THE SURE REFUGE.

Theseare the crowns that we shall wear,When all thy saints are crowned;These are the palms that we shall bearOn yonder holy ground.Far off as yet, reserved in heaven,Above that veiling sky,They sparkle, like the stars of even,To hope's far-piercing eye.These are the robes, unsoiled and white,Which then we shall put on,When, foremost 'mong the sons of light,We sit on yonder throne.That city with the jeweled crest,Like some new-lighted sun;A blaze of burning amethyst—Ten thousand orbs in one;That is the city of the saints,Where we so soon shall stand,When we shall strike these desert-tents,And quit this desert-sand.These are the everlasting hills,With summits bathed in day:The slopes down which the living rills,Soft-lapsing, take their way.Fair vision! how thy distant gleamBrightens time's saddest hue;Far fairer than the fairest dream,And yet so strangely true!Fair vision! how thou liftest upThe drooping brow and eye;With the calm joy of thy sure hopeFixing our souls on high.Thy light makes even the darkest pageIn memory's scroll grow fair;Blanching the lines which tears and ageHad only deepened there.With thee in view, the rugged slopeBecomes a level way,Smoothed by the magic of thy hope,And gladdened by thy ray.With thee in view, how poor appearThe world's most winning smiles;Vain is the tempter's subtlest snare,And vain hell's varied wiles.Time's glory fades; its beauty nowHas ceased to lure or blind;Each gay enchantment here belowHas lost its power to bind.Then welcome toil, and care, and pain!And welcome sorrow too!All toil is rest, all grief is gain,With such a prize in view.Come crown and throne, come robe and palm!Burst forth glad stream of peace!Come, holy city of the Lamb!Rise, Sun of Righteousness!When shall the clouds that veil thy raysFor ever be withdrawn?Why dost thou tarry, day of days?When shall thy gladness dawn?—Horatius Bonar.

Theseare the crowns that we shall wear,When all thy saints are crowned;These are the palms that we shall bearOn yonder holy ground.

Theseare the crowns that we shall wear,

When all thy saints are crowned;

These are the palms that we shall bear

On yonder holy ground.

Far off as yet, reserved in heaven,Above that veiling sky,They sparkle, like the stars of even,To hope's far-piercing eye.

Far off as yet, reserved in heaven,

Above that veiling sky,

They sparkle, like the stars of even,

To hope's far-piercing eye.

These are the robes, unsoiled and white,Which then we shall put on,When, foremost 'mong the sons of light,We sit on yonder throne.

These are the robes, unsoiled and white,

Which then we shall put on,

When, foremost 'mong the sons of light,

We sit on yonder throne.

That city with the jeweled crest,Like some new-lighted sun;A blaze of burning amethyst—Ten thousand orbs in one;

That city with the jeweled crest,

Like some new-lighted sun;

A blaze of burning amethyst—

Ten thousand orbs in one;

That is the city of the saints,Where we so soon shall stand,When we shall strike these desert-tents,And quit this desert-sand.

That is the city of the saints,

Where we so soon shall stand,

When we shall strike these desert-tents,

And quit this desert-sand.

These are the everlasting hills,With summits bathed in day:The slopes down which the living rills,Soft-lapsing, take their way.

These are the everlasting hills,

With summits bathed in day:

The slopes down which the living rills,

Soft-lapsing, take their way.

Fair vision! how thy distant gleamBrightens time's saddest hue;Far fairer than the fairest dream,And yet so strangely true!

Fair vision! how thy distant gleam

Brightens time's saddest hue;

Far fairer than the fairest dream,

And yet so strangely true!

Fair vision! how thou liftest upThe drooping brow and eye;With the calm joy of thy sure hopeFixing our souls on high.

Fair vision! how thou liftest up

The drooping brow and eye;

With the calm joy of thy sure hope

Fixing our souls on high.

Thy light makes even the darkest pageIn memory's scroll grow fair;Blanching the lines which tears and ageHad only deepened there.

Thy light makes even the darkest page

In memory's scroll grow fair;

Blanching the lines which tears and age

Had only deepened there.

With thee in view, the rugged slopeBecomes a level way,Smoothed by the magic of thy hope,And gladdened by thy ray.

With thee in view, the rugged slope

Becomes a level way,

Smoothed by the magic of thy hope,

And gladdened by thy ray.

With thee in view, how poor appearThe world's most winning smiles;Vain is the tempter's subtlest snare,And vain hell's varied wiles.

With thee in view, how poor appear

The world's most winning smiles;

Vain is the tempter's subtlest snare,

And vain hell's varied wiles.

Time's glory fades; its beauty nowHas ceased to lure or blind;Each gay enchantment here belowHas lost its power to bind.

Time's glory fades; its beauty now

Has ceased to lure or blind;

Each gay enchantment here below

Has lost its power to bind.

Then welcome toil, and care, and pain!And welcome sorrow too!All toil is rest, all grief is gain,With such a prize in view.

Then welcome toil, and care, and pain!

And welcome sorrow too!

All toil is rest, all grief is gain,

With such a prize in view.

Come crown and throne, come robe and palm!Burst forth glad stream of peace!Come, holy city of the Lamb!Rise, Sun of Righteousness!

Come crown and throne, come robe and palm!

Burst forth glad stream of peace!

Come, holy city of the Lamb!

Rise, Sun of Righteousness!

When shall the clouds that veil thy raysFor ever be withdrawn?Why dost thou tarry, day of days?When shall thy gladness dawn?

When shall the clouds that veil thy rays

For ever be withdrawn?

Why dost thou tarry, day of days?

When shall thy gladness dawn?

—Horatius Bonar.

Jesus,my Saviour, look on me!For I am weary and oppressed;I come to cast myself on Thee;Thou art my Rest.Look down on me, for I am weak;I feel the toilsome journey's length;Thine aid omnipotent I seek;Thou art my Strength.I am bewildered on my way;Dark and tempestuous is the night;Oh! shed thou forth some cheering ray;Thou art my Light.I hear the storms around me rise,But when I dread the impending shock,My spirit to her refuge flies;Thou art my Rock.When the accuser flings his darts,I look to Thee—my terrors cease,—Thy cross a hiding-place imparts;Thou art my Peace.Standing alone on Jordan's brink,In that tremendous, latest strife,Thou wilt not suffer me to sink;Thou art my Life.Thou wilt my every want supply,Even to the end, whate'er befallThrough life in death eternally;Thou art my All.—Unidentified.

Jesus,my Saviour, look on me!For I am weary and oppressed;I come to cast myself on Thee;Thou art my Rest.

Jesus,my Saviour, look on me!

For I am weary and oppressed;

I come to cast myself on Thee;

Thou art my Rest.

Look down on me, for I am weak;I feel the toilsome journey's length;Thine aid omnipotent I seek;Thou art my Strength.

Look down on me, for I am weak;

I feel the toilsome journey's length;

Thine aid omnipotent I seek;

Thou art my Strength.

I am bewildered on my way;Dark and tempestuous is the night;Oh! shed thou forth some cheering ray;Thou art my Light.

I am bewildered on my way;

Dark and tempestuous is the night;

Oh! shed thou forth some cheering ray;

Thou art my Light.

I hear the storms around me rise,But when I dread the impending shock,My spirit to her refuge flies;Thou art my Rock.

I hear the storms around me rise,

But when I dread the impending shock,

My spirit to her refuge flies;

Thou art my Rock.

When the accuser flings his darts,I look to Thee—my terrors cease,—Thy cross a hiding-place imparts;Thou art my Peace.

When the accuser flings his darts,

I look to Thee—my terrors cease,—

Thy cross a hiding-place imparts;

Thou art my Peace.

Standing alone on Jordan's brink,In that tremendous, latest strife,Thou wilt not suffer me to sink;Thou art my Life.

Standing alone on Jordan's brink,

In that tremendous, latest strife,

Thou wilt not suffer me to sink;

Thou art my Life.

Thou wilt my every want supply,Even to the end, whate'er befallThrough life in death eternally;Thou art my All.

Thou wilt my every want supply,

Even to the end, whate'er befall

Through life in death eternally;

Thou art my All.

—Unidentified.

Mysoul! what hast thou done for God?Look o'er thy misspent years and see;Sum up what thou hast done for God,And then what God has done for thee.He made thee, when He might have madeA soul that would have loved Him more;He rescued thee from nothingness,And set thee on life's happy shore.He placed an angel at thy side,And strewed joys round thee on thy way;He gave thee rights thou couldst not claim,And life, free life, before thee lay.Had God in heaven no work to do,But miracles of love for thee?No world to rule, no joy in self,And in his own infinity?So must it seem to our blind eyes;He gave His love no Sabbath rest,Still plotting happiness for men,And now designs to make them blest.From out His glorious bosom cameHis only, His eternal Son;He freed the race of Satan's slaves,And with His blood sin's captives won.The world rose up against his love:New love the vile rebellion met,As though God only looked at sin,Its guilt to pardon and forget.For His Eternal Spirit came,To raise the thankless slaves to sons,And with the sevenfold gifts of loveTo crown His own elected ones.Men spurned His grace, their lips blasphemedThe Love who made Himself their slave;They grieved that blessed Comforter,And turned against Him what He gave.Yet still the sun is fair by day,The moon still beautiful by night;The world goes round, and joy with it,And life, free life, is men's delight.No voice God's wondrous silence breaks;No hand put forth, His anger tells;And He, the Omnipotent and Dread,On high in humblest patience dwells.The Son hath come; and maddened sinThe world's Creator crucified;The Spirit comes, and stays, while men,His presence doubt, His gifts deride.And now the Father keeps Himself,In patient and forbearing love,To be His creature's heritage,In that undying life above.O wonderful, O passing thought!The love that God hath had for thee,Spending on thee no less a sumThan the undivided Trinity.Father and Son, and Holy Ghost,Exhausted for a thing like this,—The world's whole government disposedFor one ungrateful creature's bliss.What hast thou done for God, my soul?Look o'er thy misspent years and see;Cry for thy worse than nothingness;Cry for His mercy upon thee.—F. W. Faber.

Mysoul! what hast thou done for God?Look o'er thy misspent years and see;Sum up what thou hast done for God,And then what God has done for thee.

Mysoul! what hast thou done for God?

Look o'er thy misspent years and see;

Sum up what thou hast done for God,

And then what God has done for thee.

He made thee, when He might have madeA soul that would have loved Him more;He rescued thee from nothingness,And set thee on life's happy shore.

He made thee, when He might have made

A soul that would have loved Him more;

He rescued thee from nothingness,

And set thee on life's happy shore.

He placed an angel at thy side,And strewed joys round thee on thy way;He gave thee rights thou couldst not claim,And life, free life, before thee lay.

He placed an angel at thy side,

And strewed joys round thee on thy way;

He gave thee rights thou couldst not claim,

And life, free life, before thee lay.

Had God in heaven no work to do,But miracles of love for thee?No world to rule, no joy in self,And in his own infinity?

Had God in heaven no work to do,

But miracles of love for thee?

No world to rule, no joy in self,

And in his own infinity?

So must it seem to our blind eyes;He gave His love no Sabbath rest,Still plotting happiness for men,And now designs to make them blest.

So must it seem to our blind eyes;

He gave His love no Sabbath rest,

Still plotting happiness for men,

And now designs to make them blest.

From out His glorious bosom cameHis only, His eternal Son;He freed the race of Satan's slaves,And with His blood sin's captives won.

From out His glorious bosom came

His only, His eternal Son;

He freed the race of Satan's slaves,

And with His blood sin's captives won.

The world rose up against his love:New love the vile rebellion met,As though God only looked at sin,Its guilt to pardon and forget.

The world rose up against his love:

New love the vile rebellion met,

As though God only looked at sin,

Its guilt to pardon and forget.

For His Eternal Spirit came,To raise the thankless slaves to sons,And with the sevenfold gifts of loveTo crown His own elected ones.

For His Eternal Spirit came,

To raise the thankless slaves to sons,

And with the sevenfold gifts of love

To crown His own elected ones.

Men spurned His grace, their lips blasphemedThe Love who made Himself their slave;They grieved that blessed Comforter,And turned against Him what He gave.

Men spurned His grace, their lips blasphemed

The Love who made Himself their slave;

They grieved that blessed Comforter,

And turned against Him what He gave.

Yet still the sun is fair by day,The moon still beautiful by night;The world goes round, and joy with it,And life, free life, is men's delight.

Yet still the sun is fair by day,

The moon still beautiful by night;

The world goes round, and joy with it,

And life, free life, is men's delight.

No voice God's wondrous silence breaks;No hand put forth, His anger tells;And He, the Omnipotent and Dread,On high in humblest patience dwells.

No voice God's wondrous silence breaks;

No hand put forth, His anger tells;

And He, the Omnipotent and Dread,

On high in humblest patience dwells.

The Son hath come; and maddened sinThe world's Creator crucified;The Spirit comes, and stays, while men,His presence doubt, His gifts deride.

The Son hath come; and maddened sin

The world's Creator crucified;

The Spirit comes, and stays, while men,

His presence doubt, His gifts deride.

And now the Father keeps Himself,In patient and forbearing love,To be His creature's heritage,In that undying life above.

And now the Father keeps Himself,

In patient and forbearing love,

To be His creature's heritage,

In that undying life above.

O wonderful, O passing thought!The love that God hath had for thee,Spending on thee no less a sumThan the undivided Trinity.

O wonderful, O passing thought!

The love that God hath had for thee,

Spending on thee no less a sum

Than the undivided Trinity.

Father and Son, and Holy Ghost,Exhausted for a thing like this,—The world's whole government disposedFor one ungrateful creature's bliss.

Father and Son, and Holy Ghost,

Exhausted for a thing like this,—

The world's whole government disposed

For one ungrateful creature's bliss.

What hast thou done for God, my soul?Look o'er thy misspent years and see;Cry for thy worse than nothingness;Cry for His mercy upon thee.

What hast thou done for God, my soul?

Look o'er thy misspent years and see;

Cry for thy worse than nothingness;

Cry for His mercy upon thee.

—F. W. Faber.

Somemurmur when their sky is clear,And wholly bright to view,If one small speck of dark appearIn their great heaven of blue.And some with thankful love are filled,If but one streak of light,One ray of God's good mercy, gildThe darkness of their night.In palaces are hearts that ask,In discontent and pride,Why life is such a dreary task,And all good things denied:And hearts in poorest huts admireHow love has in their aid(Love that not ever seems to tire)Such rich provision made.—Richard Chenevix Trench.

Somemurmur when their sky is clear,

And wholly bright to view,

If one small speck of dark appear

In their great heaven of blue.

And some with thankful love are filled,

If but one streak of light,

One ray of God's good mercy, gild

The darkness of their night.

In palaces are hearts that ask,In discontent and pride,Why life is such a dreary task,And all good things denied:And hearts in poorest huts admireHow love has in their aid(Love that not ever seems to tire)Such rich provision made.

In palaces are hearts that ask,

In discontent and pride,

Why life is such a dreary task,

And all good things denied:

And hearts in poorest huts admire

How love has in their aid

(Love that not ever seems to tire)

Such rich provision made.

—Richard Chenevix Trench.

I thinkif thou couldst know,O soul that will complain,What lies concealed belowOur burden and our pain;How just our anguish bringsNearer those longed-for thingsWe seek for now in vain,—I think thou wouldst rejoice, and not complain.I think if thou couldst see,With thy dim mortal sight,How meanings, dark to thee,Are shadows hiding light;Truth's efforts crossed and vexed,Life's purpose all perplexed,—If thou couldst see them right,I think that they would seem all clear, and wise,and bright.And yet thou canst not know,And yet thou canst not see;Wisdom and sight are slowIn poor humanity.If thou couldsttrust, poor soul,In Him who rules the whole,Thou wouldst find peace and rest:Wisdom and sight are well, but Trust is best.—Adelaide Procter.

I thinkif thou couldst know,

O soul that will complain,

What lies concealed below

Our burden and our pain;

How just our anguish brings

Nearer those longed-for things

We seek for now in vain,—

I think thou wouldst rejoice, and not complain.

I think if thou couldst see,With thy dim mortal sight,How meanings, dark to thee,Are shadows hiding light;Truth's efforts crossed and vexed,Life's purpose all perplexed,—If thou couldst see them right,I think that they would seem all clear, and wise,and bright.

I think if thou couldst see,

With thy dim mortal sight,

How meanings, dark to thee,

Are shadows hiding light;

Truth's efforts crossed and vexed,

Life's purpose all perplexed,—

If thou couldst see them right,

I think that they would seem all clear, and wise,and bright.

And yet thou canst not know,And yet thou canst not see;Wisdom and sight are slowIn poor humanity.If thou couldsttrust, poor soul,In Him who rules the whole,Thou wouldst find peace and rest:Wisdom and sight are well, but Trust is best.

And yet thou canst not know,

And yet thou canst not see;

Wisdom and sight are slow

In poor humanity.

If thou couldsttrust, poor soul,

In Him who rules the whole,

Thou wouldst find peace and rest:

Wisdom and sight are well, but Trust is best.

—Adelaide Procter.

O thecompensating springs! O the balance-wheels of life,Hidden away in the workings under the seeming strife!Slowing the fret and the friction, weighting the whirl and the force,Evolving the truest power from each unconscious source.How shall we gauge the whole, who can only guess a part?How can we read the life, when we cannot spell the heart?How shall we measure another, we who can never knowFrom the juttings above the surface the depth of the vein below?Even our present way is known to ourselves alone,Height and abyss and torrent, flower and thorn and stone;But we gaze on another's path as a far-off mountain scene,Scanning the outlined hills, but never the vales between.How shall we judge their present, we who have never seenThat which is past forever, and that which might have been?Measuring by ourselves, unwise indeed are we,Measuring what weknowby what we can hardlysee.Ah! if we knew it all, we should surely understandThat the balance of sorrow and joy is held with an even hand,That the scale of success or loss shall never overflow,And that compensation is twined with the lot of high and low.The easy path in the lowland hath little of grand or new,But a toilsome ascent leads on to a wide and glorious view;Peopled and warm is the valley, lonely and chill the height,But the peak that is nearer the storm-cloud is nearer the stars of light.Launch on the foaming stream that bears you along like a dart,—There is danger of rapid and rock, there is tension of muscle and heart;Glide on the easy current, monotonous, calm, and slow,You are spared the quiver and strain in the safe and quiet flow.O the sweetness that dwells in a harp of many strings,While each, all vocal with love, in tuneful harmony rings!But O, the wail and the discord, when one and another is rent,Tensionless, broken or lost, from the cherished instrument.For rapture of love is linked with the pain or fear of loss,And the hand that takes the crown must ache with many a cross;Yet he who hath never a conflict hath never a victor's palm,And only the toilers know the sweetness of rest and calm.Only between the storms can the Alpine traveler knowTranscendent glory of clearness, marvels of gleam and glow;Had he the brightness unbroken of cloudless summer days,This had been dimmed by the dust and veil of a brooding haze.Who would dare the choice,neitherorbothto know,The finest quiver of joy or the agony-thrill of woe?Never the exquisite pain, then never the exquisite bliss,For the heart that is dull to that can never be strung to this.Great is the peril or toil if the glory or gain be great;Never an earthly gift without responsible weight;Never a treasure without a following shade of care;Never a power without the lurk of a subtle snare.For the swift is not the safe, and the sweet is not the strong;The smooth is not the short, and the keen is not the long;The much is not the most, and the wide is not the deep,And the flow is never a spring, when the ebb is only neap.Then, hush! oh, hush! for the Father knows what thou knowest not,The weed and the thorn and the shadow lurked with the fairest lot;Knows the wisest exemption from many an unseen snare,Knows what will keep thee nearest, knows what thou couldst not bear.Hush! oh, hush! for the Father portioneth as He will,To all His beloved children, and shall they not be still?Is not His will the wisest, is not His choice the best?And in perfect acquiescence is there not perfect rest?Hush! oh, hush! for the Father, whose ways are true and just,Knoweth and careth and loveth, and waits for thy perfect trust;The cup He is slowly filling shall soon be full to the brim,And infinite compensations forever be found in Him.Hush! oh, hush! for the Father hath fullness of joy in store,Treasures of power and wisdom, and pleasures for evermore;Blessing and honor and glory, endless, infinite bliss;—Child of His love and His choice, oh, canst thou not wait for this?—Francis Ridley Havergal.

O thecompensating springs! O the balance-wheels of life,

Hidden away in the workings under the seeming strife!

Slowing the fret and the friction, weighting the whirl and the force,

Evolving the truest power from each unconscious source.

How shall we gauge the whole, who can only guess a part?How can we read the life, when we cannot spell the heart?How shall we measure another, we who can never knowFrom the juttings above the surface the depth of the vein below?

How shall we gauge the whole, who can only guess a part?

How can we read the life, when we cannot spell the heart?

How shall we measure another, we who can never know

From the juttings above the surface the depth of the vein below?

Even our present way is known to ourselves alone,Height and abyss and torrent, flower and thorn and stone;But we gaze on another's path as a far-off mountain scene,Scanning the outlined hills, but never the vales between.

Even our present way is known to ourselves alone,

Height and abyss and torrent, flower and thorn and stone;

But we gaze on another's path as a far-off mountain scene,

Scanning the outlined hills, but never the vales between.

How shall we judge their present, we who have never seenThat which is past forever, and that which might have been?Measuring by ourselves, unwise indeed are we,Measuring what weknowby what we can hardlysee.

How shall we judge their present, we who have never seen

That which is past forever, and that which might have been?

Measuring by ourselves, unwise indeed are we,

Measuring what weknowby what we can hardlysee.

Ah! if we knew it all, we should surely understandThat the balance of sorrow and joy is held with an even hand,That the scale of success or loss shall never overflow,And that compensation is twined with the lot of high and low.

Ah! if we knew it all, we should surely understand

That the balance of sorrow and joy is held with an even hand,

That the scale of success or loss shall never overflow,

And that compensation is twined with the lot of high and low.

The easy path in the lowland hath little of grand or new,But a toilsome ascent leads on to a wide and glorious view;Peopled and warm is the valley, lonely and chill the height,But the peak that is nearer the storm-cloud is nearer the stars of light.

The easy path in the lowland hath little of grand or new,

But a toilsome ascent leads on to a wide and glorious view;

Peopled and warm is the valley, lonely and chill the height,

But the peak that is nearer the storm-cloud is nearer the stars of light.

Launch on the foaming stream that bears you along like a dart,—There is danger of rapid and rock, there is tension of muscle and heart;Glide on the easy current, monotonous, calm, and slow,You are spared the quiver and strain in the safe and quiet flow.

Launch on the foaming stream that bears you along like a dart,—

There is danger of rapid and rock, there is tension of muscle and heart;

Glide on the easy current, monotonous, calm, and slow,

You are spared the quiver and strain in the safe and quiet flow.

O the sweetness that dwells in a harp of many strings,While each, all vocal with love, in tuneful harmony rings!But O, the wail and the discord, when one and another is rent,Tensionless, broken or lost, from the cherished instrument.

O the sweetness that dwells in a harp of many strings,

While each, all vocal with love, in tuneful harmony rings!

But O, the wail and the discord, when one and another is rent,

Tensionless, broken or lost, from the cherished instrument.

For rapture of love is linked with the pain or fear of loss,And the hand that takes the crown must ache with many a cross;Yet he who hath never a conflict hath never a victor's palm,And only the toilers know the sweetness of rest and calm.

For rapture of love is linked with the pain or fear of loss,

And the hand that takes the crown must ache with many a cross;

Yet he who hath never a conflict hath never a victor's palm,

And only the toilers know the sweetness of rest and calm.

Only between the storms can the Alpine traveler knowTranscendent glory of clearness, marvels of gleam and glow;Had he the brightness unbroken of cloudless summer days,This had been dimmed by the dust and veil of a brooding haze.

Only between the storms can the Alpine traveler know

Transcendent glory of clearness, marvels of gleam and glow;

Had he the brightness unbroken of cloudless summer days,

This had been dimmed by the dust and veil of a brooding haze.

Who would dare the choice,neitherorbothto know,The finest quiver of joy or the agony-thrill of woe?Never the exquisite pain, then never the exquisite bliss,For the heart that is dull to that can never be strung to this.

Who would dare the choice,neitherorbothto know,

The finest quiver of joy or the agony-thrill of woe?

Never the exquisite pain, then never the exquisite bliss,

For the heart that is dull to that can never be strung to this.

Great is the peril or toil if the glory or gain be great;Never an earthly gift without responsible weight;Never a treasure without a following shade of care;Never a power without the lurk of a subtle snare.

Great is the peril or toil if the glory or gain be great;

Never an earthly gift without responsible weight;

Never a treasure without a following shade of care;

Never a power without the lurk of a subtle snare.

For the swift is not the safe, and the sweet is not the strong;The smooth is not the short, and the keen is not the long;The much is not the most, and the wide is not the deep,And the flow is never a spring, when the ebb is only neap.

For the swift is not the safe, and the sweet is not the strong;

The smooth is not the short, and the keen is not the long;

The much is not the most, and the wide is not the deep,

And the flow is never a spring, when the ebb is only neap.

Then, hush! oh, hush! for the Father knows what thou knowest not,The weed and the thorn and the shadow lurked with the fairest lot;Knows the wisest exemption from many an unseen snare,Knows what will keep thee nearest, knows what thou couldst not bear.

Then, hush! oh, hush! for the Father knows what thou knowest not,

The weed and the thorn and the shadow lurked with the fairest lot;

Knows the wisest exemption from many an unseen snare,

Knows what will keep thee nearest, knows what thou couldst not bear.

Hush! oh, hush! for the Father portioneth as He will,To all His beloved children, and shall they not be still?Is not His will the wisest, is not His choice the best?And in perfect acquiescence is there not perfect rest?

Hush! oh, hush! for the Father portioneth as He will,

To all His beloved children, and shall they not be still?

Is not His will the wisest, is not His choice the best?

And in perfect acquiescence is there not perfect rest?

Hush! oh, hush! for the Father, whose ways are true and just,Knoweth and careth and loveth, and waits for thy perfect trust;The cup He is slowly filling shall soon be full to the brim,And infinite compensations forever be found in Him.

Hush! oh, hush! for the Father, whose ways are true and just,

Knoweth and careth and loveth, and waits for thy perfect trust;

The cup He is slowly filling shall soon be full to the brim,

And infinite compensations forever be found in Him.

Hush! oh, hush! for the Father hath fullness of joy in store,Treasures of power and wisdom, and pleasures for evermore;Blessing and honor and glory, endless, infinite bliss;—Child of His love and His choice, oh, canst thou not wait for this?

Hush! oh, hush! for the Father hath fullness of joy in store,

Treasures of power and wisdom, and pleasures for evermore;

Blessing and honor and glory, endless, infinite bliss;—

Child of His love and His choice, oh, canst thou not wait for this?

—Francis Ridley Havergal.

Fightthe good fight; lay holdUpon eternal life;Keep but thy shield, be bold,Stand through the hottest strife;Invincible while in the field,Thou canst not fail, unless thou yield.No force of earth or hell,Though fiends with men unite,Truth's champion can compel,However pressed, to flight;Invincible upon the field,He cannot fall, unless he yield.Apollyon's arm may showerDarts thick as hail, and hideHeaven's face, as in the hour,When Christ on Calvary died;No power of darkness in the fieldCan tread thee down, unless thou yield.Trust in thy Saviour's might;Yea, till thy latest breath,Fight, and like Him in fight,By dying conquer death;And all-victorious in the field,Then with thy sword, thy spirit yield.Great words are these, and strong;Yet Lord, I look to thee,To whom alone belongValor and victory.With thee, my Captain in the field,I must prevail, I cannot yield.—James Montgomery.

Fightthe good fight; lay holdUpon eternal life;Keep but thy shield, be bold,Stand through the hottest strife;Invincible while in the field,Thou canst not fail, unless thou yield.

Fightthe good fight; lay hold

Upon eternal life;

Keep but thy shield, be bold,

Stand through the hottest strife;

Invincible while in the field,

Thou canst not fail, unless thou yield.

No force of earth or hell,Though fiends with men unite,Truth's champion can compel,However pressed, to flight;Invincible upon the field,He cannot fall, unless he yield.

No force of earth or hell,

Though fiends with men unite,

Truth's champion can compel,

However pressed, to flight;

Invincible upon the field,

He cannot fall, unless he yield.

Apollyon's arm may showerDarts thick as hail, and hideHeaven's face, as in the hour,When Christ on Calvary died;No power of darkness in the fieldCan tread thee down, unless thou yield.

Apollyon's arm may shower

Darts thick as hail, and hide

Heaven's face, as in the hour,

When Christ on Calvary died;

No power of darkness in the field

Can tread thee down, unless thou yield.

Trust in thy Saviour's might;Yea, till thy latest breath,Fight, and like Him in fight,By dying conquer death;And all-victorious in the field,Then with thy sword, thy spirit yield.

Trust in thy Saviour's might;

Yea, till thy latest breath,

Fight, and like Him in fight,

By dying conquer death;

And all-victorious in the field,

Then with thy sword, thy spirit yield.

Great words are these, and strong;Yet Lord, I look to thee,To whom alone belongValor and victory.With thee, my Captain in the field,I must prevail, I cannot yield.

Great words are these, and strong;

Yet Lord, I look to thee,

To whom alone belong

Valor and victory.

With thee, my Captain in the field,

I must prevail, I cannot yield.

—James Montgomery.

TheChurch has waited longHer absent Lord to see;And still in loneliness she waits,A friendless stranger she.Age after age has gone,Sun after sun has set,And still in weeds of widowhoodShe weeps a mourner yet.Come, then, Lord Jesus, come!Saint after saint on earthHas lived, and loved, and died;And as they left us one by one,We laid them side by side;We laid them down to sleep,But not in hope forlorn;We laid them but to ripen there,Till the last glorious morn.Come, then, Lord Jesus, come!The serpent's brood increase,The powers of hell grow bold,The conflict thickens, faith is low,And love is waxing cold.How long, O Lord our God,Holy and true, and good,Wilt Thou not judge Thy suffering Church,Her sighs and tears and blood?Come, then, Lord Jesus, come!We long to hear Thy voice,To see Thee face to face,To share Thy crown and glory then,As now we share Thy grace.Should not the loving brideThe absent bridegroom mourn?Should she not wear the weeds of griefUntil her Lord return?Come, then, Lord Jesus, come!The whole creation groans,And waits to hear that voice,That shall restore her comeliness,And make her wastes rejoice.Come Lord and wipe awayThe curse, the sin, the stain,And make this blighted world of oursThine own fair world again.Come, then, Lord Jesus, come!—Horatius Bonar.

TheChurch has waited long

Her absent Lord to see;

And still in loneliness she waits,

A friendless stranger she.

Age after age has gone,

Sun after sun has set,

And still in weeds of widowhood

She weeps a mourner yet.

Come, then, Lord Jesus, come!

Saint after saint on earthHas lived, and loved, and died;And as they left us one by one,We laid them side by side;We laid them down to sleep,But not in hope forlorn;We laid them but to ripen there,Till the last glorious morn.Come, then, Lord Jesus, come!

Saint after saint on earth

Has lived, and loved, and died;

And as they left us one by one,

We laid them side by side;

We laid them down to sleep,

But not in hope forlorn;

We laid them but to ripen there,

Till the last glorious morn.

Come, then, Lord Jesus, come!

The serpent's brood increase,The powers of hell grow bold,The conflict thickens, faith is low,And love is waxing cold.How long, O Lord our God,Holy and true, and good,Wilt Thou not judge Thy suffering Church,Her sighs and tears and blood?Come, then, Lord Jesus, come!

The serpent's brood increase,

The powers of hell grow bold,

The conflict thickens, faith is low,

And love is waxing cold.

How long, O Lord our God,

Holy and true, and good,

Wilt Thou not judge Thy suffering Church,

Her sighs and tears and blood?

Come, then, Lord Jesus, come!

We long to hear Thy voice,To see Thee face to face,To share Thy crown and glory then,As now we share Thy grace.Should not the loving brideThe absent bridegroom mourn?Should she not wear the weeds of griefUntil her Lord return?Come, then, Lord Jesus, come!

We long to hear Thy voice,

To see Thee face to face,

To share Thy crown and glory then,

As now we share Thy grace.

Should not the loving bride

The absent bridegroom mourn?

Should she not wear the weeds of grief

Until her Lord return?

Come, then, Lord Jesus, come!

The whole creation groans,And waits to hear that voice,That shall restore her comeliness,And make her wastes rejoice.Come Lord and wipe awayThe curse, the sin, the stain,And make this blighted world of oursThine own fair world again.Come, then, Lord Jesus, come!

The whole creation groans,

And waits to hear that voice,

That shall restore her comeliness,

And make her wastes rejoice.

Come Lord and wipe away

The curse, the sin, the stain,

And make this blighted world of ours

Thine own fair world again.

Come, then, Lord Jesus, come!

—Horatius Bonar.

"Mundum implens, in præsepio jacens."—Augustine.

Hehas come! the Christ of God;—Left for us his glad abodeStooping from his throne of bliss,To this darksome wilderness.He has come! the Prince of Peace;—Come to bid our sorrows cease;Come to scatter, with his light,All the shadows of our night.He the mighty King has come!Making this poor earth his home;Come to bear sin's sad load;—Son of David, Son of God!He has come, whose name of graceSpeaks deliverance to our race;Left for us his glad abode;Son of Mary, Son of God!Unto us a child is born!Ne'er has earth beheld a mornAmong all the morns of time,Half so glorious in its prime.Unto us a Son is given!He has come from God's own heaven;Bringing with Him from above,Holy peace and holy love.—Horatius Bonar.

Hehas come! the Christ of God;—Left for us his glad abodeStooping from his throne of bliss,To this darksome wilderness.

Hehas come! the Christ of God;—

Left for us his glad abode

Stooping from his throne of bliss,

To this darksome wilderness.

He has come! the Prince of Peace;—Come to bid our sorrows cease;Come to scatter, with his light,All the shadows of our night.

He has come! the Prince of Peace;—

Come to bid our sorrows cease;

Come to scatter, with his light,

All the shadows of our night.

He the mighty King has come!Making this poor earth his home;Come to bear sin's sad load;—Son of David, Son of God!

He the mighty King has come!

Making this poor earth his home;

Come to bear sin's sad load;—

Son of David, Son of God!

He has come, whose name of graceSpeaks deliverance to our race;Left for us his glad abode;Son of Mary, Son of God!

He has come, whose name of grace

Speaks deliverance to our race;

Left for us his glad abode;

Son of Mary, Son of God!

Unto us a child is born!Ne'er has earth beheld a mornAmong all the morns of time,Half so glorious in its prime.

Unto us a child is born!

Ne'er has earth beheld a morn

Among all the morns of time,

Half so glorious in its prime.

Unto us a Son is given!He has come from God's own heaven;Bringing with Him from above,Holy peace and holy love.

Unto us a Son is given!

He has come from God's own heaven;

Bringing with Him from above,

Holy peace and holy love.

—Horatius Bonar.

165jpgReligious PoemsCHRISTMAS CHIMES.

Religious PoemsCHRISTMAS CHIMES.

Religious Poems

CHRISTMAS CHIMES.

O, tohave dwelt in BethlehemWhen the star of the Lord shone bright!To have sheltered the holy wanderersOn that blessèd Christmas night;To have kissed the tender wayworn feetOf the mother undefiled,And, with reverent wonder and deep delight,To have tended the Holy Child!Hush! such a glory was not for thee;But that care may still be thine;For are there not little ones still to aidFor the sake of the Child divine?Are there no wandering Pilgrims now,To thy heart and thy home to take?And are there no mothers whose weary heartsYou can comfort for Mary's sake?O to have knelt at Jesus' feet,And to have learned his heavenly lore!To have listened the gentle lessons He taughtOn mountain, and sea, and shore!While the rich and the mighty knew Him notTo have meekly done His will:—Hush! for the worldly reject Him yet,You can serve and love Him still.Time cannot silence His mighty words,And though ages have fled away,His gentle accents of love divineSpeak to your soul to-day.O to have solaced that weeping oneWhom the righteous dare despise!To have tenderly bound up her scattered hair,And have dried her tearful eyes!Hush! there are broken hearts to soothe,And penitent tears to dry,While Magdalen prays for you and them,From her home in the starry sky.O to have followed the mournful wayOf those faithful few forlorn!And grace, beyond even an angel's hope,The Cross for our Lord have borne!To have shared in his tender mother's grief,To have wept at Mary's side,To have lived as a child in her home, and thenIn her loving care have died!Hush! and with reverent sorrow still,Mary's great anguish share;And learn, for the sake of her son divine,Thy cross, like His, to bear.The sorrows that weigh on thy soul uniteWith those which thy Lord has borne,And Mary will comfort thy dying hour,Nor leave thy soul forlorn.O to have seen what we now adore,And, though veiled to faithless sight,To have known, in the form that Jesus wore,The Lord of Life and Light!Hush! for He dwells among us still,And a grace can yet be thine,Which the scoffer and doubter can never know,—The Presence of the Divine.Jesus is with his children yet,For His word can never deceive;Go where His lowly Altars riseAnd worship and believe.—Adelaide Procter.

O, tohave dwelt in Bethlehem

When the star of the Lord shone bright!

To have sheltered the holy wanderers

On that blessèd Christmas night;

To have kissed the tender wayworn feet

Of the mother undefiled,

And, with reverent wonder and deep delight,

To have tended the Holy Child!

Hush! such a glory was not for thee;But that care may still be thine;For are there not little ones still to aidFor the sake of the Child divine?Are there no wandering Pilgrims now,To thy heart and thy home to take?And are there no mothers whose weary heartsYou can comfort for Mary's sake?

Hush! such a glory was not for thee;

But that care may still be thine;

For are there not little ones still to aid

For the sake of the Child divine?

Are there no wandering Pilgrims now,

To thy heart and thy home to take?

And are there no mothers whose weary hearts

You can comfort for Mary's sake?

O to have knelt at Jesus' feet,And to have learned his heavenly lore!To have listened the gentle lessons He taughtOn mountain, and sea, and shore!While the rich and the mighty knew Him notTo have meekly done His will:—Hush! for the worldly reject Him yet,You can serve and love Him still.Time cannot silence His mighty words,And though ages have fled away,His gentle accents of love divineSpeak to your soul to-day.

O to have knelt at Jesus' feet,

And to have learned his heavenly lore!

To have listened the gentle lessons He taught

On mountain, and sea, and shore!

While the rich and the mighty knew Him not

To have meekly done His will:—

Hush! for the worldly reject Him yet,

You can serve and love Him still.

Time cannot silence His mighty words,

And though ages have fled away,

His gentle accents of love divine

Speak to your soul to-day.

O to have solaced that weeping oneWhom the righteous dare despise!To have tenderly bound up her scattered hair,And have dried her tearful eyes!Hush! there are broken hearts to soothe,And penitent tears to dry,While Magdalen prays for you and them,From her home in the starry sky.

O to have solaced that weeping one

Whom the righteous dare despise!

To have tenderly bound up her scattered hair,

And have dried her tearful eyes!

Hush! there are broken hearts to soothe,

And penitent tears to dry,

While Magdalen prays for you and them,

From her home in the starry sky.

O to have followed the mournful wayOf those faithful few forlorn!And grace, beyond even an angel's hope,The Cross for our Lord have borne!To have shared in his tender mother's grief,To have wept at Mary's side,To have lived as a child in her home, and thenIn her loving care have died!

O to have followed the mournful way

Of those faithful few forlorn!

And grace, beyond even an angel's hope,

The Cross for our Lord have borne!

To have shared in his tender mother's grief,

To have wept at Mary's side,

To have lived as a child in her home, and then

In her loving care have died!

Hush! and with reverent sorrow still,Mary's great anguish share;And learn, for the sake of her son divine,Thy cross, like His, to bear.The sorrows that weigh on thy soul uniteWith those which thy Lord has borne,And Mary will comfort thy dying hour,Nor leave thy soul forlorn.

Hush! and with reverent sorrow still,

Mary's great anguish share;

And learn, for the sake of her son divine,

Thy cross, like His, to bear.

The sorrows that weigh on thy soul unite

With those which thy Lord has borne,

And Mary will comfort thy dying hour,

Nor leave thy soul forlorn.

O to have seen what we now adore,And, though veiled to faithless sight,To have known, in the form that Jesus wore,The Lord of Life and Light!Hush! for He dwells among us still,And a grace can yet be thine,Which the scoffer and doubter can never know,—The Presence of the Divine.Jesus is with his children yet,For His word can never deceive;Go where His lowly Altars riseAnd worship and believe.

O to have seen what we now adore,

And, though veiled to faithless sight,

To have known, in the form that Jesus wore,

The Lord of Life and Light!

Hush! for He dwells among us still,

And a grace can yet be thine,

Which the scoffer and doubter can never know,—

The Presence of the Divine.

Jesus is with his children yet,

For His word can never deceive;

Go where His lowly Altars rise

And worship and believe.

—Adelaide Procter.

Itcame upon the midnight clear,That glorious song of old,From angels bending near the earthTo touch their harps of gold:"Peace to the earth, good-will to man,From heaven's all-gracious King:"The earth in solemn stillness lay,To hear the angels sing.Still through the cloven skies they come,With peaceful wings unfurled;And still celestial music floatsO'er all the weary world;Above its sad and lowly plainsThey bend on heavenly wing,And ever o'er its Babel sounds,The blessed angels sing.Oh ye, beneath life's crushing load,Whose forms are bending low,Who toil along the climbing way,With painful steps and slow,Look up! for glad and golden hoursCome swiftly on the wing:Oh rest beside the weary road,And hear the angels sing!For lo, the days are hastening on,By prophet-bards foretold,When with the ever-circling yearsComes round the age of gold!When peace shall over all the earthIts final splendors fling,And the whole world send back the songWhich now the angels sing!—Sears.

Itcame upon the midnight clear,

That glorious song of old,

From angels bending near the earth

To touch their harps of gold:

"Peace to the earth, good-will to man,

From heaven's all-gracious King:"

The earth in solemn stillness lay,

To hear the angels sing.

Still through the cloven skies they come,With peaceful wings unfurled;And still celestial music floatsO'er all the weary world;Above its sad and lowly plainsThey bend on heavenly wing,And ever o'er its Babel sounds,The blessed angels sing.

Still through the cloven skies they come,

With peaceful wings unfurled;

And still celestial music floats

O'er all the weary world;

Above its sad and lowly plains

They bend on heavenly wing,

And ever o'er its Babel sounds,

The blessed angels sing.

Oh ye, beneath life's crushing load,Whose forms are bending low,Who toil along the climbing way,With painful steps and slow,Look up! for glad and golden hoursCome swiftly on the wing:Oh rest beside the weary road,And hear the angels sing!

Oh ye, beneath life's crushing load,

Whose forms are bending low,

Who toil along the climbing way,

With painful steps and slow,

Look up! for glad and golden hours

Come swiftly on the wing:

Oh rest beside the weary road,

And hear the angels sing!

For lo, the days are hastening on,By prophet-bards foretold,When with the ever-circling yearsComes round the age of gold!When peace shall over all the earthIts final splendors fling,And the whole world send back the songWhich now the angels sing!

For lo, the days are hastening on,

By prophet-bards foretold,

When with the ever-circling years

Comes round the age of gold!

When peace shall over all the earth

Its final splendors fling,

And the whole world send back the song

Which now the angels sing!

—Sears.

Hailto the Lord's Anointed,Great David's greater Son;Hail, in the time appointed,His reign on earth begun!He comes to break oppression,To set the captive free,To take away transgression,And rule in equity.He comes with succor speedy,To those who suffer wrong;To help the poor and needy,And bid the weak be strong;To give them songs for sighing,Their darkness turn to light,Whose souls, condemned and dying,Were precious in His sight.He shall descend like showersUpon the fruitful earth;And love and joy, like flowers,Spring in His path to birth;Before Him, on the mountains,Shall peace, the herald, go;And righteousness, in fountains,From hill to valley flow.Arabia's desert-rangerTo Him shall bow the knee,The Ethiopian strangerHis glory come to see;With offerings of devotion,Ships from the Isles shall meet,To pour the wealth of oceanIn tribute at His feet.Kings shall fall down before Him,And gold and incense bring,All nations shall adore Him,His praise all people sing:For He shall have dominionO'er river, sea, and shore,Far as the eagle's pinionOr dove's light wing can soar.To Him shall prayer unceasing,And daily vows ascend;His kingdom, still increasing,A kingdom without end:The tide of time shall neverHis covenant remove;His name shall stand forever;That name to us is Love.—Montgomery.

Hailto the Lord's Anointed,

Great David's greater Son;

Hail, in the time appointed,

His reign on earth begun!

He comes to break oppression,

To set the captive free,

To take away transgression,

And rule in equity.

He comes with succor speedy,To those who suffer wrong;To help the poor and needy,And bid the weak be strong;To give them songs for sighing,Their darkness turn to light,Whose souls, condemned and dying,Were precious in His sight.

He comes with succor speedy,

To those who suffer wrong;

To help the poor and needy,

And bid the weak be strong;

To give them songs for sighing,

Their darkness turn to light,

Whose souls, condemned and dying,

Were precious in His sight.

He shall descend like showersUpon the fruitful earth;And love and joy, like flowers,Spring in His path to birth;Before Him, on the mountains,Shall peace, the herald, go;And righteousness, in fountains,From hill to valley flow.

He shall descend like showers

Upon the fruitful earth;

And love and joy, like flowers,

Spring in His path to birth;

Before Him, on the mountains,

Shall peace, the herald, go;

And righteousness, in fountains,

From hill to valley flow.

Arabia's desert-rangerTo Him shall bow the knee,The Ethiopian strangerHis glory come to see;With offerings of devotion,Ships from the Isles shall meet,To pour the wealth of oceanIn tribute at His feet.

Arabia's desert-ranger

To Him shall bow the knee,

The Ethiopian stranger

His glory come to see;

With offerings of devotion,

Ships from the Isles shall meet,

To pour the wealth of ocean

In tribute at His feet.

Kings shall fall down before Him,And gold and incense bring,All nations shall adore Him,His praise all people sing:For He shall have dominionO'er river, sea, and shore,Far as the eagle's pinionOr dove's light wing can soar.

Kings shall fall down before Him,

And gold and incense bring,

All nations shall adore Him,

His praise all people sing:

For He shall have dominion

O'er river, sea, and shore,

Far as the eagle's pinion

Or dove's light wing can soar.

To Him shall prayer unceasing,And daily vows ascend;His kingdom, still increasing,A kingdom without end:The tide of time shall neverHis covenant remove;His name shall stand forever;That name to us is Love.

To Him shall prayer unceasing,

And daily vows ascend;

His kingdom, still increasing,

A kingdom without end:

The tide of time shall never

His covenant remove;

His name shall stand forever;

That name to us is Love.

—Montgomery.

I think,when I read that sweet story of old,When Jesus was here among men,How He called little children as lambs to his fold,I should like to have been with them then.I wish that his hands had been placed on my head,That his arms had been thrown around me,And that I might have seen his kind look, when He said,"Let the little ones come unto me."Yet still to his footstool in prayer I may go,And ask for a share in his love;And if I thus earnestly seek him below,I shall see Him and hear Him above—In that beautiful place He has gone to prepare,For all who are washed and forgiv'n;And many dear children are gathering there,"For of such is the kingdom of heav'n."I long for the joys of that glorious time,The sweetest, and brightest, and best,When the dear little children of every clime,Shall crowd to his arms and be blest.—Jemima Luke.

I think,when I read that sweet story of old,When Jesus was here among men,How He called little children as lambs to his fold,I should like to have been with them then.

I think,when I read that sweet story of old,

When Jesus was here among men,

How He called little children as lambs to his fold,

I should like to have been with them then.

I wish that his hands had been placed on my head,That his arms had been thrown around me,And that I might have seen his kind look, when He said,"Let the little ones come unto me."

I wish that his hands had been placed on my head,

That his arms had been thrown around me,

And that I might have seen his kind look, when He said,

"Let the little ones come unto me."

Yet still to his footstool in prayer I may go,And ask for a share in his love;And if I thus earnestly seek him below,I shall see Him and hear Him above—

Yet still to his footstool in prayer I may go,

And ask for a share in his love;

And if I thus earnestly seek him below,

I shall see Him and hear Him above—

In that beautiful place He has gone to prepare,For all who are washed and forgiv'n;And many dear children are gathering there,"For of such is the kingdom of heav'n."

In that beautiful place He has gone to prepare,

For all who are washed and forgiv'n;

And many dear children are gathering there,

"For of such is the kingdom of heav'n."

I long for the joys of that glorious time,The sweetest, and brightest, and best,When the dear little children of every clime,Shall crowd to his arms and be blest.

I long for the joys of that glorious time,

The sweetest, and brightest, and best,

When the dear little children of every clime,

Shall crowd to his arms and be blest.

—Jemima Luke.

MyJesus, as Thou wilt;Oh, may Thy will be mine;Into Thy hand of loveI would my all resign:Thro' sorrow or thro' joy,Conduct me as Thine own,And help me still to say,My Lord, Thy will be done.My Jesus, as Thou wilt;Tho' seen thro' many a tear,Let not my star of hopeGrow dim or disappear:Since Thou on earth hast wept,And sorrowed oft alone,If I must weep with Thee,My Lord, Thy will be done.My Jesus as Thou wilt;All shall be well for me;Each changing future sceneI gladly trust with Thee:Straight to my home aboveI travel calmly on,And sing in life or death,—My Lord, Thy will be done.—Unidentified.

MyJesus, as Thou wilt;Oh, may Thy will be mine;Into Thy hand of loveI would my all resign:Thro' sorrow or thro' joy,Conduct me as Thine own,And help me still to say,My Lord, Thy will be done.

MyJesus, as Thou wilt;

Oh, may Thy will be mine;

Into Thy hand of love

I would my all resign:

Thro' sorrow or thro' joy,

Conduct me as Thine own,

And help me still to say,

My Lord, Thy will be done.

My Jesus, as Thou wilt;Tho' seen thro' many a tear,Let not my star of hopeGrow dim or disappear:Since Thou on earth hast wept,And sorrowed oft alone,If I must weep with Thee,My Lord, Thy will be done.

My Jesus, as Thou wilt;

Tho' seen thro' many a tear,

Let not my star of hope

Grow dim or disappear:

Since Thou on earth hast wept,

And sorrowed oft alone,

If I must weep with Thee,

My Lord, Thy will be done.

My Jesus as Thou wilt;All shall be well for me;Each changing future sceneI gladly trust with Thee:Straight to my home aboveI travel calmly on,And sing in life or death,—My Lord, Thy will be done.

My Jesus as Thou wilt;

All shall be well for me;

Each changing future scene

I gladly trust with Thee:

Straight to my home above

I travel calmly on,

And sing in life or death,—

My Lord, Thy will be done.

—Unidentified.

Howbeauteous were the marks divine,That in Thy meekness used to shine,That lit Thy lonely pathway trodIn wondrous love, O Son of God!Oh, who like Thee, so calm, so bright,So pure, so made to live in light?Oh, who like Thee did ever goSo patient through a world of woe?Oh, who like Thee, so humbly boreThe scorn, the scoffs of men, before?So meek, forgiving, god-like, high,So glorious in humility?The bending angels stooped to seeThe lisping infant clasp Thy knee,And smile as in a father's eye,Upon Thy mild divinity.And death, which sets the prisoner free,Was pang and scoff, and scorn to thee;Yet love through all Thy torture glowed,And mercy with Thy life-blood flowed.Oh, in Thy light be mine to go,Illuming all my way of woe;And give me ever on the roadTo trace Thy footsteps, Son of God!—A. C. Coxe.

Howbeauteous were the marks divine,That in Thy meekness used to shine,That lit Thy lonely pathway trodIn wondrous love, O Son of God!

Howbeauteous were the marks divine,

That in Thy meekness used to shine,

That lit Thy lonely pathway trod

In wondrous love, O Son of God!

Oh, who like Thee, so calm, so bright,So pure, so made to live in light?Oh, who like Thee did ever goSo patient through a world of woe?

Oh, who like Thee, so calm, so bright,

So pure, so made to live in light?

Oh, who like Thee did ever go

So patient through a world of woe?

Oh, who like Thee, so humbly boreThe scorn, the scoffs of men, before?So meek, forgiving, god-like, high,So glorious in humility?

Oh, who like Thee, so humbly bore

The scorn, the scoffs of men, before?

So meek, forgiving, god-like, high,

So glorious in humility?

The bending angels stooped to seeThe lisping infant clasp Thy knee,And smile as in a father's eye,Upon Thy mild divinity.

The bending angels stooped to see

The lisping infant clasp Thy knee,

And smile as in a father's eye,

Upon Thy mild divinity.

And death, which sets the prisoner free,Was pang and scoff, and scorn to thee;Yet love through all Thy torture glowed,And mercy with Thy life-blood flowed.

And death, which sets the prisoner free,

Was pang and scoff, and scorn to thee;

Yet love through all Thy torture glowed,

And mercy with Thy life-blood flowed.

Oh, in Thy light be mine to go,Illuming all my way of woe;And give me ever on the roadTo trace Thy footsteps, Son of God!

Oh, in Thy light be mine to go,

Illuming all my way of woe;

And give me ever on the road

To trace Thy footsteps, Son of God!

—A. C. Coxe.

O sacredHead, now woundedWith grief and shame weigh'd down,Now scornfully surroundedWith thorns, thine only crown;O sacred Head, what glory,What bliss, till now, was thine!Yet, though despis'd and gory,I joy to call thee mine.What Thou, my Lord, hast sufferedWas all for sinners' gain;Mine, mine was the transgression,But thine the deadly pain:Lo, here I fall, my Saviour!'Tis I deserve Thy place;Look on me with Thy favor,Vouchsafe to me Thy grace.What language shall I borrowTo thank Thee, dearest Friend;For this Thy dying sorrow,Thy pity without end?O make me thine forever;And should I fainting be,Lord, let me never, never,Outlive my love to Thee!Be near me when I'm dying,Oh show Thy cross to me!And for my succor flying,Come, Lord, and set me free!These eyes, new faith receiving,From Jesus shall not move;For he who dies believing,Dies safely, through Thy love.—Bernard.

O sacredHead, now wounded

With grief and shame weigh'd down,

Now scornfully surrounded

With thorns, thine only crown;

O sacred Head, what glory,

What bliss, till now, was thine!

Yet, though despis'd and gory,

I joy to call thee mine.

What Thou, my Lord, hast sufferedWas all for sinners' gain;Mine, mine was the transgression,But thine the deadly pain:Lo, here I fall, my Saviour!'Tis I deserve Thy place;Look on me with Thy favor,Vouchsafe to me Thy grace.

What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered

Was all for sinners' gain;

Mine, mine was the transgression,

But thine the deadly pain:

Lo, here I fall, my Saviour!

'Tis I deserve Thy place;

Look on me with Thy favor,

Vouchsafe to me Thy grace.

What language shall I borrowTo thank Thee, dearest Friend;For this Thy dying sorrow,Thy pity without end?O make me thine forever;And should I fainting be,Lord, let me never, never,Outlive my love to Thee!

What language shall I borrow

To thank Thee, dearest Friend;

For this Thy dying sorrow,

Thy pity without end?

O make me thine forever;

And should I fainting be,

Lord, let me never, never,

Outlive my love to Thee!

Be near me when I'm dying,Oh show Thy cross to me!And for my succor flying,Come, Lord, and set me free!These eyes, new faith receiving,From Jesus shall not move;For he who dies believing,Dies safely, through Thy love.

Be near me when I'm dying,

Oh show Thy cross to me!

And for my succor flying,

Come, Lord, and set me free!

These eyes, new faith receiving,

From Jesus shall not move;

For he who dies believing,

Dies safely, through Thy love.

—Bernard.

Heartof stone, relent, relent!Break, by Jesus' cross subdued!See His body mangled, rent,Covered with a gore of blood;Sinful soul, what hast thou done?Crucified the Incarnate Son!Yes, thy sins have done the deed,Driven the nails that fixed Him there,Crowned with thorns His sacred head,Pierced Him with the cruel spear,Made his soul a sacrifice,While for sinful man He dies!Wilt thou let Him bleed in vain?Still to death thy Lord pursue?Open all his wounds again,And the shameful cross renew?No; with all my sins I'll part;Break, oh break, my bleeding heart!—C. Wesley.

Heartof stone, relent, relent!Break, by Jesus' cross subdued!See His body mangled, rent,Covered with a gore of blood;Sinful soul, what hast thou done?Crucified the Incarnate Son!

Heartof stone, relent, relent!

Break, by Jesus' cross subdued!

See His body mangled, rent,

Covered with a gore of blood;

Sinful soul, what hast thou done?

Crucified the Incarnate Son!

Yes, thy sins have done the deed,Driven the nails that fixed Him there,Crowned with thorns His sacred head,Pierced Him with the cruel spear,Made his soul a sacrifice,While for sinful man He dies!

Yes, thy sins have done the deed,

Driven the nails that fixed Him there,

Crowned with thorns His sacred head,

Pierced Him with the cruel spear,

Made his soul a sacrifice,

While for sinful man He dies!

Wilt thou let Him bleed in vain?Still to death thy Lord pursue?Open all his wounds again,And the shameful cross renew?No; with all my sins I'll part;Break, oh break, my bleeding heart!

Wilt thou let Him bleed in vain?

Still to death thy Lord pursue?

Open all his wounds again,

And the shameful cross renew?

No; with all my sins I'll part;

Break, oh break, my bleeding heart!

—C. Wesley.

"He hath given us rest by His sorrow, and life by His death."—John Bunyan.

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