ABIDE IN HIM.

Whathast Thou done for me, O mighty Friend,Who lovest to the end!Reveal Thyself, that I may now beholdThy love unknown, untold,Bearing the curse, and made a curse for me,That blessed and made a blessing I might be.Oh, Thou wast crowned with thorns, that I might wearA crown of glory fair;"Exceeding sorrowful," that I might beExceeding glad in Thee;"Rejected and despised," that I might standAccepted and complete on Thy right hand.Wounded for my transgressions, stricken sore,That I might "sin no more:"Weak, that I might be always strong in Thee;Bound, that I might be free;Acquaint with grief, that I might only knowFulness of joy in everlasting flow.Thine was the chastisement, with no release,That mine might be the peace;The bruising and the cruel stripes were thine,That healing might be mine;Thine was the sentence and the condemnation,Mine the acquittal and the full salvation.For Thee revilings, and a mocking throng,For me the angel-song;For Thee the frown, the hiding of God's face,For me His smile of grace;Sorrows of hell and bitterest death for Thee,And heaven and everlasting life for me.Thy cross and passion, and Thy precious death,While I have mortal breath,Shall be my spring of love and work and praise,The life of all my days;Till all this mystery of love supremeBe solved in glory—glory's endless theme!—Frances Ridley Havergal.

Whathast Thou done for me, O mighty Friend,

Who lovest to the end!

Reveal Thyself, that I may now behold

Thy love unknown, untold,

Bearing the curse, and made a curse for me,

That blessed and made a blessing I might be.

Oh, Thou wast crowned with thorns, that I might wearA crown of glory fair;"Exceeding sorrowful," that I might beExceeding glad in Thee;"Rejected and despised," that I might standAccepted and complete on Thy right hand.

Oh, Thou wast crowned with thorns, that I might wear

A crown of glory fair;

"Exceeding sorrowful," that I might be

Exceeding glad in Thee;

"Rejected and despised," that I might stand

Accepted and complete on Thy right hand.

Wounded for my transgressions, stricken sore,That I might "sin no more:"Weak, that I might be always strong in Thee;Bound, that I might be free;Acquaint with grief, that I might only knowFulness of joy in everlasting flow.

Wounded for my transgressions, stricken sore,

That I might "sin no more:"

Weak, that I might be always strong in Thee;

Bound, that I might be free;

Acquaint with grief, that I might only know

Fulness of joy in everlasting flow.

Thine was the chastisement, with no release,That mine might be the peace;The bruising and the cruel stripes were thine,That healing might be mine;Thine was the sentence and the condemnation,Mine the acquittal and the full salvation.

Thine was the chastisement, with no release,

That mine might be the peace;

The bruising and the cruel stripes were thine,

That healing might be mine;

Thine was the sentence and the condemnation,

Mine the acquittal and the full salvation.

For Thee revilings, and a mocking throng,For me the angel-song;For Thee the frown, the hiding of God's face,For me His smile of grace;Sorrows of hell and bitterest death for Thee,And heaven and everlasting life for me.

For Thee revilings, and a mocking throng,

For me the angel-song;

For Thee the frown, the hiding of God's face,

For me His smile of grace;

Sorrows of hell and bitterest death for Thee,

And heaven and everlasting life for me.

Thy cross and passion, and Thy precious death,While I have mortal breath,Shall be my spring of love and work and praise,The life of all my days;Till all this mystery of love supremeBe solved in glory—glory's endless theme!

Thy cross and passion, and Thy precious death,

While I have mortal breath,

Shall be my spring of love and work and praise,

The life of all my days;

Till all this mystery of love supreme

Be solved in glory—glory's endless theme!

—Frances Ridley Havergal.

"Tecum volo vulnerariTe libenter amplexariIn cruce desidero."Old Hymn.

"Tecum volo vulnerari

Te libenter amplexari

In cruce desidero."Old Hymn.

Clingto the Crucified!His death is life to thee,—Life for eternity.His pains thy pardon seal;His stripes thy bruises heal;His cross proclaims thy peace,Bids every sorrow cease.His blood is all to thee,It purges thee from sin;It sets thy spirit free,It keeps thy conscience clean.Cling to the Crucified!Cling to the Crucified!His is a heart of love,Full as the hearts above;Its depths of sympathyAre all awake for thee:His countenance is light,Even to the darkest night.That love shall never change—That light shall ne'er grow dim;Charge thou thy faithless heartTo find its all in him.Cling to the Crucified!—Horatius Bonar.

Clingto the Crucified!

His death is life to thee,—

Life for eternity.

His pains thy pardon seal;

His stripes thy bruises heal;

His cross proclaims thy peace,

Bids every sorrow cease.

His blood is all to thee,

It purges thee from sin;

It sets thy spirit free,

It keeps thy conscience clean.

Cling to the Crucified!

Cling to the Crucified!His is a heart of love,Full as the hearts above;Its depths of sympathyAre all awake for thee:His countenance is light,Even to the darkest night.That love shall never change—That light shall ne'er grow dim;Charge thou thy faithless heartTo find its all in him.Cling to the Crucified!

Cling to the Crucified!

His is a heart of love,

Full as the hearts above;

Its depths of sympathy

Are all awake for thee:

His countenance is light,

Even to the darkest night.

That love shall never change—

That light shall ne'er grow dim;

Charge thou thy faithless heart

To find its all in him.

Cling to the Crucified!

—Horatius Bonar.

183jpgReligious PoemsTHE MAGI ON THE WAY TO BETHLEHEM.

Religious PoemsTHE MAGI ON THE WAY TO BETHLEHEM.

Religious Poems

THE MAGI ON THE WAY TO BETHLEHEM.

Rejoice,all ye believers,And let your lights appear;The evening is advancing,And darker night is near;The Bridegroom is arising,And soon He draweth nigh:Up! pray, and watch, and wrestle!At midnight comes the cry.The watchers on the mountainProclaim the Bridegroom near;Go meet Him as He cometh,With hallelujahs clear:The marriage feast is waiting,The gates wide-open stand;Up, up, ye heirs of glory!The Bridegroom is at hand.Our hope and expectation,O Jesus, now appear;Arise, thou Sun so longed forO'er this benighted sphere!With heart and hands uplifted,We plead, O Lord, to seeThe day of earth's redemption,That brings us unto Thee.—Laurenti.

Rejoice,all ye believers,

And let your lights appear;

The evening is advancing,

And darker night is near;

The Bridegroom is arising,

And soon He draweth nigh:

Up! pray, and watch, and wrestle!

At midnight comes the cry.

The watchers on the mountainProclaim the Bridegroom near;Go meet Him as He cometh,With hallelujahs clear:The marriage feast is waiting,The gates wide-open stand;Up, up, ye heirs of glory!The Bridegroom is at hand.

The watchers on the mountain

Proclaim the Bridegroom near;

Go meet Him as He cometh,

With hallelujahs clear:

The marriage feast is waiting,

The gates wide-open stand;

Up, up, ye heirs of glory!

The Bridegroom is at hand.

Our hope and expectation,O Jesus, now appear;Arise, thou Sun so longed forO'er this benighted sphere!With heart and hands uplifted,We plead, O Lord, to seeThe day of earth's redemption,That brings us unto Thee.

Our hope and expectation,

O Jesus, now appear;

Arise, thou Sun so longed for

O'er this benighted sphere!

With heart and hands uplifted,

We plead, O Lord, to see

The day of earth's redemption,

That brings us unto Thee.

—Laurenti.

Joinedto Christ in mystic union,We Thy members, Thou our Head,Sealed by deep and true communion,Risen with Thee, who once were dead—Saviour, we would humbly claimAll the power of this Thy name.Instant sympathy to brightenAll their weakness and their woe,Guiding grace their way to lighten,Shall Thy loving members know;All their sorrows Thou dost bear,All Thy gladness they shall share.Make Thy members every hourFor Thy blessed service meet;Earnest tongues, and arms of power,Skilful hands, and hastening feet,Ever ready to fulfilAll Thy word and all Thy will.Everlasting life Thou givestEverlasting love to see;They shall live because Thou livest,And their life is hid with Thee.Safe Thy members shall be found,When their glorious Head is crowned!—Frances Ridley Havergal.

Joinedto Christ in mystic union,We Thy members, Thou our Head,Sealed by deep and true communion,Risen with Thee, who once were dead—Saviour, we would humbly claimAll the power of this Thy name.

Joinedto Christ in mystic union,

We Thy members, Thou our Head,

Sealed by deep and true communion,

Risen with Thee, who once were dead—

Saviour, we would humbly claim

All the power of this Thy name.

Instant sympathy to brightenAll their weakness and their woe,Guiding grace their way to lighten,Shall Thy loving members know;All their sorrows Thou dost bear,All Thy gladness they shall share.

Instant sympathy to brighten

All their weakness and their woe,

Guiding grace their way to lighten,

Shall Thy loving members know;

All their sorrows Thou dost bear,

All Thy gladness they shall share.

Make Thy members every hourFor Thy blessed service meet;Earnest tongues, and arms of power,Skilful hands, and hastening feet,Ever ready to fulfilAll Thy word and all Thy will.

Make Thy members every hour

For Thy blessed service meet;

Earnest tongues, and arms of power,

Skilful hands, and hastening feet,

Ever ready to fulfil

All Thy word and all Thy will.

Everlasting life Thou givestEverlasting love to see;They shall live because Thou livest,And their life is hid with Thee.Safe Thy members shall be found,When their glorious Head is crowned!

Everlasting life Thou givest

Everlasting love to see;

They shall live because Thou livest,

And their life is hid with Thee.

Safe Thy members shall be found,

When their glorious Head is crowned!

—Frances Ridley Havergal.

"TillHe come!"—Oh, let the wordsLinger on the trembling chords,Let the "little while" betweenIn their golden light be seen:Let us think how heaven and homeLie beyond that, "Till He come!"When the weary ones we loveEnter on that rest above,When their words of love and cheerFall no longer on our ear,Hush! be ev'ry murmur dumb,It is only "Till He come!"Clouds and darkness round us press;Would we have one sorrow less?All the sharpness of the cross,All that tells the world is loss,Death, and darkness, and the tomb,Pain us only "Till He come!"See, the feast of love is spread,Drink the wine and eat the bread;Sweet memorials, till the LordCall us round His heavenly board,Some from earth, from glory some,Severed only "Till He come!"—E. W. Bickersteth.

"TillHe come!"—Oh, let the wordsLinger on the trembling chords,Let the "little while" betweenIn their golden light be seen:Let us think how heaven and homeLie beyond that, "Till He come!"

"TillHe come!"—Oh, let the words

Linger on the trembling chords,

Let the "little while" between

In their golden light be seen:

Let us think how heaven and home

Lie beyond that, "Till He come!"

When the weary ones we loveEnter on that rest above,When their words of love and cheerFall no longer on our ear,Hush! be ev'ry murmur dumb,It is only "Till He come!"

When the weary ones we love

Enter on that rest above,

When their words of love and cheer

Fall no longer on our ear,

Hush! be ev'ry murmur dumb,

It is only "Till He come!"

Clouds and darkness round us press;Would we have one sorrow less?All the sharpness of the cross,All that tells the world is loss,Death, and darkness, and the tomb,Pain us only "Till He come!"

Clouds and darkness round us press;

Would we have one sorrow less?

All the sharpness of the cross,

All that tells the world is loss,

Death, and darkness, and the tomb,

Pain us only "Till He come!"

See, the feast of love is spread,Drink the wine and eat the bread;Sweet memorials, till the LordCall us round His heavenly board,Some from earth, from glory some,Severed only "Till He come!"

See, the feast of love is spread,

Drink the wine and eat the bread;

Sweet memorials, till the Lord

Call us round His heavenly board,

Some from earth, from glory some,

Severed only "Till He come!"

—E. W. Bickersteth.

"Foreverwith the Lord!"So, Jesus, let it be;Life from the dead is in that word;'Tis immortality.Here, in the body pent,Absent from thee I roam:Yet nightly pitch my moving tentA day's march nearer home.My father's house on high,Home of my soul! how near,At times, to faith's aspiring eye,Thy golden gates appear!"Forever with the Lord!"Father, if 'tis thy will,The promise of thy gracious wordEv'n here to me fulfill.—James Montgomery.

"Foreverwith the Lord!"So, Jesus, let it be;Life from the dead is in that word;'Tis immortality.

"Foreverwith the Lord!"

So, Jesus, let it be;

Life from the dead is in that word;

'Tis immortality.

Here, in the body pent,Absent from thee I roam:Yet nightly pitch my moving tentA day's march nearer home.

Here, in the body pent,

Absent from thee I roam:

Yet nightly pitch my moving tent

A day's march nearer home.

My father's house on high,Home of my soul! how near,At times, to faith's aspiring eye,Thy golden gates appear!

My father's house on high,

Home of my soul! how near,

At times, to faith's aspiring eye,

Thy golden gates appear!

"Forever with the Lord!"Father, if 'tis thy will,The promise of thy gracious wordEv'n here to me fulfill.

"Forever with the Lord!"

Father, if 'tis thy will,

The promise of thy gracious word

Ev'n here to me fulfill.

—James Montgomery.

Wherethe faded flower shall freshen,—Freshen never more to fade;Where the shaded sky shall brighten,—Brighten never more to shade:Where the sun-blaze never scorches;Where the star-beams cease to chill;Where no tempest stirs the echoesOf the wood, or wave, or hill:Where the morn shall wake in gladness,And the moon the joy prolong,Where the daylight dies in fragrance,'Mid the burst of holy song:Brother, we shall meet and rest'Mid the holy and the blest!Where no shadow shall bewilder,Where life's vain parade is o'er,Where the sleep of sin is brokenAnd the dreamer dreams no more:Where the bond is never severed;—Partings, claspings, sob and moan,Midnight waking, twilight weeping,Heavy noontide,—all are done:Where the child has found its mother,Where the mother finds the child,Where dear families are gathered,That were scattered on the wild;Brother, we shall meet and rest'Mid the holy and the blest!Where the hidden wound is healed,Where the blighted light re-blooms,Where the smitten heart the freshnessOf its buoyant youth resumes:Where the love that here we lavishOn the withering leaves of time,Shall have fadeless flowers to fix onIn an ever spring-bright clime:Where we find the joy of loving,As we never loved before,—Loving on, unchilled, unhindered,Loving once and evermore:Brother, we shall meet and rest,'Mid the holy and the blest!Where a blasted world shall brightenUnderneath a bluer sphere,And a softer, gentler sunshineSheds its healing splendor here:Where earth's barren vales shall blossom,Putting on their robe of green,And a purer, fairer EdenBe where only wastes have been:Where a King in kingly glory,Such as earth has never known,Shall assume the righteous sceptre,Claim and wear the holy crown:Brother, we shall meet and rest,'Mid the holy and the blest.—Horatius Bonar.

Wherethe faded flower shall freshen,—

Freshen never more to fade;

Where the shaded sky shall brighten,—

Brighten never more to shade:

Where the sun-blaze never scorches;

Where the star-beams cease to chill;

Where no tempest stirs the echoes

Of the wood, or wave, or hill:

Where the morn shall wake in gladness,

And the moon the joy prolong,

Where the daylight dies in fragrance,

'Mid the burst of holy song:

Brother, we shall meet and rest

'Mid the holy and the blest!

Where no shadow shall bewilder,Where life's vain parade is o'er,Where the sleep of sin is brokenAnd the dreamer dreams no more:Where the bond is never severed;—Partings, claspings, sob and moan,Midnight waking, twilight weeping,Heavy noontide,—all are done:Where the child has found its mother,Where the mother finds the child,Where dear families are gathered,That were scattered on the wild;Brother, we shall meet and rest'Mid the holy and the blest!

Where no shadow shall bewilder,

Where life's vain parade is o'er,

Where the sleep of sin is broken

And the dreamer dreams no more:

Where the bond is never severed;—

Partings, claspings, sob and moan,

Midnight waking, twilight weeping,

Heavy noontide,—all are done:

Where the child has found its mother,

Where the mother finds the child,

Where dear families are gathered,

That were scattered on the wild;

Brother, we shall meet and rest

'Mid the holy and the blest!

Where the hidden wound is healed,Where the blighted light re-blooms,Where the smitten heart the freshnessOf its buoyant youth resumes:Where the love that here we lavishOn the withering leaves of time,Shall have fadeless flowers to fix onIn an ever spring-bright clime:Where we find the joy of loving,As we never loved before,—Loving on, unchilled, unhindered,Loving once and evermore:Brother, we shall meet and rest,'Mid the holy and the blest!

Where the hidden wound is healed,

Where the blighted light re-blooms,

Where the smitten heart the freshness

Of its buoyant youth resumes:

Where the love that here we lavish

On the withering leaves of time,

Shall have fadeless flowers to fix on

In an ever spring-bright clime:

Where we find the joy of loving,

As we never loved before,—

Loving on, unchilled, unhindered,

Loving once and evermore:

Brother, we shall meet and rest,

'Mid the holy and the blest!

Where a blasted world shall brightenUnderneath a bluer sphere,And a softer, gentler sunshineSheds its healing splendor here:Where earth's barren vales shall blossom,Putting on their robe of green,And a purer, fairer EdenBe where only wastes have been:Where a King in kingly glory,Such as earth has never known,Shall assume the righteous sceptre,Claim and wear the holy crown:Brother, we shall meet and rest,'Mid the holy and the blest.

Where a blasted world shall brighten

Underneath a bluer sphere,

And a softer, gentler sunshine

Sheds its healing splendor here:

Where earth's barren vales shall blossom,

Putting on their robe of green,

And a purer, fairer Eden

Be where only wastes have been:

Where a King in kingly glory,

Such as earth has never known,

Shall assume the righteous sceptre,

Claim and wear the holy crown:

Brother, we shall meet and rest,

'Mid the holy and the blest.

—Horatius Bonar.

Beyondthe smiling and the weepingI shall be soon;Beyond the waking and the sleeping,Beyond the sowing and the reaping,I shall be soon.Love, rest and home!Sweet hope!Lord, tarry not, but come.Beyond the blooming and the fading,I shall be soon;Beyond the shining and the shading,Beyond the hoping and the dreading,I shall be soon.Love, rest, and home!Sweet hope!Lord, tarry not, but come.Beyond the rising and the settingI shall be soon;Beyond the calming and the fretting,Beyond remembering and forgetting,I shall be soon.Love, rest, and home!Sweet hope!Lord, tarry not, but come.Beyond the gathering and the strowingI shall be soon;Beyond the ebbing and the flowing,Beyond the coming and the going,I shall be soon.Love, rest, and home!Sweet hope!Lord, tarry not, but come.Beyond the parting and the meetingI shall be soon.Beyond the farewell and the greeting,Beyond this pulse's fever beating,I shall be soon.Love, rest, and home!Sweet hope!Lord, tarry not, but come.Beyond the frost-chain and the feverI shall be soon;Beyond the rock-waste and the river,Beyond the ever and the never,I shall be soon.Love, rest, and home!Sweet hope!Lord, tarry not, but come.—Horatius Bonar.

Beyondthe smiling and the weepingI shall be soon;Beyond the waking and the sleeping,Beyond the sowing and the reaping,I shall be soon.Love, rest and home!Sweet hope!Lord, tarry not, but come.

Beyondthe smiling and the weeping

I shall be soon;

Beyond the waking and the sleeping,

Beyond the sowing and the reaping,

I shall be soon.

Love, rest and home!

Sweet hope!

Lord, tarry not, but come.

Beyond the blooming and the fading,I shall be soon;Beyond the shining and the shading,Beyond the hoping and the dreading,I shall be soon.Love, rest, and home!Sweet hope!Lord, tarry not, but come.

Beyond the blooming and the fading,

I shall be soon;

Beyond the shining and the shading,

Beyond the hoping and the dreading,

I shall be soon.

Love, rest, and home!

Sweet hope!

Lord, tarry not, but come.

Beyond the rising and the settingI shall be soon;Beyond the calming and the fretting,Beyond remembering and forgetting,I shall be soon.Love, rest, and home!Sweet hope!Lord, tarry not, but come.

Beyond the rising and the setting

I shall be soon;

Beyond the calming and the fretting,

Beyond remembering and forgetting,

I shall be soon.

Love, rest, and home!

Sweet hope!

Lord, tarry not, but come.

Beyond the gathering and the strowingI shall be soon;Beyond the ebbing and the flowing,Beyond the coming and the going,I shall be soon.Love, rest, and home!Sweet hope!Lord, tarry not, but come.

Beyond the gathering and the strowing

I shall be soon;

Beyond the ebbing and the flowing,

Beyond the coming and the going,

I shall be soon.

Love, rest, and home!

Sweet hope!

Lord, tarry not, but come.

Beyond the parting and the meetingI shall be soon.Beyond the farewell and the greeting,Beyond this pulse's fever beating,I shall be soon.Love, rest, and home!Sweet hope!Lord, tarry not, but come.

Beyond the parting and the meeting

I shall be soon.

Beyond the farewell and the greeting,

Beyond this pulse's fever beating,

I shall be soon.

Love, rest, and home!

Sweet hope!

Lord, tarry not, but come.

Beyond the frost-chain and the feverI shall be soon;Beyond the rock-waste and the river,Beyond the ever and the never,I shall be soon.Love, rest, and home!Sweet hope!Lord, tarry not, but come.

Beyond the frost-chain and the fever

I shall be soon;

Beyond the rock-waste and the river,

Beyond the ever and the never,

I shall be soon.

Love, rest, and home!

Sweet hope!

Lord, tarry not, but come.

—Horatius Bonar.

Softcloud, that while the breeze of MayChants her glad matins in the leafy arch,Draw'st thy bright veil across the heavenly way,Meet pavement for an angel's glorious march.My soul is envious of mine eye,That it should soar and glide with thee so fastThe while my groveling thoughts half buried lie,Or lawless roam around this earthly waste.Chains of my heart, avaunt I say—I will arise, and in the strength of lovePursue the bright track ere it fade away,My Savior's pathway to His home above.Sure, when I reach the point where earthMelts into nothing from the uncumber'd sight,Heaven will o'ercome th' attraction of my birth,And I shall sink in yonder sea of light:Till resting by th' incarnate LordOnce bleeding, now triumphant for my sake,I mark Him, how by seraph hosts ador'd,He to earth's lowest cares is still awake.The sun and every vassal star,All space beyond the soar of angel wings,Wait on His word: and yet He stays His carFor every sigh a contrite suppliant brings.He listens to the silent tearFor all the anthems of the boundless sky—And shall our dreams of music bar our earTo His soul-piercing voice forever nigh?Nay, gracious Saviour—but as nowOur thoughts have trac'd Thee to Thy glory-throne,To help us evermore with Thee to bowWhere human sorrow breathes her lowly moan.We must not stand to gaze too long,Though on unfolding Heaven our gaze we bend,Where lost behind the bright angelic throngWe see Christ's entering triumph slow ascend.No fear but we shall soon behold,Faster than now it fades, that gleam revive,When issuing from His cloud of fiery goldOur wasted frames feel the true sun, and live.Then shall we see Thee as Thou art,Forever fix'd in no unfruitful gaze,But such as lifts the new-created heart,Age after age, in worthier love and praise.—John Keble.

Softcloud, that while the breeze of MayChants her glad matins in the leafy arch,Draw'st thy bright veil across the heavenly way,Meet pavement for an angel's glorious march.

Softcloud, that while the breeze of May

Chants her glad matins in the leafy arch,

Draw'st thy bright veil across the heavenly way,

Meet pavement for an angel's glorious march.

My soul is envious of mine eye,That it should soar and glide with thee so fastThe while my groveling thoughts half buried lie,Or lawless roam around this earthly waste.

My soul is envious of mine eye,

That it should soar and glide with thee so fast

The while my groveling thoughts half buried lie,

Or lawless roam around this earthly waste.

Chains of my heart, avaunt I say—I will arise, and in the strength of lovePursue the bright track ere it fade away,My Savior's pathway to His home above.

Chains of my heart, avaunt I say—

I will arise, and in the strength of love

Pursue the bright track ere it fade away,

My Savior's pathway to His home above.

Sure, when I reach the point where earthMelts into nothing from the uncumber'd sight,Heaven will o'ercome th' attraction of my birth,And I shall sink in yonder sea of light:

Sure, when I reach the point where earth

Melts into nothing from the uncumber'd sight,

Heaven will o'ercome th' attraction of my birth,

And I shall sink in yonder sea of light:

Till resting by th' incarnate LordOnce bleeding, now triumphant for my sake,I mark Him, how by seraph hosts ador'd,He to earth's lowest cares is still awake.

Till resting by th' incarnate Lord

Once bleeding, now triumphant for my sake,

I mark Him, how by seraph hosts ador'd,

He to earth's lowest cares is still awake.

The sun and every vassal star,All space beyond the soar of angel wings,Wait on His word: and yet He stays His carFor every sigh a contrite suppliant brings.

The sun and every vassal star,

All space beyond the soar of angel wings,

Wait on His word: and yet He stays His car

For every sigh a contrite suppliant brings.

He listens to the silent tearFor all the anthems of the boundless sky—And shall our dreams of music bar our earTo His soul-piercing voice forever nigh?

He listens to the silent tear

For all the anthems of the boundless sky—

And shall our dreams of music bar our ear

To His soul-piercing voice forever nigh?

Nay, gracious Saviour—but as nowOur thoughts have trac'd Thee to Thy glory-throne,To help us evermore with Thee to bowWhere human sorrow breathes her lowly moan.

Nay, gracious Saviour—but as now

Our thoughts have trac'd Thee to Thy glory-throne,

To help us evermore with Thee to bow

Where human sorrow breathes her lowly moan.

We must not stand to gaze too long,Though on unfolding Heaven our gaze we bend,Where lost behind the bright angelic throngWe see Christ's entering triumph slow ascend.

We must not stand to gaze too long,

Though on unfolding Heaven our gaze we bend,

Where lost behind the bright angelic throng

We see Christ's entering triumph slow ascend.

No fear but we shall soon behold,Faster than now it fades, that gleam revive,When issuing from His cloud of fiery goldOur wasted frames feel the true sun, and live.

No fear but we shall soon behold,

Faster than now it fades, that gleam revive,

When issuing from His cloud of fiery gold

Our wasted frames feel the true sun, and live.

Then shall we see Thee as Thou art,Forever fix'd in no unfruitful gaze,But such as lifts the new-created heart,Age after age, in worthier love and praise.

Then shall we see Thee as Thou art,

Forever fix'd in no unfruitful gaze,

But such as lifts the new-created heart,

Age after age, in worthier love and praise.

—John Keble.

Genesis, Chapter xxii.

Mornbreaketh in the east. The purple cloudsAre putting on their gold and violet,To look the meeter for the sun's bright coming.Sleep is upon the waters and the wind;And nature, from the wavy forest-leafTo her majestic master, sleeps. As yetThere is no mist upon the deep blue sky,And the clear dew is on the blushing bosomsOf crimson roses in a holy rest.How hallow'd is the hour of morning! meet—Aye, beautifully meet—for the pure prayer.The patriarch standeth at his tented door,With his white locks uncover'd. 'Tis his wontTo gaze upon that gorgeous Orient;And at that hour the awful majestyOf man who talketh often with his God,Is wont to come again, and clothe his browAs at his fourscore strength. But now, he seemethTo be forgetful of his vigorous frame,And boweth to his staff as at the hourOf noontide sultriness. And that bright sun—He looketh at its pencill'd messengers,Coming in golden raiment, as if allWere but a graven scroll of fearfulness.Ah, he is waiting till it herald inThe hour to sacrifice his much-loved son!Light poureth on the world. And Sarah standsWatching the steps of Abraham and her childAlong the dewy sides of the far hills,And praying that her sunny boy faint not.Would she have watch'd their path so silently,If she had known that he was going up,E'en in his fair-hair'd beauty, to be slainAs a white lamb for sacrifice? They trodTogether onward, patriarch and child—The bright sun throwing back the old man's shadeIn straight and fair proportions, as of oneWhose years were freshly number'd. He stood upTall in his vigorous strength; and, like a treeRooted in Lebanon, his frame bent not.His thin white hairs had yielded to the wind,And left his brow uncover'd; and his face,Impress'd with the stern majesty of griefNerv'd to a solemn duty, now stood forthLike a rent rock, submissive, yet sublime.But the young boy—he of the laughing eyeAnd ruby lip—the pride of life was on him.He seem'd to drink the morning. Sun and dew,And the aroma of the spicy trees,And all that giveth the delicious EastIts fitness for an Eden, stole like lightInto his spirit, ravishing his thoughtsWith love and beauty. Every thing he met,Buoyant, or beautiful, the lightest wingOf bird or insect, or the palest dyeOf the fresh flowers, won him from his path;And joyously broke forth his tiny shout,As he flung back his silken hair, and sprungAway to some green spot or clustering vine,To pluck his infant trophies. Every treeAnd fragrant shrub was a new hiding place;And he would crouch till the old man came by,Then bound before him with his childish laugh,Stealing a look behind him playfully,To see if he had made his father smile.The sun rode on in heaven. The dew stole upFrom the fresh daughters of the earth, and heatCame like a sleep upon the delicate leaves,And bent them with the blossoms to their dreams.Still trod the patriarch on, with that same step,Firm and unfaltering; turning not asideTo seek the olive shades, or lave their lipsIn the sweet waters of the Syrian wells,Whose gush hath so much music. WearinessStole on the gentle boy, and he forgotTo toss his sunny hair from off his brow,And spring for the fresh flowers and light wingsAs in the early morning; but he keptClose by his father's side, and bent his headUpon his bosom like a drooping bud,Lifting it not, save now and then to stealA look up to the face whose sternness awedHis childishness to silence.It was noon—And Abraham on Moriah bow'd himself,And buried up his face, and pray'd for strength.He could not look upon his son, and pray;But, with his hand upon the clustering curlsOf the fair, kneeling boy, he pray'd that GodWould nerve him for that hour. Oh! man was madeFor the stern conflict. In a mother's loveThere is more tenderness; the thousand chords,Woven with every fibre of her heart,Complain, like delicate harp-strings, at a breath;But love in man is one deep principle,Which, like a root grown in a rifted rock,Abides the tempest. He rose up, and laidThe wood upon the altar. All was done.He stood a moment—and a deep, quick flushPass'd o'er his countenance; and then he nerv'dHis spirit with a bitter strength, and spoke—"Isaac! my only son!"—The boy look'd upAnd Abraham turn'd his face away, and wept."Where is the lamb, my father?"—Oh the tones,The sweet, the thrilling music of a child!—How it doth agonize at such an hour!—It was the last deep struggle. Abraham heldHis loved, his beautiful, his only son,And lifted up his arm, and called on God—And lo! God's angel stayed him—and he fellUpon his face and wept.—N. P. Willis.

Mornbreaketh in the east. The purple clouds

Are putting on their gold and violet,

To look the meeter for the sun's bright coming.

Sleep is upon the waters and the wind;

And nature, from the wavy forest-leaf

To her majestic master, sleeps. As yet

There is no mist upon the deep blue sky,

And the clear dew is on the blushing bosoms

Of crimson roses in a holy rest.

How hallow'd is the hour of morning! meet—

Aye, beautifully meet—for the pure prayer.

The patriarch standeth at his tented door,

With his white locks uncover'd. 'Tis his wont

To gaze upon that gorgeous Orient;

And at that hour the awful majesty

Of man who talketh often with his God,

Is wont to come again, and clothe his brow

As at his fourscore strength. But now, he seemeth

To be forgetful of his vigorous frame,

And boweth to his staff as at the hour

Of noontide sultriness. And that bright sun—

He looketh at its pencill'd messengers,

Coming in golden raiment, as if all

Were but a graven scroll of fearfulness.

Ah, he is waiting till it herald in

The hour to sacrifice his much-loved son!

Light poureth on the world. And Sarah standsWatching the steps of Abraham and her childAlong the dewy sides of the far hills,And praying that her sunny boy faint not.Would she have watch'd their path so silently,If she had known that he was going up,E'en in his fair-hair'd beauty, to be slainAs a white lamb for sacrifice? They trodTogether onward, patriarch and child—The bright sun throwing back the old man's shadeIn straight and fair proportions, as of oneWhose years were freshly number'd. He stood upTall in his vigorous strength; and, like a treeRooted in Lebanon, his frame bent not.His thin white hairs had yielded to the wind,And left his brow uncover'd; and his face,Impress'd with the stern majesty of griefNerv'd to a solemn duty, now stood forthLike a rent rock, submissive, yet sublime.But the young boy—he of the laughing eyeAnd ruby lip—the pride of life was on him.He seem'd to drink the morning. Sun and dew,And the aroma of the spicy trees,And all that giveth the delicious EastIts fitness for an Eden, stole like lightInto his spirit, ravishing his thoughtsWith love and beauty. Every thing he met,Buoyant, or beautiful, the lightest wingOf bird or insect, or the palest dyeOf the fresh flowers, won him from his path;And joyously broke forth his tiny shout,As he flung back his silken hair, and sprungAway to some green spot or clustering vine,To pluck his infant trophies. Every treeAnd fragrant shrub was a new hiding place;And he would crouch till the old man came by,Then bound before him with his childish laugh,Stealing a look behind him playfully,To see if he had made his father smile.The sun rode on in heaven. The dew stole upFrom the fresh daughters of the earth, and heatCame like a sleep upon the delicate leaves,And bent them with the blossoms to their dreams.Still trod the patriarch on, with that same step,Firm and unfaltering; turning not asideTo seek the olive shades, or lave their lipsIn the sweet waters of the Syrian wells,Whose gush hath so much music. WearinessStole on the gentle boy, and he forgotTo toss his sunny hair from off his brow,And spring for the fresh flowers and light wingsAs in the early morning; but he keptClose by his father's side, and bent his headUpon his bosom like a drooping bud,Lifting it not, save now and then to stealA look up to the face whose sternness awedHis childishness to silence.It was noon—And Abraham on Moriah bow'd himself,And buried up his face, and pray'd for strength.He could not look upon his son, and pray;But, with his hand upon the clustering curlsOf the fair, kneeling boy, he pray'd that GodWould nerve him for that hour. Oh! man was madeFor the stern conflict. In a mother's loveThere is more tenderness; the thousand chords,Woven with every fibre of her heart,Complain, like delicate harp-strings, at a breath;But love in man is one deep principle,Which, like a root grown in a rifted rock,Abides the tempest. He rose up, and laidThe wood upon the altar. All was done.He stood a moment—and a deep, quick flushPass'd o'er his countenance; and then he nerv'dHis spirit with a bitter strength, and spoke—"Isaac! my only son!"—The boy look'd upAnd Abraham turn'd his face away, and wept."Where is the lamb, my father?"—Oh the tones,The sweet, the thrilling music of a child!—How it doth agonize at such an hour!—It was the last deep struggle. Abraham heldHis loved, his beautiful, his only son,And lifted up his arm, and called on God—And lo! God's angel stayed him—and he fellUpon his face and wept.

Light poureth on the world. And Sarah stands

Watching the steps of Abraham and her child

Along the dewy sides of the far hills,

And praying that her sunny boy faint not.

Would she have watch'd their path so silently,

If she had known that he was going up,

E'en in his fair-hair'd beauty, to be slain

As a white lamb for sacrifice? They trod

Together onward, patriarch and child—

The bright sun throwing back the old man's shade

In straight and fair proportions, as of one

Whose years were freshly number'd. He stood up

Tall in his vigorous strength; and, like a tree

Rooted in Lebanon, his frame bent not.

His thin white hairs had yielded to the wind,

And left his brow uncover'd; and his face,

Impress'd with the stern majesty of grief

Nerv'd to a solemn duty, now stood forth

Like a rent rock, submissive, yet sublime.

But the young boy—he of the laughing eye

And ruby lip—the pride of life was on him.

He seem'd to drink the morning. Sun and dew,

And the aroma of the spicy trees,

And all that giveth the delicious East

Its fitness for an Eden, stole like light

Into his spirit, ravishing his thoughts

With love and beauty. Every thing he met,

Buoyant, or beautiful, the lightest wing

Of bird or insect, or the palest dye

Of the fresh flowers, won him from his path;

And joyously broke forth his tiny shout,

As he flung back his silken hair, and sprung

Away to some green spot or clustering vine,

To pluck his infant trophies. Every tree

And fragrant shrub was a new hiding place;

And he would crouch till the old man came by,

Then bound before him with his childish laugh,

Stealing a look behind him playfully,

To see if he had made his father smile.

The sun rode on in heaven. The dew stole up

From the fresh daughters of the earth, and heat

Came like a sleep upon the delicate leaves,

And bent them with the blossoms to their dreams.

Still trod the patriarch on, with that same step,

Firm and unfaltering; turning not aside

To seek the olive shades, or lave their lips

In the sweet waters of the Syrian wells,

Whose gush hath so much music. Weariness

Stole on the gentle boy, and he forgot

To toss his sunny hair from off his brow,

And spring for the fresh flowers and light wings

As in the early morning; but he kept

Close by his father's side, and bent his head

Upon his bosom like a drooping bud,

Lifting it not, save now and then to steal

A look up to the face whose sternness awed

His childishness to silence.

It was noon—

And Abraham on Moriah bow'd himself,

And buried up his face, and pray'd for strength.

He could not look upon his son, and pray;

But, with his hand upon the clustering curls

Of the fair, kneeling boy, he pray'd that God

Would nerve him for that hour. Oh! man was made

For the stern conflict. In a mother's love

There is more tenderness; the thousand chords,

Woven with every fibre of her heart,

Complain, like delicate harp-strings, at a breath;

But love in man is one deep principle,

Which, like a root grown in a rifted rock,

Abides the tempest. He rose up, and laid

The wood upon the altar. All was done.

He stood a moment—and a deep, quick flush

Pass'd o'er his countenance; and then he nerv'd

His spirit with a bitter strength, and spoke—

"Isaac! my only son!"—The boy look'd up

And Abraham turn'd his face away, and wept.

"Where is the lamb, my father?"—Oh the tones,

The sweet, the thrilling music of a child!—

How it doth agonize at such an hour!—

It was the last deep struggle. Abraham held

His loved, his beautiful, his only son,

And lifted up his arm, and called on God—

And lo! God's angel stayed him—and he fell

Upon his face and wept.

—N. P. Willis.

Thereis a mystery in human hearts,And though we be encircled by a hostOf those who love us well, and are beloved,To every one of us, from time to time,There comes a sense of utter loneliness.Our dearest friend is "stranger" to our joy,And cannot realize our bitterness."There is not one who really understands,Not one to enter intoallI feel;"Such is the cry of each of us in turn,We wander in a "solitary way,"No matter what or where our lot may be;Each heart, mysterious even to itself,Must live its inner life in solitude.And would you know the reason why this is?It is because the Lord desires our love.In every heart he wishes to befirst.He therefore keeps the secret key Himself,To openallits chambers, and to blessWithperfectsympathy and holy peace,Each solitary soul which comes toHim.So when we feel this loneliness it isThe voice of Jesus saying, "Come to Me;"And every time we are "not understood,"It is a call to us to comeagain:For Christ alone can satisfy the soul,And those who walk with him from day to dayCan never have a "solitary way."And when beneath some heavy cross you faint,And say, "I cannot bear this load alone,"You say the truth. Christ made it purposelySo heavy that you must return to Him.The bitter grief, which "no one understands,"Conveys a secret message from the King,Entreating you to come to Himagain.The Man of Sorrows understands it well.Inallpoints tempted He can feel with you.You cannot come too often, or too near;The Son of God is infinite in grace.His presence satisfies the longing soul,And those who walk with Him from day to dayCan never have a "solitary way."—Unidentified.

Thereis a mystery in human hearts,

And though we be encircled by a host

Of those who love us well, and are beloved,

To every one of us, from time to time,

There comes a sense of utter loneliness.

Our dearest friend is "stranger" to our joy,

And cannot realize our bitterness.

"There is not one who really understands,

Not one to enter intoallI feel;"

Such is the cry of each of us in turn,

We wander in a "solitary way,"

No matter what or where our lot may be;

Each heart, mysterious even to itself,

Must live its inner life in solitude.

And would you know the reason why this is?It is because the Lord desires our love.In every heart he wishes to befirst.He therefore keeps the secret key Himself,To openallits chambers, and to blessWithperfectsympathy and holy peace,Each solitary soul which comes toHim.So when we feel this loneliness it isThe voice of Jesus saying, "Come to Me;"And every time we are "not understood,"It is a call to us to comeagain:For Christ alone can satisfy the soul,And those who walk with him from day to dayCan never have a "solitary way."And when beneath some heavy cross you faint,And say, "I cannot bear this load alone,"You say the truth. Christ made it purposelySo heavy that you must return to Him.The bitter grief, which "no one understands,"Conveys a secret message from the King,Entreating you to come to Himagain.The Man of Sorrows understands it well.Inallpoints tempted He can feel with you.You cannot come too often, or too near;The Son of God is infinite in grace.His presence satisfies the longing soul,And those who walk with Him from day to dayCan never have a "solitary way."

And would you know the reason why this is?

It is because the Lord desires our love.

In every heart he wishes to befirst.

He therefore keeps the secret key Himself,

To openallits chambers, and to bless

Withperfectsympathy and holy peace,

Each solitary soul which comes toHim.

So when we feel this loneliness it is

The voice of Jesus saying, "Come to Me;"

And every time we are "not understood,"

It is a call to us to comeagain:

For Christ alone can satisfy the soul,

And those who walk with him from day to day

Can never have a "solitary way."

And when beneath some heavy cross you faint,

And say, "I cannot bear this load alone,"

You say the truth. Christ made it purposely

So heavy that you must return to Him.

The bitter grief, which "no one understands,"

Conveys a secret message from the King,

Entreating you to come to Himagain.

The Man of Sorrows understands it well.

Inallpoints tempted He can feel with you.

You cannot come too often, or too near;

The Son of God is infinite in grace.

His presence satisfies the longing soul,

And those who walk with Him from day to day

Can never have a "solitary way."

—Unidentified.

Thegolden gates were openAnd heavenly seraphs smiledAnd with their tuneful harpstringsWelcomed the little child.They shouted "high and holy,A child hath entered in,And safe from all temptationA soul is sealed from sin."They led him through the golden streetOn to the King of kings,And a glory fell upon himFrom the rustling of their wings.The Saviour smiled upon himAs none on earth had smiled,And Heaven's great glory shone aroundThe little earth-born child.On earth they missed the little one,They sighed and wept and sighed,And wondered if another suchAs theirs, had ever died.Oh! had they seen through those high gates,The welcome to him given,They never would have wished their childBack from his home in Heaven.—Unidentified.

Thegolden gates were openAnd heavenly seraphs smiledAnd with their tuneful harpstringsWelcomed the little child.

Thegolden gates were open

And heavenly seraphs smiled

And with their tuneful harpstrings

Welcomed the little child.

They shouted "high and holy,A child hath entered in,And safe from all temptationA soul is sealed from sin."

They shouted "high and holy,

A child hath entered in,

And safe from all temptation

A soul is sealed from sin."

They led him through the golden streetOn to the King of kings,And a glory fell upon himFrom the rustling of their wings.

They led him through the golden street

On to the King of kings,

And a glory fell upon him

From the rustling of their wings.

The Saviour smiled upon himAs none on earth had smiled,And Heaven's great glory shone aroundThe little earth-born child.

The Saviour smiled upon him

As none on earth had smiled,

And Heaven's great glory shone around

The little earth-born child.

On earth they missed the little one,They sighed and wept and sighed,And wondered if another suchAs theirs, had ever died.

On earth they missed the little one,

They sighed and wept and sighed,

And wondered if another such

As theirs, had ever died.

Oh! had they seen through those high gates,The welcome to him given,They never would have wished their childBack from his home in Heaven.

Oh! had they seen through those high gates,

The welcome to him given,

They never would have wished their child

Back from his home in Heaven.

—Unidentified.

A nightof danger on the sea,Of sleeplessness and fear!Wave after wave comes thunderingAgainst the strong stone pier;Each with a terrible recoil,And a grim and gathering might,As blast on blast comes howling past,Each wild gust wilder than the last,All through that awful night.Well for the ships in harbor now,Which caught the morning tide;With cable out and anchor sure,How peacefully they ride!Well for the barque that came at eve,Though watched with breathless fear;'Twas sheltered first ere the tempest burst,'Tis safe inside the pier!But see a faint and fitful lightOut in the howling sea!A vessel seeks the harbor mouth,As in death agony.Though strong stone arms are open wide,She misses the only way;Alas! too late, the storm drives fast,The mighty waves they sweep her past,And against that sheltering pier they castTheir wrecked and shattered prey.The billows drive the barque along,Over the deck they dash,Where sailors five are clinging fastTo broken stump of sail-less mast,Waiting the final crash.Is it too late? Can succor yetThose drowning men now reach!Life is so near—the firm-built pierMust be the death of each.The daring hearts—the sturdy arms,The swift and steady feet,They rush into a yawning grave,In strong recoil of mightiest wave,Treading most awful path to save,As they tread a homeward street.Over the boulders 'mid foam they rushInto the ghastly hollow;They fling the rope to the breaking wreck;The aim is sure, and it strikes the deck,The shouts of quick hope follow.Reached—not saved! there is more to do,A trumpet note is heard;Over the rage,—over the roarOf thundering billows on the shore,Rings out the guiding word.There is one chance, and only one.All can be saved, but how?"The rope hold fast, but quit the mast,"The trumpet signals "Now!"There is a moment when the seaAllays its furious strength;A shuddering pause with sudden whirl,Gathering force again to hurlBillow on billow, whirl on whirl;That moment comes at length:With single shout the "Now" peals out.The answering leap is made.Well for the simple hearts that justLoosing the mast with fearless trust,The strange command obeyed!The rope is good, the stout arms pullEre the storm-lull is o'er;'Tis but a swift and blinding sweepThrough waters wild and dark and deep—The men are safe on shore—Safe! though the fiend-like blast pursue;Safe! though the waves dash high;But the ringing cheer that rises clearIs checked with a sudden cry:—"There are but four upon the shore,And five were on the deck!"And strained eyes that pierce the gloomStill trace, swift drifting on to doom,One man upon the wreck.Again they chase in sternest raceThe far re-coiling wave;The rope is cast, the tossing markIt reaches not, the windy darkHides him they strive to save.They rush again, again they fail,Again, and yet again:The storm yells back defiance loud,The breakers rear a rampart proud,And roar, "In vain, in vain!"Then a giant wave takes up the wreckAnd bears it on its crest;—One moment it hung quivering thereIn horrible arrest.The lonely man on vengeful seaA lightning flash uplit,Still clinging fast to broken mastHe had not dared to quit.Then horror of great darkness fell,While eyes flashed inward fire;And over all the roar and dash,Through that great blackness came a crash,A token sure and dire.The wave had burst upon the pier,The wreck was scattered wide;Another "Now" would never reachThe corpse that lay upon the beachWith the receding tide.God's "Now" is sounding in your ears,Oh, let it reach your heart!Not only from your sinfulnessHe bids you part;Your righteousness as filthy ragsMust all relinquished be,And only Jesus' precious deathMust be your plea.Nowtrust the one provided rope,Now quit the broken mast,Before the hope of safety beForever past.Fear not to trust His simple word,So sweet, so tried, so true,And you are safe for evermore,Yes,—even you!—Frances Ridley Havergal.

A nightof danger on the sea,

Of sleeplessness and fear!

Wave after wave comes thundering

Against the strong stone pier;

Each with a terrible recoil,

And a grim and gathering might,

As blast on blast comes howling past,

Each wild gust wilder than the last,

All through that awful night.

Well for the ships in harbor now,Which caught the morning tide;With cable out and anchor sure,How peacefully they ride!Well for the barque that came at eve,Though watched with breathless fear;'Twas sheltered first ere the tempest burst,'Tis safe inside the pier!

Well for the ships in harbor now,

Which caught the morning tide;

With cable out and anchor sure,

How peacefully they ride!

Well for the barque that came at eve,

Though watched with breathless fear;

'Twas sheltered first ere the tempest burst,

'Tis safe inside the pier!

But see a faint and fitful lightOut in the howling sea!A vessel seeks the harbor mouth,As in death agony.Though strong stone arms are open wide,She misses the only way;Alas! too late, the storm drives fast,The mighty waves they sweep her past,And against that sheltering pier they castTheir wrecked and shattered prey.

But see a faint and fitful light

Out in the howling sea!

A vessel seeks the harbor mouth,

As in death agony.

Though strong stone arms are open wide,

She misses the only way;

Alas! too late, the storm drives fast,

The mighty waves they sweep her past,

And against that sheltering pier they cast

Their wrecked and shattered prey.

The billows drive the barque along,Over the deck they dash,Where sailors five are clinging fastTo broken stump of sail-less mast,Waiting the final crash.Is it too late? Can succor yetThose drowning men now reach!Life is so near—the firm-built pierMust be the death of each.

The billows drive the barque along,

Over the deck they dash,

Where sailors five are clinging fast

To broken stump of sail-less mast,

Waiting the final crash.

Is it too late? Can succor yet

Those drowning men now reach!

Life is so near—the firm-built pier

Must be the death of each.

The daring hearts—the sturdy arms,The swift and steady feet,They rush into a yawning grave,In strong recoil of mightiest wave,Treading most awful path to save,As they tread a homeward street.Over the boulders 'mid foam they rushInto the ghastly hollow;They fling the rope to the breaking wreck;The aim is sure, and it strikes the deck,The shouts of quick hope follow.

The daring hearts—the sturdy arms,

The swift and steady feet,

They rush into a yawning grave,

In strong recoil of mightiest wave,

Treading most awful path to save,

As they tread a homeward street.

Over the boulders 'mid foam they rush

Into the ghastly hollow;

They fling the rope to the breaking wreck;

The aim is sure, and it strikes the deck,

The shouts of quick hope follow.

Reached—not saved! there is more to do,A trumpet note is heard;Over the rage,—over the roarOf thundering billows on the shore,Rings out the guiding word.There is one chance, and only one.All can be saved, but how?"The rope hold fast, but quit the mast,"The trumpet signals "Now!"

Reached—not saved! there is more to do,

A trumpet note is heard;

Over the rage,—over the roar

Of thundering billows on the shore,

Rings out the guiding word.

There is one chance, and only one.

All can be saved, but how?

"The rope hold fast, but quit the mast,"

The trumpet signals "Now!"

There is a moment when the seaAllays its furious strength;A shuddering pause with sudden whirl,Gathering force again to hurlBillow on billow, whirl on whirl;That moment comes at length:With single shout the "Now" peals out.The answering leap is made.Well for the simple hearts that justLoosing the mast with fearless trust,The strange command obeyed!

There is a moment when the sea

Allays its furious strength;

A shuddering pause with sudden whirl,

Gathering force again to hurl

Billow on billow, whirl on whirl;

That moment comes at length:

With single shout the "Now" peals out.

The answering leap is made.

Well for the simple hearts that just

Loosing the mast with fearless trust,

The strange command obeyed!

The rope is good, the stout arms pullEre the storm-lull is o'er;'Tis but a swift and blinding sweepThrough waters wild and dark and deep—The men are safe on shore—Safe! though the fiend-like blast pursue;Safe! though the waves dash high;But the ringing cheer that rises clearIs checked with a sudden cry:—

The rope is good, the stout arms pull

Ere the storm-lull is o'er;

'Tis but a swift and blinding sweep

Through waters wild and dark and deep—

The men are safe on shore—

Safe! though the fiend-like blast pursue;

Safe! though the waves dash high;

But the ringing cheer that rises clear

Is checked with a sudden cry:—

"There are but four upon the shore,And five were on the deck!"And strained eyes that pierce the gloomStill trace, swift drifting on to doom,One man upon the wreck.Again they chase in sternest raceThe far re-coiling wave;The rope is cast, the tossing markIt reaches not, the windy darkHides him they strive to save.

"There are but four upon the shore,

And five were on the deck!"

And strained eyes that pierce the gloom

Still trace, swift drifting on to doom,

One man upon the wreck.

Again they chase in sternest race

The far re-coiling wave;

The rope is cast, the tossing mark

It reaches not, the windy dark

Hides him they strive to save.

They rush again, again they fail,Again, and yet again:The storm yells back defiance loud,The breakers rear a rampart proud,And roar, "In vain, in vain!"Then a giant wave takes up the wreckAnd bears it on its crest;—One moment it hung quivering thereIn horrible arrest.The lonely man on vengeful seaA lightning flash uplit,Still clinging fast to broken mastHe had not dared to quit.

They rush again, again they fail,

Again, and yet again:

The storm yells back defiance loud,

The breakers rear a rampart proud,

And roar, "In vain, in vain!"

Then a giant wave takes up the wreck

And bears it on its crest;—

One moment it hung quivering there

In horrible arrest.

The lonely man on vengeful sea

A lightning flash uplit,

Still clinging fast to broken mast

He had not dared to quit.

Then horror of great darkness fell,While eyes flashed inward fire;And over all the roar and dash,Through that great blackness came a crash,A token sure and dire.The wave had burst upon the pier,The wreck was scattered wide;Another "Now" would never reachThe corpse that lay upon the beachWith the receding tide.

Then horror of great darkness fell,

While eyes flashed inward fire;

And over all the roar and dash,

Through that great blackness came a crash,

A token sure and dire.

The wave had burst upon the pier,

The wreck was scattered wide;

Another "Now" would never reach

The corpse that lay upon the beach

With the receding tide.

God's "Now" is sounding in your ears,Oh, let it reach your heart!Not only from your sinfulnessHe bids you part;Your righteousness as filthy ragsMust all relinquished be,And only Jesus' precious deathMust be your plea.

God's "Now" is sounding in your ears,

Oh, let it reach your heart!

Not only from your sinfulness

He bids you part;

Your righteousness as filthy rags

Must all relinquished be,

And only Jesus' precious death

Must be your plea.

Nowtrust the one provided rope,Now quit the broken mast,Before the hope of safety beForever past.Fear not to trust His simple word,So sweet, so tried, so true,And you are safe for evermore,Yes,—even you!

Nowtrust the one provided rope,

Now quit the broken mast,

Before the hope of safety be

Forever past.

Fear not to trust His simple word,

So sweet, so tried, so true,

And you are safe for evermore,

Yes,—even you!

—Frances Ridley Havergal.

"This great and wide sea."—Psalmciv. 25.

Thatrising storm! It has awakened me;My slumbering spirit starts to life anew;That blinding spray-drift, how it falls upon me,As on the weary flower the freshening dew.That rugged rock-fringe that girds in the ocean,And calls the foam from its translucent blue,It seems to pour strange strength into my spirit,—Strength for endurance, strength for conflict too.And these bright ocean-birds, these billow-rangers,The snowy-breasted,—each a winged wave—They tell me how to joy in storm and dangers,When surges whiten, or when whirlwinds rave.And these green-stretching fields, these peaceful hollows,That hear the tempest, but take no alarm,Has not their placid verdue sweetly taught meThe peace within when all without is storm?And thou keen sun-flash, through the cloud-wreath bursting,Silvering the sea, the sward, the rock, the foam,What light within me has thy pure gleam kindled?'Tis from the land of light that thou art come.And of the time how blithely art thou telling,When cloud and change and tempest shall take wing;Each beam of thine prophetic of the glory,Creation's daybreak, earth's long-promised spring.Even thus it is, my God me daily teachethSweet knowledge out of all I hear and see;Each object has a heavenly voice within it,Each scene, however troubled, speaks to me.For all upon this earth is broken beauty,Yet out of all what strange, deep lessons rise?Each hour is giving out its heaven-sent wisdom,A message from the sea, the shore, the skies.—Horatius Bonar.

Thatrising storm! It has awakened me;My slumbering spirit starts to life anew;That blinding spray-drift, how it falls upon me,As on the weary flower the freshening dew.

Thatrising storm! It has awakened me;

My slumbering spirit starts to life anew;

That blinding spray-drift, how it falls upon me,

As on the weary flower the freshening dew.

That rugged rock-fringe that girds in the ocean,And calls the foam from its translucent blue,It seems to pour strange strength into my spirit,—Strength for endurance, strength for conflict too.

That rugged rock-fringe that girds in the ocean,

And calls the foam from its translucent blue,

It seems to pour strange strength into my spirit,—

Strength for endurance, strength for conflict too.

And these bright ocean-birds, these billow-rangers,The snowy-breasted,—each a winged wave—They tell me how to joy in storm and dangers,When surges whiten, or when whirlwinds rave.

And these bright ocean-birds, these billow-rangers,

The snowy-breasted,—each a winged wave—

They tell me how to joy in storm and dangers,

When surges whiten, or when whirlwinds rave.

And these green-stretching fields, these peaceful hollows,That hear the tempest, but take no alarm,Has not their placid verdue sweetly taught meThe peace within when all without is storm?

And these green-stretching fields, these peaceful hollows,

That hear the tempest, but take no alarm,

Has not their placid verdue sweetly taught me

The peace within when all without is storm?

And thou keen sun-flash, through the cloud-wreath bursting,Silvering the sea, the sward, the rock, the foam,What light within me has thy pure gleam kindled?'Tis from the land of light that thou art come.

And thou keen sun-flash, through the cloud-wreath bursting,

Silvering the sea, the sward, the rock, the foam,

What light within me has thy pure gleam kindled?

'Tis from the land of light that thou art come.

And of the time how blithely art thou telling,When cloud and change and tempest shall take wing;Each beam of thine prophetic of the glory,Creation's daybreak, earth's long-promised spring.

And of the time how blithely art thou telling,

When cloud and change and tempest shall take wing;

Each beam of thine prophetic of the glory,

Creation's daybreak, earth's long-promised spring.

Even thus it is, my God me daily teachethSweet knowledge out of all I hear and see;Each object has a heavenly voice within it,Each scene, however troubled, speaks to me.

Even thus it is, my God me daily teacheth

Sweet knowledge out of all I hear and see;

Each object has a heavenly voice within it,

Each scene, however troubled, speaks to me.

For all upon this earth is broken beauty,Yet out of all what strange, deep lessons rise?Each hour is giving out its heaven-sent wisdom,A message from the sea, the shore, the skies.

For all upon this earth is broken beauty,

Yet out of all what strange, deep lessons rise?

Each hour is giving out its heaven-sent wisdom,

A message from the sea, the shore, the skies.

—Horatius Bonar.

Nothingresting in its own completenessCan have worth or beauty: but aloneBecause it leads and tends to further sweetness,Fuller, higher, deeper than its own.Spring's real glory dwells not in the meaning,Gracious though it be, of her blue hours;But is hidden in her tender leaningTo the Summer's richer wealth of flowers.Dawn is fair, because the mists fade slowlyInto day, which floods the world with light;Twilight's mystery is so sweet and holyJust because it ends in starry Night.Childhood's smiles unconscious graces borrowFrom Strife, that in a far-off future lies;And angel glances (veiled now by Life's sorrow)Draw our hearts to some belovèd eyes.Life is only bright when it proceedethTowards a truer, deeper Life above;Human Love is sweetest when it leadethTo a more divine and perfect Love.Learn the mystery of Progression duly:Do not call each glorious change, Decay;But know we only hold our treasures truly,When it seems as if they passed away.Nor dare to blame God's gifts for incompleteness;In that want their beauty lies: they rollTowards some infinite depth of love and sweetness,Bearing onward man's reluctant soul.—Adelaide Procter.

Nothingresting in its own completenessCan have worth or beauty: but aloneBecause it leads and tends to further sweetness,Fuller, higher, deeper than its own.

Nothingresting in its own completeness

Can have worth or beauty: but alone

Because it leads and tends to further sweetness,

Fuller, higher, deeper than its own.

Spring's real glory dwells not in the meaning,Gracious though it be, of her blue hours;But is hidden in her tender leaningTo the Summer's richer wealth of flowers.

Spring's real glory dwells not in the meaning,

Gracious though it be, of her blue hours;

But is hidden in her tender leaning

To the Summer's richer wealth of flowers.

Dawn is fair, because the mists fade slowlyInto day, which floods the world with light;Twilight's mystery is so sweet and holyJust because it ends in starry Night.

Dawn is fair, because the mists fade slowly

Into day, which floods the world with light;

Twilight's mystery is so sweet and holy

Just because it ends in starry Night.

Childhood's smiles unconscious graces borrowFrom Strife, that in a far-off future lies;And angel glances (veiled now by Life's sorrow)Draw our hearts to some belovèd eyes.

Childhood's smiles unconscious graces borrow

From Strife, that in a far-off future lies;

And angel glances (veiled now by Life's sorrow)

Draw our hearts to some belovèd eyes.

Life is only bright when it proceedethTowards a truer, deeper Life above;Human Love is sweetest when it leadethTo a more divine and perfect Love.

Life is only bright when it proceedeth

Towards a truer, deeper Life above;

Human Love is sweetest when it leadeth

To a more divine and perfect Love.

Learn the mystery of Progression duly:Do not call each glorious change, Decay;But know we only hold our treasures truly,When it seems as if they passed away.

Learn the mystery of Progression duly:

Do not call each glorious change, Decay;

But know we only hold our treasures truly,

When it seems as if they passed away.

Nor dare to blame God's gifts for incompleteness;In that want their beauty lies: they rollTowards some infinite depth of love and sweetness,Bearing onward man's reluctant soul.

Nor dare to blame God's gifts for incompleteness;

In that want their beauty lies: they roll

Towards some infinite depth of love and sweetness,

Bearing onward man's reluctant soul.

—Adelaide Procter.

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