THE VOICE FROM GALILEE.

But see, the Virgin blestHath laid her babe to rest.Milton'sHymn on the Nativity.

But see, the Virgin blest

Hath laid her babe to rest.

Milton'sHymn on the Nativity.

Sleep,sleep, mine Holy One!My flesh, my Lord!—what name? I do not knowA name that seemeth not too high or low,Too far from me or Heaven.My Jesus,thatis best! that word being givenBy the majestic angel whose commandWas softly as a man's beseeching said,When I and all the earth appeared to standIn the great overflowOf light celestial from his wings and head.Sleep, sleep, my saving One!And art Thou come for saving, baby-browedAnd speechless Being—art Thou come for saving?The palm that grows beside our door is bowedBy treadings of the low wind from the south,A restless shadow through the chamber waving:Upon its bough a bird sings in the sun;But Thou, with that close slumber on Thy mouth,Dost seem of wind and sun already weary.Art come for saving, O my weary One?Perchance this sleep that shutteth out the drearyEarth-sounds and motions, opens on Thy soulHigh dreams on fire with God;High songs that make the pathways where they rollMore bright than stars do theirs; and visions newOf Thine eternal Nature's old abode.Suffer this mother's kiss,Best thing that earthly is,To guide the music and the glory through,Nor narrow in Thy dream the broad upliftingsOf any seraph wing!Thus, noiseless, thus. Sleep, sleep, my dreaming One!The slumber of His lips meseems to runThroughmylips to mine heart; to all its shiftingsOf sensual life, bringing contrariousnessIn a great calm. I feel, I could lie downAs Moses did, and die,[1]—and then live most.I am 'ware of you, heavenly Presences,That stand with your peculiar light unlost,Each forehead with a high thought for a crown,Unsunned i' the sunshine! I am 'ware. Yet throwNo shade against the wall! How motionlessYe round me with your living statuary,While through your whiteness, in and outwardly,Continual thoughts of God appear to go,Like light's soul in itself! I bear, I bear,To look upon the dropped lids of your eyes,Though their external shining testifiesTo that beatitude within, which wereEnough to blast an eagle at his sun.I fall not on my sad clay face before ye;I look on His. I knowMy spirit which dilateth with the woeOf His mortality,May well contain your glory.Yea, drop your lids more low.Ye are but fellow-worshipers with me!Sleep, sleep, my worshiped One!We sat among the stalls at Bethlehem,The dumb kine from their fodder turning them,Softened their horned facesTo almost human gazesTowards the newly Born.The simple shepherds from the star-lit brooksBrought visionary looks,As yet in their astonished hearing rungThe strange, sweet angel-tongue.The magi of the East, in sandals worn,Knelt reverent, sweeping round,With long pale beards their gifts upon the ground,The incense, myrrh and gold,These baby hands were impotent to hold.So, let all earthlies and celestials waitUpon thy royal state!Sleep, sleep, my kingly One!I am not proud—meek angels, ye investNew meeknesses to hear such utterance restOn mortal lips,—'I am not proud'—not proud!Albeit in my flesh God sent His Son,Albeit over Him my head is bowedAs others bow before Him, still mine heartBows lower than their knees. O centuriesThat roll, in vision, your futuritiesMy future grave athwart,—Whose murmurs seem to reach me while I keepWatch o'er this sleep,—Say of me as the Heavenly said,—'Thou artThe blessedest of women!'—blessedest,Not holiest, not noblest—no high name,Whose height misplaced may pierce me like a shame,When I sit meek in heaven!For me—for me—God knows that I am feeble like the rest!—I often wandered forth, more child than maiden,Among the midnight hills of Galilee,Whose summits looked heaven-laden;Listening to silence as it seemed to beGod's voice, so soft yet strong—so fain to pressUpon my heart as Heaven did on the height,And waken up its shadows by a light,And show its vileness by a holiness.Then I knelt down most silent like the night,Too self-renounced for fears,Raising my small face to the countless blueWhose stars did mix and tremble in my tears.God heardthemfalling after—with His dew.So, seeing my corruption, can I seeThis Incorruptible now born of me—This fair new Innocence no sun did chanceTo shine on (for even Adam was no child),Created from my nature, all defiled,This mystery from out mine ignorance—Nor feel the blindness, stain, corruption, moreThan others do, orIdid heretofore?—Can hands wherein such burden pure has been,Not open with the cry 'unclean, unclean!'More oft than any else beneath the skies?Ah King, ah Christ, ah Son!The kine, the shepherds, the abased wise,Must all less lowly waitThan I, upon thy state!—Sleep, sleep, my kingly One!Art Thou a King, then? Come, His universe,Come, crown me Him a king!Pluck rays from all such stars as never flingTheir light where fell a curse.And make a crowning for this kingly brow!—What is my word?—Each empyreal starSits in a sphere afarIn shining ambuscade:The child-brow, crowned by none,Keeps its unchildlike shade.Sleep, sleep, my crownless One!Unchildlike shade!—no other babe doth wearAn aspect very sorrowful, as Thou.—No small babe-smiles, my watching heart has seen,To float like speech the speechless lips between;No dovelike cooing in the golden air,No quick short joys of leaping babyhood.Alas, our earthly goodIn heaven thought evil, seems too good for Thee:Yet, sleep, my weary One!And then the drear sharp tongue of prophecy,With the dread sense of things which shall be done,Doth smite me inly, like a sword—a sword?(That'smites the Shepherd!') then, I think aloudThe words 'despised,'—'rejected,'—every wordRecoiling into darkness as I viewTheDarlingon my knee.Bright angels,—move not!—lest ye stir the cloudBetwixt my soul and his futurity!I must not die, with mother's work to do,And could not live—and see.It is enough to bearThis image still and fair—This holier in sleep,Than a saint at prayer:This aspect of a childWho never sinned or smiled—This presence in an infant's face:This sadness most like loveThis love than love more deep,This weakness like omnipotence,It is so strong to move!Awful is this watching place,Awful what I see from hence—A king, without regalia,A God, without the thunder,A child, without the heart for play;Aye, a Creator rent asunderFrom His first glory and cast awayOn His own world, for me aloneTo hold in hands created, crying—Son!That tear fell not onThee,Beloved, yet Thou stirrest in thy slumber!Thou, stirring not for glad sounds out of numberWhich through the vibratory palm trees runFrom summer wind and bird,So quickly hast Thou heardA tear fall silently?—Wak'st Thou, O loving One?——E. B. Browning.

Sleep,sleep, mine Holy One!

My flesh, my Lord!—what name? I do not know

A name that seemeth not too high or low,

Too far from me or Heaven.

My Jesus,thatis best! that word being given

By the majestic angel whose command

Was softly as a man's beseeching said,

When I and all the earth appeared to stand

In the great overflow

Of light celestial from his wings and head.

Sleep, sleep, my saving One!

And art Thou come for saving, baby-browedAnd speechless Being—art Thou come for saving?The palm that grows beside our door is bowedBy treadings of the low wind from the south,A restless shadow through the chamber waving:Upon its bough a bird sings in the sun;But Thou, with that close slumber on Thy mouth,Dost seem of wind and sun already weary.Art come for saving, O my weary One?

And art Thou come for saving, baby-browed

And speechless Being—art Thou come for saving?

The palm that grows beside our door is bowed

By treadings of the low wind from the south,

A restless shadow through the chamber waving:

Upon its bough a bird sings in the sun;

But Thou, with that close slumber on Thy mouth,

Dost seem of wind and sun already weary.

Art come for saving, O my weary One?

Perchance this sleep that shutteth out the drearyEarth-sounds and motions, opens on Thy soulHigh dreams on fire with God;High songs that make the pathways where they rollMore bright than stars do theirs; and visions newOf Thine eternal Nature's old abode.Suffer this mother's kiss,Best thing that earthly is,To guide the music and the glory through,Nor narrow in Thy dream the broad upliftingsOf any seraph wing!Thus, noiseless, thus. Sleep, sleep, my dreaming One!

Perchance this sleep that shutteth out the dreary

Earth-sounds and motions, opens on Thy soul

High dreams on fire with God;

High songs that make the pathways where they roll

More bright than stars do theirs; and visions new

Of Thine eternal Nature's old abode.

Suffer this mother's kiss,

Best thing that earthly is,

To guide the music and the glory through,

Nor narrow in Thy dream the broad upliftings

Of any seraph wing!

Thus, noiseless, thus. Sleep, sleep, my dreaming One!

The slumber of His lips meseems to runThroughmylips to mine heart; to all its shiftingsOf sensual life, bringing contrariousnessIn a great calm. I feel, I could lie downAs Moses did, and die,[1]—and then live most.I am 'ware of you, heavenly Presences,That stand with your peculiar light unlost,Each forehead with a high thought for a crown,Unsunned i' the sunshine! I am 'ware. Yet throwNo shade against the wall! How motionlessYe round me with your living statuary,While through your whiteness, in and outwardly,Continual thoughts of God appear to go,Like light's soul in itself! I bear, I bear,To look upon the dropped lids of your eyes,Though their external shining testifiesTo that beatitude within, which wereEnough to blast an eagle at his sun.I fall not on my sad clay face before ye;I look on His. I knowMy spirit which dilateth with the woeOf His mortality,May well contain your glory.Yea, drop your lids more low.Ye are but fellow-worshipers with me!Sleep, sleep, my worshiped One!

The slumber of His lips meseems to run

Throughmylips to mine heart; to all its shiftings

Of sensual life, bringing contrariousness

In a great calm. I feel, I could lie down

As Moses did, and die,[1]—and then live most.

I am 'ware of you, heavenly Presences,

That stand with your peculiar light unlost,

Each forehead with a high thought for a crown,

Unsunned i' the sunshine! I am 'ware. Yet throw

No shade against the wall! How motionless

Ye round me with your living statuary,

While through your whiteness, in and outwardly,

Continual thoughts of God appear to go,

Like light's soul in itself! I bear, I bear,

To look upon the dropped lids of your eyes,

Though their external shining testifies

To that beatitude within, which were

Enough to blast an eagle at his sun.

I fall not on my sad clay face before ye;

I look on His. I know

My spirit which dilateth with the woe

Of His mortality,

May well contain your glory.

Yea, drop your lids more low.

Ye are but fellow-worshipers with me!

Sleep, sleep, my worshiped One!

We sat among the stalls at Bethlehem,The dumb kine from their fodder turning them,Softened their horned facesTo almost human gazesTowards the newly Born.The simple shepherds from the star-lit brooksBrought visionary looks,As yet in their astonished hearing rungThe strange, sweet angel-tongue.The magi of the East, in sandals worn,Knelt reverent, sweeping round,With long pale beards their gifts upon the ground,The incense, myrrh and gold,These baby hands were impotent to hold.So, let all earthlies and celestials waitUpon thy royal state!Sleep, sleep, my kingly One!

We sat among the stalls at Bethlehem,

The dumb kine from their fodder turning them,

Softened their horned faces

To almost human gazes

Towards the newly Born.

The simple shepherds from the star-lit brooks

Brought visionary looks,

As yet in their astonished hearing rung

The strange, sweet angel-tongue.

The magi of the East, in sandals worn,

Knelt reverent, sweeping round,

With long pale beards their gifts upon the ground,

The incense, myrrh and gold,

These baby hands were impotent to hold.

So, let all earthlies and celestials wait

Upon thy royal state!

Sleep, sleep, my kingly One!

I am not proud—meek angels, ye investNew meeknesses to hear such utterance restOn mortal lips,—'I am not proud'—not proud!Albeit in my flesh God sent His Son,Albeit over Him my head is bowedAs others bow before Him, still mine heartBows lower than their knees. O centuriesThat roll, in vision, your futuritiesMy future grave athwart,—Whose murmurs seem to reach me while I keepWatch o'er this sleep,—Say of me as the Heavenly said,—'Thou artThe blessedest of women!'—blessedest,Not holiest, not noblest—no high name,Whose height misplaced may pierce me like a shame,When I sit meek in heaven!

I am not proud—meek angels, ye invest

New meeknesses to hear such utterance rest

On mortal lips,—'I am not proud'—not proud!

Albeit in my flesh God sent His Son,

Albeit over Him my head is bowed

As others bow before Him, still mine heart

Bows lower than their knees. O centuries

That roll, in vision, your futurities

My future grave athwart,—

Whose murmurs seem to reach me while I keep

Watch o'er this sleep,—

Say of me as the Heavenly said,—'Thou art

The blessedest of women!'—blessedest,

Not holiest, not noblest—no high name,

Whose height misplaced may pierce me like a shame,

When I sit meek in heaven!

For me—for me—God knows that I am feeble like the rest!—I often wandered forth, more child than maiden,Among the midnight hills of Galilee,Whose summits looked heaven-laden;Listening to silence as it seemed to beGod's voice, so soft yet strong—so fain to pressUpon my heart as Heaven did on the height,And waken up its shadows by a light,And show its vileness by a holiness.Then I knelt down most silent like the night,Too self-renounced for fears,Raising my small face to the countless blueWhose stars did mix and tremble in my tears.God heardthemfalling after—with His dew.

For me—for me—

God knows that I am feeble like the rest!—

I often wandered forth, more child than maiden,

Among the midnight hills of Galilee,

Whose summits looked heaven-laden;

Listening to silence as it seemed to be

God's voice, so soft yet strong—so fain to press

Upon my heart as Heaven did on the height,

And waken up its shadows by a light,

And show its vileness by a holiness.

Then I knelt down most silent like the night,

Too self-renounced for fears,

Raising my small face to the countless blue

Whose stars did mix and tremble in my tears.

God heardthemfalling after—with His dew.

So, seeing my corruption, can I seeThis Incorruptible now born of me—This fair new Innocence no sun did chanceTo shine on (for even Adam was no child),Created from my nature, all defiled,This mystery from out mine ignorance—Nor feel the blindness, stain, corruption, moreThan others do, orIdid heretofore?—Can hands wherein such burden pure has been,Not open with the cry 'unclean, unclean!'More oft than any else beneath the skies?Ah King, ah Christ, ah Son!The kine, the shepherds, the abased wise,Must all less lowly waitThan I, upon thy state!—Sleep, sleep, my kingly One!

So, seeing my corruption, can I see

This Incorruptible now born of me—

This fair new Innocence no sun did chance

To shine on (for even Adam was no child),

Created from my nature, all defiled,

This mystery from out mine ignorance—

Nor feel the blindness, stain, corruption, more

Than others do, orIdid heretofore?—

Can hands wherein such burden pure has been,

Not open with the cry 'unclean, unclean!'

More oft than any else beneath the skies?

Ah King, ah Christ, ah Son!

The kine, the shepherds, the abased wise,

Must all less lowly wait

Than I, upon thy state!—

Sleep, sleep, my kingly One!

Art Thou a King, then? Come, His universe,Come, crown me Him a king!Pluck rays from all such stars as never flingTheir light where fell a curse.And make a crowning for this kingly brow!—What is my word?—Each empyreal starSits in a sphere afarIn shining ambuscade:The child-brow, crowned by none,Keeps its unchildlike shade.Sleep, sleep, my crownless One!

Art Thou a King, then? Come, His universe,

Come, crown me Him a king!

Pluck rays from all such stars as never fling

Their light where fell a curse.

And make a crowning for this kingly brow!—

What is my word?—Each empyreal star

Sits in a sphere afar

In shining ambuscade:

The child-brow, crowned by none,

Keeps its unchildlike shade.

Sleep, sleep, my crownless One!

Unchildlike shade!—no other babe doth wearAn aspect very sorrowful, as Thou.—No small babe-smiles, my watching heart has seen,To float like speech the speechless lips between;No dovelike cooing in the golden air,No quick short joys of leaping babyhood.Alas, our earthly goodIn heaven thought evil, seems too good for Thee:Yet, sleep, my weary One!

Unchildlike shade!—no other babe doth wear

An aspect very sorrowful, as Thou.—

No small babe-smiles, my watching heart has seen,

To float like speech the speechless lips between;

No dovelike cooing in the golden air,

No quick short joys of leaping babyhood.

Alas, our earthly good

In heaven thought evil, seems too good for Thee:

Yet, sleep, my weary One!

And then the drear sharp tongue of prophecy,With the dread sense of things which shall be done,Doth smite me inly, like a sword—a sword?(That'smites the Shepherd!') then, I think aloudThe words 'despised,'—'rejected,'—every wordRecoiling into darkness as I viewTheDarlingon my knee.Bright angels,—move not!—lest ye stir the cloudBetwixt my soul and his futurity!I must not die, with mother's work to do,And could not live—and see.

And then the drear sharp tongue of prophecy,

With the dread sense of things which shall be done,

Doth smite me inly, like a sword—a sword?

(That'smites the Shepherd!') then, I think aloud

The words 'despised,'—'rejected,'—every word

Recoiling into darkness as I view

TheDarlingon my knee.

Bright angels,—move not!—lest ye stir the cloud

Betwixt my soul and his futurity!

I must not die, with mother's work to do,

And could not live—and see.

It is enough to bearThis image still and fair—This holier in sleep,Than a saint at prayer:This aspect of a childWho never sinned or smiled—This presence in an infant's face:This sadness most like loveThis love than love more deep,This weakness like omnipotence,It is so strong to move!Awful is this watching place,Awful what I see from hence—A king, without regalia,A God, without the thunder,A child, without the heart for play;Aye, a Creator rent asunderFrom His first glory and cast awayOn His own world, for me aloneTo hold in hands created, crying—Son!

It is enough to bear

This image still and fair—

This holier in sleep,

Than a saint at prayer:

This aspect of a child

Who never sinned or smiled—

This presence in an infant's face:

This sadness most like love

This love than love more deep,

This weakness like omnipotence,

It is so strong to move!

Awful is this watching place,

Awful what I see from hence—

A king, without regalia,

A God, without the thunder,

A child, without the heart for play;

Aye, a Creator rent asunder

From His first glory and cast away

On His own world, for me alone

To hold in hands created, crying—Son!

That tear fell not onThee,Beloved, yet Thou stirrest in thy slumber!Thou, stirring not for glad sounds out of numberWhich through the vibratory palm trees runFrom summer wind and bird,So quickly hast Thou heardA tear fall silently?—Wak'st Thou, O loving One?—

That tear fell not onThee,

Beloved, yet Thou stirrest in thy slumber!

Thou, stirring not for glad sounds out of number

Which through the vibratory palm trees run

From summer wind and bird,

So quickly hast Thou heard

A tear fall silently?—

Wak'st Thou, O loving One?—

—E. B. Browning.

[1]It is a Jewish tradition that Moses died of the kisses of God's lips.

I heardthe voice of Jesus say,"Come unto me and rest;Lay down, thou weary one, lay downThy head upon my breast."I came to Jesus as I was—Weary, and worn, and sad;I found in Him a resting-place,And He has made me glad.I heard the voice of Jesus say,"Behold I freely giveThe living water—thirsty one,Stoop down, and drink, and live."I came to Jesus, and I drankOf that life-giving stream.My thirst was quench'd, my soul revived,And now I live in Him.I heard the voice of Jesus say,"I am this dark world's light;Look unto me, thy morn shall rise,And all thy day be bright."I looked to Jesus, and I foundIn Him my Star, my Sun;And in that Light of Life I'll walkTill trav'ling days are done.—Horatius Bonar.

I heardthe voice of Jesus say,

"Come unto me and rest;

Lay down, thou weary one, lay down

Thy head upon my breast."

I came to Jesus as I was—

Weary, and worn, and sad;

I found in Him a resting-place,

And He has made me glad.

I heard the voice of Jesus say,"Behold I freely giveThe living water—thirsty one,Stoop down, and drink, and live."I came to Jesus, and I drankOf that life-giving stream.My thirst was quench'd, my soul revived,And now I live in Him.

I heard the voice of Jesus say,

"Behold I freely give

The living water—thirsty one,

Stoop down, and drink, and live."

I came to Jesus, and I drank

Of that life-giving stream.

My thirst was quench'd, my soul revived,

And now I live in Him.

I heard the voice of Jesus say,"I am this dark world's light;Look unto me, thy morn shall rise,And all thy day be bright."I looked to Jesus, and I foundIn Him my Star, my Sun;And in that Light of Life I'll walkTill trav'ling days are done.

I heard the voice of Jesus say,

"I am this dark world's light;

Look unto me, thy morn shall rise,

And all thy day be bright."

I looked to Jesus, and I found

In Him my Star, my Sun;

And in that Light of Life I'll walk

Till trav'ling days are done.

—Horatius Bonar.

Lead,kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom,Lead Thou me on;The night is dark, and I am far from home,Lead Thou me on;Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to seeThe distant scene; one step enough for me.I was not ever thus, nor prayed that ThouShouldst lead me on;I loved to choose and see my path; but nowLead Thou me on.I loved the garish day, and spite of fears,Pride ruled my will; remember not past years.So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it stillWill lead me onO'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, tillThe night is gone,And with the morn those angel faces smile,Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile.—Cardinal Newman.

Lead,kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom,Lead Thou me on;The night is dark, and I am far from home,Lead Thou me on;Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to seeThe distant scene; one step enough for me.

Lead,kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom,

Lead Thou me on;

The night is dark, and I am far from home,

Lead Thou me on;

Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see

The distant scene; one step enough for me.

I was not ever thus, nor prayed that ThouShouldst lead me on;I loved to choose and see my path; but nowLead Thou me on.I loved the garish day, and spite of fears,Pride ruled my will; remember not past years.

I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou

Shouldst lead me on;

I loved to choose and see my path; but now

Lead Thou me on.

I loved the garish day, and spite of fears,

Pride ruled my will; remember not past years.

So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it stillWill lead me onO'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, tillThe night is gone,And with the morn those angel faces smile,Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile.

So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still

Will lead me on

O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till

The night is gone,

And with the morn those angel faces smile,

Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile.

—Cardinal Newman.

Wearyof earth and laden with my sin,I look at heaven and long to enter in;But there no evil thing may find a home,And yet I hear a voice that bids me, "Come."So vile I am, how dare I hope to standIn the pure glory of that holy land?Before the whiteness of that Throne appear?Yet there are Hands stretched out to draw me near.The while I fain would tread the heavenly way,Evil is ever with me day by day;Yet on mine ears the gracious tidings fall,"Repent, confess, thou shalt be loosed from all."It is the voice ofJesusthat I hear,His are the Hands stretched out to draw me near,And His the Blood that can for all atone,And set me faultless there before the Throne.'Twas He who found me on the deathly wild,And made me heir of heaven, theFather'schild,And day by day, whereby my soul may live,Gives me His Grace of pardon, and will give.O great Absolver, grant my soul may wearThe lowliest garb of penitence and prayer,That in theFather'scourts my glorious dressMay be the garment of Thy righteousness.Yea, Thou wilt answer for me, RighteousLord;Thine all the merits, mine the great reward;Thine the sharp thorns, and mine the golden crown;Mine the life won, and Thine the life laid down.Nought can I bring, dearLord, for all I owe,Yet let my full heart what it can bestow;Like Mary's gift let my devotion prove,Forgiven greatly, how I greatly love.—Unidentified.

Wearyof earth and laden with my sin,I look at heaven and long to enter in;But there no evil thing may find a home,And yet I hear a voice that bids me, "Come."

Wearyof earth and laden with my sin,

I look at heaven and long to enter in;

But there no evil thing may find a home,

And yet I hear a voice that bids me, "Come."

So vile I am, how dare I hope to standIn the pure glory of that holy land?Before the whiteness of that Throne appear?Yet there are Hands stretched out to draw me near.

So vile I am, how dare I hope to stand

In the pure glory of that holy land?

Before the whiteness of that Throne appear?

Yet there are Hands stretched out to draw me near.

The while I fain would tread the heavenly way,Evil is ever with me day by day;Yet on mine ears the gracious tidings fall,"Repent, confess, thou shalt be loosed from all."

The while I fain would tread the heavenly way,

Evil is ever with me day by day;

Yet on mine ears the gracious tidings fall,

"Repent, confess, thou shalt be loosed from all."

It is the voice ofJesusthat I hear,His are the Hands stretched out to draw me near,And His the Blood that can for all atone,And set me faultless there before the Throne.

It is the voice ofJesusthat I hear,

His are the Hands stretched out to draw me near,

And His the Blood that can for all atone,

And set me faultless there before the Throne.

'Twas He who found me on the deathly wild,And made me heir of heaven, theFather'schild,And day by day, whereby my soul may live,Gives me His Grace of pardon, and will give.

'Twas He who found me on the deathly wild,

And made me heir of heaven, theFather'schild,

And day by day, whereby my soul may live,

Gives me His Grace of pardon, and will give.

O great Absolver, grant my soul may wearThe lowliest garb of penitence and prayer,That in theFather'scourts my glorious dressMay be the garment of Thy righteousness.

O great Absolver, grant my soul may wear

The lowliest garb of penitence and prayer,

That in theFather'scourts my glorious dress

May be the garment of Thy righteousness.

Yea, Thou wilt answer for me, RighteousLord;Thine all the merits, mine the great reward;Thine the sharp thorns, and mine the golden crown;Mine the life won, and Thine the life laid down.

Yea, Thou wilt answer for me, RighteousLord;

Thine all the merits, mine the great reward;

Thine the sharp thorns, and mine the golden crown;

Mine the life won, and Thine the life laid down.

Nought can I bring, dearLord, for all I owe,Yet let my full heart what it can bestow;Like Mary's gift let my devotion prove,Forgiven greatly, how I greatly love.

Nought can I bring, dearLord, for all I owe,

Yet let my full heart what it can bestow;

Like Mary's gift let my devotion prove,

Forgiven greatly, how I greatly love.

—Unidentified.

"Comeunto Me, ye weary,And I will give you rest."O blessed voice ofJesus,Which comes to hearts oppressed;It tells of benediction,Of pardon, grace, and peace,Of joy that hath no ending,Of love which cannot cease." Come unto Me, ye wanderers,And I will give you light."O loving voice ofJesus,Which comes to cheer the night;Our hearts were filled with sadness,And we had lost our way;But He has brought us gladnessAnd songs at break of day." Come unto Me, ye fainting,And I will give you life;O cheering voice ofJesus,Which comes to aid our strife;The foe is stern and eager,The fight is fierce and long;But He has made us mighty,And stronger than the strong." And whosoever cometh,I will not cast him out."O welcome voice ofJesus,Which drives away our doubt;Which calls us very sinners,Unworthy though we be,Of love so free and boundless,To come, dearLord, to Thee.—Unidentified.

"Comeunto Me, ye weary,

And I will give you rest."

O blessed voice ofJesus,

Which comes to hearts oppressed;

It tells of benediction,

Of pardon, grace, and peace,

Of joy that hath no ending,

Of love which cannot cease.

" Come unto Me, ye wanderers,And I will give you light."O loving voice ofJesus,Which comes to cheer the night;Our hearts were filled with sadness,And we had lost our way;But He has brought us gladnessAnd songs at break of day.

" Come unto Me, ye wanderers,

And I will give you light."

O loving voice ofJesus,

Which comes to cheer the night;

Our hearts were filled with sadness,

And we had lost our way;

But He has brought us gladness

And songs at break of day.

" Come unto Me, ye fainting,And I will give you life;O cheering voice ofJesus,Which comes to aid our strife;The foe is stern and eager,The fight is fierce and long;But He has made us mighty,And stronger than the strong.

" Come unto Me, ye fainting,

And I will give you life;

O cheering voice ofJesus,

Which comes to aid our strife;

The foe is stern and eager,

The fight is fierce and long;

But He has made us mighty,

And stronger than the strong.

" And whosoever cometh,I will not cast him out."O welcome voice ofJesus,Which drives away our doubt;Which calls us very sinners,Unworthy though we be,Of love so free and boundless,To come, dearLord, to Thee.

" And whosoever cometh,

I will not cast him out."

O welcome voice ofJesus,

Which drives away our doubt;

Which calls us very sinners,

Unworthy though we be,

Of love so free and boundless,

To come, dearLord, to Thee.

—Unidentified.

Wherethe wave murmurs not,Where the gust eddies not,Where the stream rushes not,Where the cliff shadows not,Where the wood darkens not,I would not be!Bright tho' the heavens were,Rich tho' the flowers there,Sweet tho' the fragrant air,And all as Eden fair,Yet as a dweller there,I would not be!O wave, and breeze, and rill, and rock, and wood,Was it not God Himself that called youGOOD?—Horatius Bonar.

Wherethe wave murmurs not,Where the gust eddies not,Where the stream rushes not,Where the cliff shadows not,Where the wood darkens not,I would not be!

Wherethe wave murmurs not,

Where the gust eddies not,

Where the stream rushes not,

Where the cliff shadows not,

Where the wood darkens not,

I would not be!

Bright tho' the heavens were,Rich tho' the flowers there,Sweet tho' the fragrant air,And all as Eden fair,Yet as a dweller there,I would not be!

Bright tho' the heavens were,

Rich tho' the flowers there,

Sweet tho' the fragrant air,

And all as Eden fair,

Yet as a dweller there,

I would not be!

O wave, and breeze, and rill, and rock, and wood,Was it not God Himself that called youGOOD?

O wave, and breeze, and rill, and rock, and wood,

Was it not God Himself that called youGOOD?

—Horatius Bonar.

"Servantof God, well done,Rest from thy loved employ;The battle fought, the vict'ry won,Enter thy Master's joy."The voice at midnight came,He started up to hear;A mortal arrow pierced his frame,He fell—but felt no fear.Tranquil amidst alarms,It found him on the field,A veteran slumbering on his arms,Beneath his red-cross shield.The pains of death are past,Labor and sorrow cease;And, life's long warfare closed at last,His soul is found in peace.Soldier of Christ, well done!Praise be thy new employ;And while eternal ages run,Rest in thy Saviour's joy.—James Montgomery.

"Servantof God, well done,Rest from thy loved employ;The battle fought, the vict'ry won,Enter thy Master's joy."

"Servantof God, well done,

Rest from thy loved employ;

The battle fought, the vict'ry won,

Enter thy Master's joy."

The voice at midnight came,He started up to hear;A mortal arrow pierced his frame,He fell—but felt no fear.

The voice at midnight came,

He started up to hear;

A mortal arrow pierced his frame,

He fell—but felt no fear.

Tranquil amidst alarms,It found him on the field,A veteran slumbering on his arms,Beneath his red-cross shield.

Tranquil amidst alarms,

It found him on the field,

A veteran slumbering on his arms,

Beneath his red-cross shield.

The pains of death are past,Labor and sorrow cease;And, life's long warfare closed at last,His soul is found in peace.

The pains of death are past,

Labor and sorrow cease;

And, life's long warfare closed at last,

His soul is found in peace.

Soldier of Christ, well done!Praise be thy new employ;And while eternal ages run,Rest in thy Saviour's joy.

Soldier of Christ, well done!

Praise be thy new employ;

And while eternal ages run,

Rest in thy Saviour's joy.

—James Montgomery.

Throughthe blue and frosty heavensChristmas stars were shining bright;Glistening lamps throughout the CityAlmost matched their gleaming light;While the winter snow was lying,And the winter winds were sighing,Long ago, one Christmas night.While, from every tower and steeple,Pealing bells were sounding clear,(Never with such tones of gladness,Save when Christmas time is near,)Many a one that night was merryWho had toiled through all the year.That night saw old wrongs forgiven,Friends, long parted, reconciled;Voices all unused to laughter,Mournful eyes that rarely smiled,Trembling hearts that feared the morrow,From their anxious thoughts beguiled.Rich and poor felt love and blessingFrom the gracious season fall;Joy and plenty in the cottage,Peace and feasting in the hall;And the voices of the childrenRinging clear above it all!Yet one house was dim and darkened;Gloom, and sickness, and despair,Dwelling in the gilded chambers,Creeping up the marble stair,Even stilled the voice of mourning,—For a child lay dying there.Silken curtains fell around him,Velvet carpets hushed the tread,Many costly toys were lying,All unheeded, by his bed;And his tangled golden ringletsWere on downy pillows spread.The skill of that mighty CityTo save one little life was vain,—One little thread from being broken,One fatal word from being spoken;Nay, his very mother's pain,And the mighty love within her,Could not give him health again.So she knelt there still beside him,She alone with strength to smile,Promising that he should sufferNo more in a little while,Murmuring tender song and storyWeary hours to beguile.Suddenly an unseen PresenceChecked those constant moaning cries,Stilled the little heart's quick fluttering,Raised those blue and wondering eyes,Fixed on some mysterious vision,With a startled sweet surprise.For a radiant angel hovered,Smiling, o'er the little bed;White his raiment, from his shouldersSnowy dove-like pinions spread,And a starlike light was shining,In a Glory round his head.While, with tender love, the angel,Leaning o'er the little nest,In his arms the sick child folding,Laid him gently on his breast,Sobs and wailings told the motherThat her darling was at rest.So the angel, slowly rising,Spread his wings, and through the airBore the child, and, while he held himTo his heart with loving care,Placed a branch of crimson rosesTenderly beside him there.While the child, thus clinging, floatedTowards the mansions of the Blest,Gazing from his shining guardianTo the flowers upon his breast,Thus the angel spake, still smilingOn the little heavenly guest:"Know, dear little one, that HeavenDoes no earthly thing disdain,Man's poor joys find there an echoJust as surely as his pain;Love, on earth so feebly striving,Lives divine in Heaven again!"Once in that great town below us,In a poor and narrow street,Dwelt a little sickly orphan;Gentle aid, or pity sweet,Never in life's rugged pathwayGuided his poor tottering feet."All the striving anxious fore-thoughtThat should only come with ageWeighed upon his baby spirit,Showed him soon life's sternest page;Grim Want was his nurse, and SorrowWas his only heritage."All too weak for childish pastimes,Drearily the hours sped;On his hand so small and tremblingLeaning his poor aching head,Or, through dark and painful hours,Lying sleepless on his bed."Dreaming strange and longing fanciesOf cool forests far away;And of rosy, happy children,Laughing merrily at play,Coming home through green lanes, bearingTrailing boughs of blooming May."Scarce a glimpse of azure heavenGleamed above that narrow street,And the sultry air of summer(That you call so warm and sweet)Fevered the poor orphan, dwellingIn the crowded alley's heat."One bright day, with feeble footstepsSlowly forth he tried to crawl,Through the crowded city's pathways,Till he reached a garden-wall,Where 'mid princely halls and mansionsStood the lordliest of all."There were trees with giant branches,Velvet glades where shadows hide;There were sparkling fountains glancingFlowers, which in luxuriant prideEven wafted breaths of perfumeTo the child who stood outside."He against the gate of ironPressed his wan and wistful face,Gazing with an awe struck pleasureAt the glories of the place;Never had his brightest day-dreamShone with half such wondrous grace."You were playing in that garden,Throwing blossoms in the air,Laughing when the petals floatedDownwards on your golden hair;And the fond eyes watching o'er you,And the splendor spread before you,Told a House's Hope was there."When your servants, tired of seeingSuch a face of want and woe,Turning to the ragged orphan,Gave him coin, and bade him go,Down his cheeks so thin and wastedBitter tears began to flow."But that look of childish sorrowOn your tender child-heart fell,And you plucked the reddest rosesFrom the tree you loved so well,Passed them through the stern cold grating,Gently bidding him 'Farewell!'"Dazzled by the fragrant treasureAnd the gentle voice he heard,In the poor forlorn boy's spirit,Joy, the sleeping Seraph, stirred;In his hand he took the flowers,In his heart the loving word."So he crept to his poor garret;Poor no more, but rich and bright,For the holy dreams of childhood—Love, and Rest, and Hope, and Light—Floated round the orphan's pillowThrough the starry summer night."Day dawned, yet the visions lasted;All too weak to rise he lay;Did he dream that none spake harshly,All were strangely kind that day?Surely then his treasured rosesMust have charmed all ills away."And he smiled, though they were fading;One by one their leaves were shed;'Such bright things could never perish,They would bloom again,' he said.When the next day's sun had risenChild and flowers both were dead."Know, dear little one! our FatherWill no gentle deed disdain;Love on the cold earth beginningLives divine in Heaven again,While the angel hearts that beat thereStill all tender thoughts retain."So the angel ceased, and gentlyO'er his little burden leant;While the child gazing from the shining,Loving eyes that o'er him bent,To the blooming roses by him,Wondering what that mystery meant.Thus the radiant angel answered,And with tender meaning smiled:"Ere your childlike, loving spirit,Sin and the hard world defiled,God has given me leave to seek you,—I was once that little child!"*****In the churchyard of that cityRose a tomb of marble rareDecked, as soon as Spring awakened,With her buds and blossoms fair,—And a humble grave beside it,—No one knew who rested there.—Adelaide Procter.

Throughthe blue and frosty heavens

Christmas stars were shining bright;

Glistening lamps throughout the City

Almost matched their gleaming light;

While the winter snow was lying,

And the winter winds were sighing,

Long ago, one Christmas night.

While, from every tower and steeple,Pealing bells were sounding clear,(Never with such tones of gladness,Save when Christmas time is near,)Many a one that night was merryWho had toiled through all the year.

While, from every tower and steeple,

Pealing bells were sounding clear,

(Never with such tones of gladness,

Save when Christmas time is near,)

Many a one that night was merry

Who had toiled through all the year.

That night saw old wrongs forgiven,Friends, long parted, reconciled;Voices all unused to laughter,Mournful eyes that rarely smiled,Trembling hearts that feared the morrow,From their anxious thoughts beguiled.

That night saw old wrongs forgiven,

Friends, long parted, reconciled;

Voices all unused to laughter,

Mournful eyes that rarely smiled,

Trembling hearts that feared the morrow,

From their anxious thoughts beguiled.

Rich and poor felt love and blessingFrom the gracious season fall;Joy and plenty in the cottage,Peace and feasting in the hall;And the voices of the childrenRinging clear above it all!

Rich and poor felt love and blessing

From the gracious season fall;

Joy and plenty in the cottage,

Peace and feasting in the hall;

And the voices of the children

Ringing clear above it all!

Yet one house was dim and darkened;Gloom, and sickness, and despair,Dwelling in the gilded chambers,Creeping up the marble stair,Even stilled the voice of mourning,—For a child lay dying there.

Yet one house was dim and darkened;

Gloom, and sickness, and despair,

Dwelling in the gilded chambers,

Creeping up the marble stair,

Even stilled the voice of mourning,—

For a child lay dying there.

Silken curtains fell around him,Velvet carpets hushed the tread,Many costly toys were lying,All unheeded, by his bed;And his tangled golden ringletsWere on downy pillows spread.

Silken curtains fell around him,

Velvet carpets hushed the tread,

Many costly toys were lying,

All unheeded, by his bed;

And his tangled golden ringlets

Were on downy pillows spread.

The skill of that mighty CityTo save one little life was vain,—One little thread from being broken,One fatal word from being spoken;Nay, his very mother's pain,And the mighty love within her,Could not give him health again.

The skill of that mighty City

To save one little life was vain,—

One little thread from being broken,

One fatal word from being spoken;

Nay, his very mother's pain,

And the mighty love within her,

Could not give him health again.

So she knelt there still beside him,She alone with strength to smile,Promising that he should sufferNo more in a little while,Murmuring tender song and storyWeary hours to beguile.

So she knelt there still beside him,

She alone with strength to smile,

Promising that he should suffer

No more in a little while,

Murmuring tender song and story

Weary hours to beguile.

Suddenly an unseen PresenceChecked those constant moaning cries,Stilled the little heart's quick fluttering,Raised those blue and wondering eyes,Fixed on some mysterious vision,With a startled sweet surprise.

Suddenly an unseen Presence

Checked those constant moaning cries,

Stilled the little heart's quick fluttering,

Raised those blue and wondering eyes,

Fixed on some mysterious vision,

With a startled sweet surprise.

For a radiant angel hovered,Smiling, o'er the little bed;White his raiment, from his shouldersSnowy dove-like pinions spread,And a starlike light was shining,In a Glory round his head.

For a radiant angel hovered,

Smiling, o'er the little bed;

White his raiment, from his shoulders

Snowy dove-like pinions spread,

And a starlike light was shining,

In a Glory round his head.

While, with tender love, the angel,Leaning o'er the little nest,In his arms the sick child folding,Laid him gently on his breast,Sobs and wailings told the motherThat her darling was at rest.

While, with tender love, the angel,

Leaning o'er the little nest,

In his arms the sick child folding,

Laid him gently on his breast,

Sobs and wailings told the mother

That her darling was at rest.

So the angel, slowly rising,Spread his wings, and through the airBore the child, and, while he held himTo his heart with loving care,Placed a branch of crimson rosesTenderly beside him there.

So the angel, slowly rising,

Spread his wings, and through the air

Bore the child, and, while he held him

To his heart with loving care,

Placed a branch of crimson roses

Tenderly beside him there.

While the child, thus clinging, floatedTowards the mansions of the Blest,Gazing from his shining guardianTo the flowers upon his breast,Thus the angel spake, still smilingOn the little heavenly guest:

While the child, thus clinging, floated

Towards the mansions of the Blest,

Gazing from his shining guardian

To the flowers upon his breast,

Thus the angel spake, still smiling

On the little heavenly guest:

"Know, dear little one, that HeavenDoes no earthly thing disdain,Man's poor joys find there an echoJust as surely as his pain;Love, on earth so feebly striving,Lives divine in Heaven again!

"Know, dear little one, that Heaven

Does no earthly thing disdain,

Man's poor joys find there an echo

Just as surely as his pain;

Love, on earth so feebly striving,

Lives divine in Heaven again!

"Once in that great town below us,In a poor and narrow street,Dwelt a little sickly orphan;Gentle aid, or pity sweet,Never in life's rugged pathwayGuided his poor tottering feet.

"Once in that great town below us,

In a poor and narrow street,

Dwelt a little sickly orphan;

Gentle aid, or pity sweet,

Never in life's rugged pathway

Guided his poor tottering feet.

"All the striving anxious fore-thoughtThat should only come with ageWeighed upon his baby spirit,Showed him soon life's sternest page;Grim Want was his nurse, and SorrowWas his only heritage.

"All the striving anxious fore-thought

That should only come with age

Weighed upon his baby spirit,

Showed him soon life's sternest page;

Grim Want was his nurse, and Sorrow

Was his only heritage.

"All too weak for childish pastimes,Drearily the hours sped;On his hand so small and tremblingLeaning his poor aching head,Or, through dark and painful hours,Lying sleepless on his bed.

"All too weak for childish pastimes,

Drearily the hours sped;

On his hand so small and trembling

Leaning his poor aching head,

Or, through dark and painful hours,

Lying sleepless on his bed.

"Dreaming strange and longing fanciesOf cool forests far away;And of rosy, happy children,Laughing merrily at play,Coming home through green lanes, bearingTrailing boughs of blooming May.

"Dreaming strange and longing fancies

Of cool forests far away;

And of rosy, happy children,

Laughing merrily at play,

Coming home through green lanes, bearing

Trailing boughs of blooming May.

"Scarce a glimpse of azure heavenGleamed above that narrow street,And the sultry air of summer(That you call so warm and sweet)Fevered the poor orphan, dwellingIn the crowded alley's heat.

"Scarce a glimpse of azure heaven

Gleamed above that narrow street,

And the sultry air of summer

(That you call so warm and sweet)

Fevered the poor orphan, dwelling

In the crowded alley's heat.

"One bright day, with feeble footstepsSlowly forth he tried to crawl,Through the crowded city's pathways,Till he reached a garden-wall,Where 'mid princely halls and mansionsStood the lordliest of all.

"One bright day, with feeble footsteps

Slowly forth he tried to crawl,

Through the crowded city's pathways,

Till he reached a garden-wall,

Where 'mid princely halls and mansions

Stood the lordliest of all.

"There were trees with giant branches,Velvet glades where shadows hide;There were sparkling fountains glancingFlowers, which in luxuriant prideEven wafted breaths of perfumeTo the child who stood outside.

"There were trees with giant branches,

Velvet glades where shadows hide;

There were sparkling fountains glancing

Flowers, which in luxuriant pride

Even wafted breaths of perfume

To the child who stood outside.

"He against the gate of ironPressed his wan and wistful face,Gazing with an awe struck pleasureAt the glories of the place;Never had his brightest day-dreamShone with half such wondrous grace.

"He against the gate of iron

Pressed his wan and wistful face,

Gazing with an awe struck pleasure

At the glories of the place;

Never had his brightest day-dream

Shone with half such wondrous grace.

"You were playing in that garden,Throwing blossoms in the air,Laughing when the petals floatedDownwards on your golden hair;And the fond eyes watching o'er you,And the splendor spread before you,Told a House's Hope was there.

"You were playing in that garden,

Throwing blossoms in the air,

Laughing when the petals floated

Downwards on your golden hair;

And the fond eyes watching o'er you,

And the splendor spread before you,

Told a House's Hope was there.

"When your servants, tired of seeingSuch a face of want and woe,Turning to the ragged orphan,Gave him coin, and bade him go,Down his cheeks so thin and wastedBitter tears began to flow.

"When your servants, tired of seeing

Such a face of want and woe,

Turning to the ragged orphan,

Gave him coin, and bade him go,

Down his cheeks so thin and wasted

Bitter tears began to flow.

"But that look of childish sorrowOn your tender child-heart fell,And you plucked the reddest rosesFrom the tree you loved so well,Passed them through the stern cold grating,Gently bidding him 'Farewell!'

"But that look of childish sorrow

On your tender child-heart fell,

And you plucked the reddest roses

From the tree you loved so well,

Passed them through the stern cold grating,

Gently bidding him 'Farewell!'

"Dazzled by the fragrant treasureAnd the gentle voice he heard,In the poor forlorn boy's spirit,Joy, the sleeping Seraph, stirred;In his hand he took the flowers,In his heart the loving word.

"Dazzled by the fragrant treasure

And the gentle voice he heard,

In the poor forlorn boy's spirit,

Joy, the sleeping Seraph, stirred;

In his hand he took the flowers,

In his heart the loving word.

"So he crept to his poor garret;Poor no more, but rich and bright,For the holy dreams of childhood—Love, and Rest, and Hope, and Light—Floated round the orphan's pillowThrough the starry summer night.

"So he crept to his poor garret;

Poor no more, but rich and bright,

For the holy dreams of childhood—

Love, and Rest, and Hope, and Light—

Floated round the orphan's pillow

Through the starry summer night.

"Day dawned, yet the visions lasted;All too weak to rise he lay;Did he dream that none spake harshly,All were strangely kind that day?Surely then his treasured rosesMust have charmed all ills away.

"Day dawned, yet the visions lasted;

All too weak to rise he lay;

Did he dream that none spake harshly,

All were strangely kind that day?

Surely then his treasured roses

Must have charmed all ills away.

"And he smiled, though they were fading;One by one their leaves were shed;'Such bright things could never perish,They would bloom again,' he said.When the next day's sun had risenChild and flowers both were dead.

"And he smiled, though they were fading;

One by one their leaves were shed;

'Such bright things could never perish,

They would bloom again,' he said.

When the next day's sun had risen

Child and flowers both were dead.

"Know, dear little one! our FatherWill no gentle deed disdain;Love on the cold earth beginningLives divine in Heaven again,While the angel hearts that beat thereStill all tender thoughts retain."

"Know, dear little one! our Father

Will no gentle deed disdain;

Love on the cold earth beginning

Lives divine in Heaven again,

While the angel hearts that beat there

Still all tender thoughts retain."

So the angel ceased, and gentlyO'er his little burden leant;While the child gazing from the shining,Loving eyes that o'er him bent,To the blooming roses by him,Wondering what that mystery meant.

So the angel ceased, and gently

O'er his little burden leant;

While the child gazing from the shining,

Loving eyes that o'er him bent,

To the blooming roses by him,

Wondering what that mystery meant.

Thus the radiant angel answered,And with tender meaning smiled:"Ere your childlike, loving spirit,Sin and the hard world defiled,God has given me leave to seek you,—I was once that little child!"

Thus the radiant angel answered,

And with tender meaning smiled:

"Ere your childlike, loving spirit,

Sin and the hard world defiled,

God has given me leave to seek you,—

I was once that little child!"

*****

In the churchyard of that cityRose a tomb of marble rareDecked, as soon as Spring awakened,With her buds and blossoms fair,—And a humble grave beside it,—No one knew who rested there.

In the churchyard of that city

Rose a tomb of marble rare

Decked, as soon as Spring awakened,

With her buds and blossoms fair,—

And a humble grave beside it,—

No one knew who rested there.

—Adelaide Procter.

Jesus,the very thought of theeWith sweetness fills my breast:But sweeter far thy face to see,And in thy presence rest.Nor voice can sing, nor heart can frame,Nor can the memory findA sweeter sound than thy blest name,O Saviour of mankind!O Hope of every contrite heart!O Joy of all the meek!To those who fall, how kind thou art!How good to those who seek!But what to those who find? Ah! this,Nor tongue nor pen can show;The love of Jesus, what it is,None but his loved ones know.Jesus, our only joy be thou,As thou our prize wilt be;Jesus, be thou our glory now,And through eternity.—Bernard.

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

Jesus,the very thought of thee

With sweetness fills my breast:

But sweeter far thy face to see,

And in thy presence rest.

Nor voice can sing, nor heart can frame,Nor can the memory findA sweeter sound than thy blest name,O Saviour of mankind!

Nor voice can sing, nor heart can frame,

Nor can the memory find

A sweeter sound than thy blest name,

O Saviour of mankind!

O Hope of every contrite heart!O Joy of all the meek!To those who fall, how kind thou art!How good to those who seek!

O Hope of every contrite heart!

O Joy of all the meek!

To those who fall, how kind thou art!

How good to those who seek!

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

But what to those who find? Ah! this,

Nor tongue nor pen can show;

The love of Jesus, what it is,

None but his loved ones know.

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

Jesus, our only joy be thou,

As thou our prize wilt be;

Jesus, be thou our glory now,

And through eternity.

—Bernard.

Wecannot kindle when we willThe fire which in the heart resides;The spirit bloweth and is still,In mystery our soul abides.But tasks in hours of insight willedCan be through hours of gloom fulfilled.With aching hands and bleeding feetWe dig and heap, lay stone on stone;We bear the burden and the heatOf the long day, and wish 'twere done.Not till the hours of light return,All we have built do we discern.Then, when the clouds are off the soul,When thou dost bask in nature's eye,Ask howsheviewed thy self-control,Thy struggling, tasked morality.—Nature, whose free, light, cheerful air,Oft made thee, in thy gloom, despair.And she, whose censure thou dost dread,Whose eye thou wast afraid to seek,See, on her face a glow is spread,A strong emotion on her cheek!"Ah, child!" she cries, "that strife divine,Whence was it, for it is not mine?"There is no effort onmybrow;I do not strive, I do not weep:I rush with the swift spheres, and glowIn joy, and when I will, I sleep.Yet that severe, that earnest air,I saw, I felt it once—but where?I knew not yet the gauge of time,No more the manacles of space;I felt it in some other clime,I saw it in some other place.'Twas when the heavenly house I trod,And lay upon the breast of God.—Matthew Arnold.

Wecannot kindle when we willThe fire which in the heart resides;The spirit bloweth and is still,In mystery our soul abides.But tasks in hours of insight willedCan be through hours of gloom fulfilled.

Wecannot kindle when we will

The fire which in the heart resides;

The spirit bloweth and is still,

In mystery our soul abides.

But tasks in hours of insight willed

Can be through hours of gloom fulfilled.

With aching hands and bleeding feetWe dig and heap, lay stone on stone;We bear the burden and the heatOf the long day, and wish 'twere done.Not till the hours of light return,All we have built do we discern.

With aching hands and bleeding feet

We dig and heap, lay stone on stone;

We bear the burden and the heat

Of the long day, and wish 'twere done.

Not till the hours of light return,

All we have built do we discern.

Then, when the clouds are off the soul,When thou dost bask in nature's eye,Ask howsheviewed thy self-control,Thy struggling, tasked morality.—Nature, whose free, light, cheerful air,Oft made thee, in thy gloom, despair.

Then, when the clouds are off the soul,

When thou dost bask in nature's eye,

Ask howsheviewed thy self-control,

Thy struggling, tasked morality.—

Nature, whose free, light, cheerful air,

Oft made thee, in thy gloom, despair.

And she, whose censure thou dost dread,Whose eye thou wast afraid to seek,See, on her face a glow is spread,A strong emotion on her cheek!"Ah, child!" she cries, "that strife divine,Whence was it, for it is not mine?"

And she, whose censure thou dost dread,

Whose eye thou wast afraid to seek,

See, on her face a glow is spread,

A strong emotion on her cheek!

"Ah, child!" she cries, "that strife divine,

Whence was it, for it is not mine?"

There is no effort onmybrow;I do not strive, I do not weep:I rush with the swift spheres, and glowIn joy, and when I will, I sleep.Yet that severe, that earnest air,I saw, I felt it once—but where?

There is no effort onmybrow;

I do not strive, I do not weep:

I rush with the swift spheres, and glow

In joy, and when I will, I sleep.

Yet that severe, that earnest air,

I saw, I felt it once—but where?

I knew not yet the gauge of time,No more the manacles of space;I felt it in some other clime,I saw it in some other place.'Twas when the heavenly house I trod,And lay upon the breast of God.

I knew not yet the gauge of time,

No more the manacles of space;

I felt it in some other clime,

I saw it in some other place.

'Twas when the heavenly house I trod,

And lay upon the breast of God.

—Matthew Arnold.

Huesof the rich unfolding morn,That, ere the glorious sun be born,By some soft touch invisible,Around his path are taught to swell;—Thou rustling breeze, so fresh and gay,That dancest forth at opening day,And brushing by with joyous wing,Wakenest each little leaf to sing;—Ye fragrant clouds of dewy steam,By which deep grove and tangled streamPay, for soft rains in season given,Their tribute to the genial heaven;—Why waste your treasures of delightUpon our thankless, joyless sight,Who, day by day, to sin awake,Seldom of heaven and you partake?Oh! timely happy, timely wise,Hearts that with rising morn arise!Eyes that the beam celestial view,Which evermore makes all things new!New every morning is the loveOur wakening and uprising prove:Through sleep and darkness safely brought,Restored to life, and power, and thought.New mercies, each returning day,Hover around us while we pray;New perils past, new sins forgiven,New thoughts of God, new hopes of heaven.If on our daily course our mindBe set, to hallow all we find,New treasures still, of countless price,God will provide for sacrifice.Old friends, old scenes, will lovelier be,As more of heaven in each we see:Some softening gleam of love and prayerShall dawn on every cross and care.As for some dear familiar strainUntired we ask, and ask again.Ever, in its melodious store,Finding a spell unheard before.Such is the bliss of souls serene,When they have sworn and steadfast mean,Counting the cost, in all to espyTheir God, in all themselves deny.O could we learn that sacrifice,What lights would all around us rise!How would our hearts with wisdom talkAlong life's dullest, dreariest walk!We need not bid, for cloister'd cell,Our neighbor and our work farewell,Nor strive to wind ourselves too highFor sinful man beneath the sky:The trivial round, the common task,Would furnish all we ought to ask;Room to deny ourselves; a roadTo bring us, daily, nearer God.Seek we no more; content with these,Let present rapture, comfort, ease,As heaven shall bid them, come and go:—The secret this of rest below.Only, O Lord, in Thy dear loveFit us for perfect rest above;And help us, this and every day,To live more nearly as we pray.—John Keble.

Huesof the rich unfolding morn,That, ere the glorious sun be born,By some soft touch invisible,Around his path are taught to swell;—

Huesof the rich unfolding morn,

That, ere the glorious sun be born,

By some soft touch invisible,

Around his path are taught to swell;—

Thou rustling breeze, so fresh and gay,That dancest forth at opening day,And brushing by with joyous wing,Wakenest each little leaf to sing;—

Thou rustling breeze, so fresh and gay,

That dancest forth at opening day,

And brushing by with joyous wing,

Wakenest each little leaf to sing;—

Ye fragrant clouds of dewy steam,By which deep grove and tangled streamPay, for soft rains in season given,Their tribute to the genial heaven;—

Ye fragrant clouds of dewy steam,

By which deep grove and tangled stream

Pay, for soft rains in season given,

Their tribute to the genial heaven;—

Why waste your treasures of delightUpon our thankless, joyless sight,Who, day by day, to sin awake,Seldom of heaven and you partake?

Why waste your treasures of delight

Upon our thankless, joyless sight,

Who, day by day, to sin awake,

Seldom of heaven and you partake?

Oh! timely happy, timely wise,Hearts that with rising morn arise!Eyes that the beam celestial view,Which evermore makes all things new!

Oh! timely happy, timely wise,

Hearts that with rising morn arise!

Eyes that the beam celestial view,

Which evermore makes all things new!

New every morning is the loveOur wakening and uprising prove:Through sleep and darkness safely brought,Restored to life, and power, and thought.

New every morning is the love

Our wakening and uprising prove:

Through sleep and darkness safely brought,

Restored to life, and power, and thought.

New mercies, each returning day,Hover around us while we pray;New perils past, new sins forgiven,New thoughts of God, new hopes of heaven.

New mercies, each returning day,

Hover around us while we pray;

New perils past, new sins forgiven,

New thoughts of God, new hopes of heaven.

If on our daily course our mindBe set, to hallow all we find,New treasures still, of countless price,God will provide for sacrifice.

If on our daily course our mind

Be set, to hallow all we find,

New treasures still, of countless price,

God will provide for sacrifice.

Old friends, old scenes, will lovelier be,As more of heaven in each we see:Some softening gleam of love and prayerShall dawn on every cross and care.

Old friends, old scenes, will lovelier be,

As more of heaven in each we see:

Some softening gleam of love and prayer

Shall dawn on every cross and care.

As for some dear familiar strainUntired we ask, and ask again.Ever, in its melodious store,Finding a spell unheard before.

As for some dear familiar strain

Untired we ask, and ask again.

Ever, in its melodious store,

Finding a spell unheard before.

Such is the bliss of souls serene,When they have sworn and steadfast mean,Counting the cost, in all to espyTheir God, in all themselves deny.

Such is the bliss of souls serene,

When they have sworn and steadfast mean,

Counting the cost, in all to espy

Their God, in all themselves deny.

O could we learn that sacrifice,What lights would all around us rise!How would our hearts with wisdom talkAlong life's dullest, dreariest walk!

O could we learn that sacrifice,

What lights would all around us rise!

How would our hearts with wisdom talk

Along life's dullest, dreariest walk!

We need not bid, for cloister'd cell,Our neighbor and our work farewell,Nor strive to wind ourselves too highFor sinful man beneath the sky:

We need not bid, for cloister'd cell,

Our neighbor and our work farewell,

Nor strive to wind ourselves too high

For sinful man beneath the sky:

The trivial round, the common task,Would furnish all we ought to ask;Room to deny ourselves; a roadTo bring us, daily, nearer God.

The trivial round, the common task,

Would furnish all we ought to ask;

Room to deny ourselves; a road

To bring us, daily, nearer God.

Seek we no more; content with these,Let present rapture, comfort, ease,As heaven shall bid them, come and go:—The secret this of rest below.

Seek we no more; content with these,

Let present rapture, comfort, ease,

As heaven shall bid them, come and go:—

The secret this of rest below.

Only, O Lord, in Thy dear loveFit us for perfect rest above;And help us, this and every day,To live more nearly as we pray.

Only, O Lord, in Thy dear love

Fit us for perfect rest above;

And help us, this and every day,

To live more nearly as we pray.

—John Keble.

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