He touched her hand as he only can,

With the wondrous skill of the Great Physician,

With the tender touch of the Son of man,

And the fever-pain in the throbbing temples

Died out with the flush on brow and cheek,

And the lips that had been so parched and burning

Trembled with thanks that she could not speak,

And the eyes where the fever light had faded

Looked up, by her grateful tears made dim,

And she rose and ministered in her household;

She rose and ministered unto him.

"He touched her hand, and the fever left her."O blessed touch of the Man divine!So beautiful to arise and serve himWhen the fever is gone from your life and mine.It may be the fever of restless servingWith heart all thirsty for love and praise,And eyes all aching and strained with yearningToward self-set goals in the future days.Or it may be fever of spirit anguish,Some tempest of sorrow that does not down,Till the cross at last is in meekness liftedAnd the head stoops low for the thorny crown.Or it may be a fever of pain and anger,When the wounded spirit is hard to bear,And only the Lord can draw forth the arrowsLeft carelessly, cruelly rankling there.

"He touched her hand, and the fever left her."

O blessed touch of the Man divine!

So beautiful to arise and serve him

When the fever is gone from your life and mine.

It may be the fever of restless serving

With heart all thirsty for love and praise,

And eyes all aching and strained with yearning

Toward self-set goals in the future days.

Or it may be fever of spirit anguish,

Some tempest of sorrow that does not down,

Till the cross at last is in meekness lifted

And the head stoops low for the thorny crown.

Or it may be a fever of pain and anger,

When the wounded spirit is hard to bear,

And only the Lord can draw forth the arrows

Left carelessly, cruelly rankling there.

Whatever the fever, his touch can heal it;Whatever the tempest, his voice can still.There is only a rest as we seek his pleasure,There is only a rest as we choose his will.And some day, after life's fitful fever,I think we shall say, in the home on high,"If the hands that he touched but did his bidding,How little it matters what else went by!"Ah, Lord, Thou knowest us altogether,Each heart's sore sickness, whatever it be;Touch thou our hands! Let the fever leave us,And so shall we minister unto thee!

Whatever the fever, his touch can heal it;

Whatever the tempest, his voice can still.

There is only a rest as we seek his pleasure,

There is only a rest as we choose his will.

And some day, after life's fitful fever,

I think we shall say, in the home on high,

"If the hands that he touched but did his bidding,

How little it matters what else went by!"

Ah, Lord, Thou knowest us altogether,

Each heart's sore sickness, whatever it be;

Touch thou our hands! Let the fever leave us,

And so shall we minister unto thee!

———

Jesus, thou Joy of loving hearts!Thou Fount of life! thou Light of men!From the best bliss that earth impartsWe turn, unfilled, to thee again.Thy truth unchanged hath ever stood;Thou savest those that on thee call;To them that seek thee thou art good,To them that find thee, all in all.We taste thee, O thou Living Bread,And long to feast upon thee still;We drink of thee, the Fountain Head,And thirst our souls from thee to fill!Our restless spirits yearn for theeWhere'er our changeful lot is cast;Glad, when thy gracious smile we see,Blest, when our faith can hold thee fast.O Jesus, ever with us stay;Make all our moments calm and bright;Chase the dark night of sin away;Shed o'er the world thy holy light.—Bernard of Clairvaux, tr. by Ray Palmer.

Jesus, thou Joy of loving hearts!Thou Fount of life! thou Light of men!From the best bliss that earth impartsWe turn, unfilled, to thee again.

Jesus, thou Joy of loving hearts!

Thou Fount of life! thou Light of men!

From the best bliss that earth imparts

We turn, unfilled, to thee again.

Thy truth unchanged hath ever stood;Thou savest those that on thee call;To them that seek thee thou art good,To them that find thee, all in all.

Thy truth unchanged hath ever stood;

Thou savest those that on thee call;

To them that seek thee thou art good,

To them that find thee, all in all.

We taste thee, O thou Living Bread,And long to feast upon thee still;We drink of thee, the Fountain Head,And thirst our souls from thee to fill!

We taste thee, O thou Living Bread,

And long to feast upon thee still;

We drink of thee, the Fountain Head,

And thirst our souls from thee to fill!

Our restless spirits yearn for theeWhere'er our changeful lot is cast;Glad, when thy gracious smile we see,Blest, when our faith can hold thee fast.

Our restless spirits yearn for thee

Where'er our changeful lot is cast;

Glad, when thy gracious smile we see,

Blest, when our faith can hold thee fast.

O Jesus, ever with us stay;Make all our moments calm and bright;Chase the dark night of sin away;Shed o'er the world thy holy light.

O Jesus, ever with us stay;

Make all our moments calm and bright;

Chase the dark night of sin away;

Shed o'er the world thy holy light.

—Bernard of Clairvaux, tr. by Ray Palmer.

———

O Friend of souls! how blest the timeWhen in thy love I rest!When from my weariness I climbE'en to thy tender breast!The night of sorrow endeth there,Thy rays outshine the sun;And in thy pardon and thy careThe heaven of heavens is won.The world may call itself my foe,Or flatter and allure,I care not for the world—I goTo this tried friend and sure.And when life's fiercest storms are sentUpon life's wildest sea,My little bark is confidentBecause it holdeth thee.When the law threatens endless deathUpon the awful hill,Straightway from her consuming breathMy soul goes higher still—Goeth to Jesus, wounded, slain,And maketh him her home,Whence she will not go out again,And where death cannnot come.I do not fear the wilderness—Where thou hast been before;Nay, rather will I daily pressAfter thee, near thee, more.Thou art my food, on thee I lean;Thou makest my heart sing;And to thy heavenly pastures greenAll thy dear flock dost bring.And if the gate that opens thereBe dark to other men,It is not dark to those who shareThe heart of Jesus then.That is not losing much of lifeWhich is not losing thee,Who art as present in the strifeAs in the victory.To others death seems dark and grim,But not, O Lord, to me;I know thou ne'er forsakest himWho puts his trust in thee.Nay, rather with a joyful heartI welcome the releaseFrom this dark desert, and departTo thy eternal peace.—Wolfgang C. Dessler.

O Friend of souls! how blest the time

When in thy love I rest!

When from my weariness I climb

E'en to thy tender breast!

The night of sorrow endeth there,

Thy rays outshine the sun;

And in thy pardon and thy care

The heaven of heavens is won.

The world may call itself my foe,Or flatter and allure,I care not for the world—I goTo this tried friend and sure.And when life's fiercest storms are sentUpon life's wildest sea,My little bark is confidentBecause it holdeth thee.

The world may call itself my foe,

Or flatter and allure,

I care not for the world—I go

To this tried friend and sure.

And when life's fiercest storms are sent

Upon life's wildest sea,

My little bark is confident

Because it holdeth thee.

When the law threatens endless deathUpon the awful hill,Straightway from her consuming breathMy soul goes higher still—Goeth to Jesus, wounded, slain,And maketh him her home,Whence she will not go out again,And where death cannnot come.

When the law threatens endless death

Upon the awful hill,

Straightway from her consuming breath

My soul goes higher still—

Goeth to Jesus, wounded, slain,

And maketh him her home,

Whence she will not go out again,

And where death cannnot come.

I do not fear the wilderness—Where thou hast been before;Nay, rather will I daily pressAfter thee, near thee, more.Thou art my food, on thee I lean;Thou makest my heart sing;And to thy heavenly pastures greenAll thy dear flock dost bring.

I do not fear the wilderness—

Where thou hast been before;

Nay, rather will I daily press

After thee, near thee, more.

Thou art my food, on thee I lean;

Thou makest my heart sing;

And to thy heavenly pastures green

All thy dear flock dost bring.

And if the gate that opens thereBe dark to other men,It is not dark to those who shareThe heart of Jesus then.That is not losing much of lifeWhich is not losing thee,Who art as present in the strifeAs in the victory.

And if the gate that opens there

Be dark to other men,

It is not dark to those who share

The heart of Jesus then.

That is not losing much of life

Which is not losing thee,

Who art as present in the strife

As in the victory.

To others death seems dark and grim,But not, O Lord, to me;I know thou ne'er forsakest himWho puts his trust in thee.Nay, rather with a joyful heartI welcome the releaseFrom this dark desert, and departTo thy eternal peace.

To others death seems dark and grim,

But not, O Lord, to me;

I know thou ne'er forsakest him

Who puts his trust in thee.

Nay, rather with a joyful heart

I welcome the release

From this dark desert, and depart

To thy eternal peace.

—Wolfgang C. Dessler.

———

I have a Friend so precious,So very dear to me,He loves me with such tender love,He loves so faithfully,I could not live apart from him,I love to feel him nigh;And so we dwell together,My Lord and I.Sometimes I'm faint and weary;He knows that I am weak,And as he bids me lean on himHis help I gladly seek;He leads me in the paths of lightBeneath a sunny sky,And so we walk together,My Lord and I.He knows how much I love him,He knows I love him well,But with what love he loveth meMy tongue can never tell.It is an everlasting loveIn ever rich supply,And so we love each other,My Lord and I.I tell him all my sorrows,I tell him all my joys,I tell him all that pleases me,I tell him what annoys.He tells me what I ought to do,He tells me how to try,And so we talk together,My Lord and I.He knows how I am longingSome weary soul to win,And so he bids me go and speakThe loving word for him.He bids me tell his wondrous love,And why he came to die,And so we work together,My Lord and I.I have his yoke upon me,And easy 'tis to bear;In the burden which he carriesI gladly take a share;For then it is my happinessTo have him always nigh;We bear the yoke together,My Lord and I.—L. Shorey.

I have a Friend so precious,So very dear to me,He loves me with such tender love,He loves so faithfully,I could not live apart from him,I love to feel him nigh;And so we dwell together,My Lord and I.

I have a Friend so precious,

So very dear to me,

He loves me with such tender love,

He loves so faithfully,

I could not live apart from him,

I love to feel him nigh;

And so we dwell together,

My Lord and I.

Sometimes I'm faint and weary;He knows that I am weak,And as he bids me lean on himHis help I gladly seek;He leads me in the paths of lightBeneath a sunny sky,And so we walk together,My Lord and I.

Sometimes I'm faint and weary;

He knows that I am weak,

And as he bids me lean on him

His help I gladly seek;

He leads me in the paths of light

Beneath a sunny sky,

And so we walk together,

My Lord and I.

He knows how much I love him,He knows I love him well,But with what love he loveth meMy tongue can never tell.It is an everlasting loveIn ever rich supply,And so we love each other,My Lord and I.

He knows how much I love him,

He knows I love him well,

But with what love he loveth me

My tongue can never tell.

It is an everlasting love

In ever rich supply,

And so we love each other,

My Lord and I.

I tell him all my sorrows,I tell him all my joys,I tell him all that pleases me,I tell him what annoys.He tells me what I ought to do,He tells me how to try,And so we talk together,My Lord and I.

I tell him all my sorrows,

I tell him all my joys,

I tell him all that pleases me,

I tell him what annoys.

He tells me what I ought to do,

He tells me how to try,

And so we talk together,

My Lord and I.

He knows how I am longingSome weary soul to win,And so he bids me go and speakThe loving word for him.He bids me tell his wondrous love,And why he came to die,And so we work together,My Lord and I.

He knows how I am longing

Some weary soul to win,

And so he bids me go and speak

The loving word for him.

He bids me tell his wondrous love,

And why he came to die,

And so we work together,

My Lord and I.

I have his yoke upon me,And easy 'tis to bear;In the burden which he carriesI gladly take a share;For then it is my happinessTo have him always nigh;We bear the yoke together,My Lord and I.

I have his yoke upon me,

And easy 'tis to bear;

In the burden which he carries

I gladly take a share;

For then it is my happiness

To have him always nigh;

We bear the yoke together,

My Lord and I.

—L. Shorey.

———

Ever, when tempted, make me see,Beneath the olive's moon-pierced shade,My God alone, outstretched and bruised,And bleeding on the earth he made;And make me feel it was my sin,As though no other sin there were,That was to him who bears the worldA load that he could scarcely bear.—Frederick William Faber.

Ever, when tempted, make me see,

Beneath the olive's moon-pierced shade,

My God alone, outstretched and bruised,

And bleeding on the earth he made;

And make me feel it was my sin,

As though no other sin there were,

That was to him who bears the world

A load that he could scarcely bear.

—Frederick William Faber.

———

If only he is mine—If but this poor heartNever more, in grief or joy,May from him depart,Then farewell to sadness;All I feel is love, and hope, and gladness.If only he is mine,Then from all below,Leaning on my pilgrim staff,Gladly forth I goFrom the crowd who follow,In the broad, bright road, their pleasures false and hollow.If only he is mine,Then all else is given;Every blessing lifts my eyesAnd my heart to heaven.Filled with heavenly love,Earthly hopes and fears no longer tempt to move.There, when he is mine,Is my Fatherland,And my heritage of blissCometh from his hand.Now I find again,In his people, love long lost, and mourned in vain.—Novalis.

If only he is mine—If but this poor heartNever more, in grief or joy,May from him depart,Then farewell to sadness;All I feel is love, and hope, and gladness.

If only he is mine—

If but this poor heart

Never more, in grief or joy,

May from him depart,

Then farewell to sadness;

All I feel is love, and hope, and gladness.

If only he is mine,Then from all below,Leaning on my pilgrim staff,Gladly forth I goFrom the crowd who follow,In the broad, bright road, their pleasures false and hollow.

If only he is mine,

Then from all below,

Leaning on my pilgrim staff,

Gladly forth I go

From the crowd who follow,

In the broad, bright road, their pleasures false and hollow.

If only he is mine,Then all else is given;Every blessing lifts my eyesAnd my heart to heaven.Filled with heavenly love,Earthly hopes and fears no longer tempt to move.

If only he is mine,

Then all else is given;

Every blessing lifts my eyes

And my heart to heaven.

Filled with heavenly love,

Earthly hopes and fears no longer tempt to move.

There, when he is mine,Is my Fatherland,And my heritage of blissCometh from his hand.Now I find again,In his people, love long lost, and mourned in vain.

There, when he is mine,

Is my Fatherland,

And my heritage of bliss

Cometh from his hand.

Now I find again,

In his people, love long lost, and mourned in vain.

—Novalis.

———

Be thou supreme, Lord Jesus Christ,Live o'er again in me,That, filled with love, I may becomeA Christ in my degree.Be thou supreme, Lord Jesus Christ,My inmost being fill;So shall I think as thou dost think,And will as thou dost will.Be thou supreme, Lord Jesus Christ,Thy life transfigure mine;And through this veil of mortal fleshHere may thy glory shine.Be thou supreme, Lord Jesus Christ,Thy love's constraint I feel,Thy cross I see, and mind and heartObey its mute appeal.Be thou supreme, Lord Jesus Christ,And when this life is o'erMay I be with thee where thou art,Like thee, forever more.

Be thou supreme, Lord Jesus Christ,Live o'er again in me,That, filled with love, I may becomeA Christ in my degree.