THOU ART THE WAY.

Ohthat I loved the FatherWith depth of conscious love,As steadfast, bright, and burningAs seraphim above!But how can I be deemingMyself a loving child,When here, and there, and everywhere,My thoughts are wandering wild?It is my chief desireTo know Him more and more,To follow Him more fullyThan I have done before:My eyes are dim with longingTo see the Lord above;But oh! I fear from year to year,I do not truly love.'For when I try to followThe mazes of my soul,I find no settled fire of loveIllumining the whole;'Tis all uncertain twilight,No clear and vivid glow;Would I could bring to God my KingThe perfect love I owe!'The gift is great and holy,'Twill not be sought in vain;But look up for a momentFrom present doubt and pain,And calmly tell mehowyou loveThe dearest ones below?"This love," say you, "is deep and true!"But tell me how you know?How do you love your father?"Oh in a thousand ways!I think there's no one like him,So worthy of my praise,I tell him all my troubles,And ask him what to do;I know that he will give to meHis counsel kind and true."Then every little serviceOf hand, or pen, or voice,Becomes, if he has asked it,The service of my choice.And from my own desires'Tis not so hard to part,If once I know I follow soHis wiser will and heart."'I know the flush of pleasureThat o'er my spirit came,When far from home with strangers,They caught my father's name;And for his sake the greetingWas mutual and sweet,For if they knew my father too,How glad we were to meet!'And when I heard them praisingHis music and his skill,His words of holy teaching,Life-preaching, holier still,How eagerly I listenedTo every word that fell!'Twas joy to hear that name so dearBoth known and loved so well.'Once I was ill and suffering,Upon a foreign shore,And longed to see my father,As I never longed before.He came: his arm around me;I leaned upon his breast;I did not long to feel more strong,So sweet that childlike rest.'The thought of home is pleasant,Yet I should hardly careTo leave my present fair abode,Unless I knew him there.All other love and pleasureCan never crown the place,A home to me it cannot beWithout my fathers face.'This is no fancy drawing,But every line is true,And you have traced as strong a loveAs ever daughter knew.But though its fond expressionIs rather lived than told,You do not say from day to day,'I fear my love is cold!'You do not think about it;'Tis never in your thought—'I wonder if I love himAs deeply as I ought?I know his approbationOutweighs all other meed,That his employ is always joy,But do I love indeed?'Now let your own words teach youThe higher, holier claimOf Him, who condescends to bearA Father's gracious name.No mystic inspiration,No throbbings forced and wildHe asks, but just the loving trustOf a glad and grateful child.The rare and precious momentsOf realizing thrill,Are but love's blissful blossom,To brighten, not to fillThe storehouse and the garnerWith ripe and pleasant fruit;And not alone by these is shownThe true and holy root.What if your own dear fatherWere summoned to his rest!One lives, by whom that bitterest griefCould well be soothed and blessed.Like balm upon your sharpest woeHis still, small voice would fall;His touch would heal, you could not feelThat you had lost your all.But what if He, the Lord of life,Could ever pass away!What ifHisname were blotted out,And you could know to-dayThere wasnoheavenly Father,No Saviour dear and true,No throne of grace, no resting-place,No living God for you!We need not dwell in horrorOn what can never be,Such endless desolation,Such undreamt misery.Our reason could not bear it,And all the love of earth,In fullest bliss, compared with this,Were nothing,nothingworth.Then bring your poor affection,And try it by this test;The hidden depth is fathomed,You see you love Himbest!'Tis but a feeble echoOf His great love to you,Yet in His ear each note is dear,Its harmony is true.It is an uncut jewel,All earth-incrusted now,But He will make it glorious,And set it on His brow:'Tis but a tiny glimmer,Lit from the light above,But it shall blaze through endless days,A star of perfect love.—Frances Ridley Havergal.

Ohthat I loved the Father

With depth of conscious love,

As steadfast, bright, and burning

As seraphim above!

But how can I be deeming

Myself a loving child,

When here, and there, and everywhere,

My thoughts are wandering wild?

It is my chief desireTo know Him more and more,To follow Him more fullyThan I have done before:My eyes are dim with longingTo see the Lord above;But oh! I fear from year to year,I do not truly love.

It is my chief desire

To know Him more and more,

To follow Him more fully

Than I have done before:

My eyes are dim with longing

To see the Lord above;

But oh! I fear from year to year,

I do not truly love.

'For when I try to followThe mazes of my soul,I find no settled fire of loveIllumining the whole;'Tis all uncertain twilight,No clear and vivid glow;Would I could bring to God my KingThe perfect love I owe!'

'For when I try to follow

The mazes of my soul,

I find no settled fire of love

Illumining the whole;

'Tis all uncertain twilight,

No clear and vivid glow;

Would I could bring to God my King

The perfect love I owe!'

The gift is great and holy,'Twill not be sought in vain;But look up for a momentFrom present doubt and pain,And calmly tell mehowyou loveThe dearest ones below?"This love," say you, "is deep and true!"But tell me how you know?

The gift is great and holy,

'Twill not be sought in vain;

But look up for a moment

From present doubt and pain,

And calmly tell mehowyou love

The dearest ones below?

"This love," say you, "is deep and true!"

But tell me how you know?

How do you love your father?"Oh in a thousand ways!I think there's no one like him,So worthy of my praise,I tell him all my troubles,And ask him what to do;I know that he will give to meHis counsel kind and true.

How do you love your father?

"Oh in a thousand ways!

I think there's no one like him,

So worthy of my praise,

I tell him all my troubles,

And ask him what to do;

I know that he will give to me

His counsel kind and true.

"Then every little serviceOf hand, or pen, or voice,Becomes, if he has asked it,The service of my choice.And from my own desires'Tis not so hard to part,If once I know I follow soHis wiser will and heart."

"Then every little service

Of hand, or pen, or voice,

Becomes, if he has asked it,

The service of my choice.

And from my own desires

'Tis not so hard to part,

If once I know I follow so

His wiser will and heart."

'I know the flush of pleasureThat o'er my spirit came,When far from home with strangers,They caught my father's name;And for his sake the greetingWas mutual and sweet,For if they knew my father too,How glad we were to meet!

'I know the flush of pleasure

That o'er my spirit came,

When far from home with strangers,

They caught my father's name;

And for his sake the greeting

Was mutual and sweet,

For if they knew my father too,

How glad we were to meet!

'And when I heard them praisingHis music and his skill,His words of holy teaching,Life-preaching, holier still,How eagerly I listenedTo every word that fell!'Twas joy to hear that name so dearBoth known and loved so well.

'And when I heard them praising

His music and his skill,

His words of holy teaching,

Life-preaching, holier still,

How eagerly I listened

To every word that fell!

'Twas joy to hear that name so dear

Both known and loved so well.

'Once I was ill and suffering,Upon a foreign shore,And longed to see my father,As I never longed before.He came: his arm around me;I leaned upon his breast;I did not long to feel more strong,So sweet that childlike rest.

'Once I was ill and suffering,

Upon a foreign shore,

And longed to see my father,

As I never longed before.

He came: his arm around me;

I leaned upon his breast;

I did not long to feel more strong,

So sweet that childlike rest.

'The thought of home is pleasant,Yet I should hardly careTo leave my present fair abode,Unless I knew him there.All other love and pleasureCan never crown the place,A home to me it cannot beWithout my fathers face.'

'The thought of home is pleasant,

Yet I should hardly care

To leave my present fair abode,

Unless I knew him there.

All other love and pleasure

Can never crown the place,

A home to me it cannot be

Without my fathers face.'

This is no fancy drawing,But every line is true,And you have traced as strong a loveAs ever daughter knew.But though its fond expressionIs rather lived than told,You do not say from day to day,'I fear my love is cold!'

This is no fancy drawing,

But every line is true,

And you have traced as strong a love

As ever daughter knew.

But though its fond expression

Is rather lived than told,

You do not say from day to day,

'I fear my love is cold!'

You do not think about it;'Tis never in your thought—'I wonder if I love himAs deeply as I ought?I know his approbationOutweighs all other meed,That his employ is always joy,But do I love indeed?'

You do not think about it;

'Tis never in your thought—

'I wonder if I love him

As deeply as I ought?

I know his approbation

Outweighs all other meed,

That his employ is always joy,

But do I love indeed?'

Now let your own words teach youThe higher, holier claimOf Him, who condescends to bearA Father's gracious name.No mystic inspiration,No throbbings forced and wildHe asks, but just the loving trustOf a glad and grateful child.

Now let your own words teach you

The higher, holier claim

Of Him, who condescends to bear

A Father's gracious name.

No mystic inspiration,

No throbbings forced and wild

He asks, but just the loving trust

Of a glad and grateful child.

The rare and precious momentsOf realizing thrill,Are but love's blissful blossom,To brighten, not to fillThe storehouse and the garnerWith ripe and pleasant fruit;And not alone by these is shownThe true and holy root.

The rare and precious moments

Of realizing thrill,

Are but love's blissful blossom,

To brighten, not to fill

The storehouse and the garner

With ripe and pleasant fruit;

And not alone by these is shown

The true and holy root.

What if your own dear fatherWere summoned to his rest!One lives, by whom that bitterest griefCould well be soothed and blessed.Like balm upon your sharpest woeHis still, small voice would fall;His touch would heal, you could not feelThat you had lost your all.

What if your own dear father

Were summoned to his rest!

One lives, by whom that bitterest grief

Could well be soothed and blessed.

Like balm upon your sharpest woe

His still, small voice would fall;

His touch would heal, you could not feel

That you had lost your all.

But what if He, the Lord of life,Could ever pass away!What ifHisname were blotted out,And you could know to-dayThere wasnoheavenly Father,No Saviour dear and true,No throne of grace, no resting-place,No living God for you!

But what if He, the Lord of life,

Could ever pass away!

What ifHisname were blotted out,

And you could know to-day

There wasnoheavenly Father,

No Saviour dear and true,

No throne of grace, no resting-place,

No living God for you!

We need not dwell in horrorOn what can never be,Such endless desolation,Such undreamt misery.Our reason could not bear it,And all the love of earth,In fullest bliss, compared with this,Were nothing,nothingworth.

We need not dwell in horror

On what can never be,

Such endless desolation,

Such undreamt misery.

Our reason could not bear it,

And all the love of earth,

In fullest bliss, compared with this,

Were nothing,nothingworth.

Then bring your poor affection,And try it by this test;The hidden depth is fathomed,You see you love Himbest!'Tis but a feeble echoOf His great love to you,Yet in His ear each note is dear,Its harmony is true.

Then bring your poor affection,

And try it by this test;

The hidden depth is fathomed,

You see you love Himbest!

'Tis but a feeble echo

Of His great love to you,

Yet in His ear each note is dear,

Its harmony is true.

It is an uncut jewel,All earth-incrusted now,But He will make it glorious,And set it on His brow:'Tis but a tiny glimmer,Lit from the light above,But it shall blaze through endless days,A star of perfect love.

It is an uncut jewel,

All earth-incrusted now,

But He will make it glorious,

And set it on His brow:

'Tis but a tiny glimmer,

Lit from the light above,

But it shall blaze through endless days,

A star of perfect love.

—Frances Ridley Havergal.

Thouart the Way: to thee aloneFrom sin and death we flee;And he who would the Father seek,Must seek Him, Lord, by Thee.Thou art the Truth; Thy word aloneTrue wisdom can impart;Thou only canst instruct the mind,And purify the heart.Thou art the Life: the rending tombProclaims Thy conquering arm;And those who put their trust in TheeNor death nor hell shall harm.Thou art the Way, the Truth, the Life:Grant us to know that Way;That Truth to keep, that Life to win,Which leads to endless day.—Doane.

Thouart the Way: to thee aloneFrom sin and death we flee;And he who would the Father seek,Must seek Him, Lord, by Thee.

Thouart the Way: to thee alone

From sin and death we flee;

And he who would the Father seek,

Must seek Him, Lord, by Thee.

Thou art the Truth; Thy word aloneTrue wisdom can impart;Thou only canst instruct the mind,And purify the heart.

Thou art the Truth; Thy word alone

True wisdom can impart;

Thou only canst instruct the mind,

And purify the heart.

Thou art the Life: the rending tombProclaims Thy conquering arm;And those who put their trust in TheeNor death nor hell shall harm.

Thou art the Life: the rending tomb

Proclaims Thy conquering arm;

And those who put their trust in Thee

Nor death nor hell shall harm.

Thou art the Way, the Truth, the Life:Grant us to know that Way;That Truth to keep, that Life to win,Which leads to endless day.

Thou art the Way, the Truth, the Life:

Grant us to know that Way;

That Truth to keep, that Life to win,

Which leads to endless day.

—Doane.

Todream a troubled dream, and then awakenTo the soft gladness of a summer sky;To dream ourselves alone, unloved, forsaken,And then to wake 'mid smiles, and love, and joy;To look at evening on the storm's rude motion,The cloudy tumult of the fretted deep;And then at day-burst upon that same ocean,Soothed to the stillness of its stillest sleep—So runs our course—so tells the church her story,So to the end shall it be ever told;Brief shame on earth, but after shame the glory,That wanes not, dims not, never waxes old.Lord Jesus, come, and end this troubled dreaming.Dark shadows vanish, rosy twilight break!Morn of the true and real, burst forth, calm-beaming.Day of the beautiful, arise, awake!—Horatius Bonar.

Todream a troubled dream, and then awakenTo the soft gladness of a summer sky;To dream ourselves alone, unloved, forsaken,And then to wake 'mid smiles, and love, and joy;

Todream a troubled dream, and then awaken

To the soft gladness of a summer sky;

To dream ourselves alone, unloved, forsaken,

And then to wake 'mid smiles, and love, and joy;

To look at evening on the storm's rude motion,The cloudy tumult of the fretted deep;And then at day-burst upon that same ocean,Soothed to the stillness of its stillest sleep—

To look at evening on the storm's rude motion,

The cloudy tumult of the fretted deep;

And then at day-burst upon that same ocean,

Soothed to the stillness of its stillest sleep—

So runs our course—so tells the church her story,So to the end shall it be ever told;Brief shame on earth, but after shame the glory,That wanes not, dims not, never waxes old.

So runs our course—so tells the church her story,

So to the end shall it be ever told;

Brief shame on earth, but after shame the glory,

That wanes not, dims not, never waxes old.

Lord Jesus, come, and end this troubled dreaming.Dark shadows vanish, rosy twilight break!Morn of the true and real, burst forth, calm-beaming.Day of the beautiful, arise, awake!

Lord Jesus, come, and end this troubled dreaming.

Dark shadows vanish, rosy twilight break!

Morn of the true and real, burst forth, calm-beaming.

Day of the beautiful, arise, awake!

—Horatius Bonar.

Father!Thy will, not mine, be done!So prayed on earth Thy suffering Son,So, in His name I pray:The spirit fails, the flesh is weak;Thy help in agony I seek;O! take this cup away.If such be not Thy sovereign will,Thy wiser purpose then fulfil;My wishes I resign,Into Thine hands my soul commend,On Thee for life or death depend;Thy will be done, not mine.—James Montgomery.

Father!Thy will, not mine, be done!So prayed on earth Thy suffering Son,So, in His name I pray:The spirit fails, the flesh is weak;Thy help in agony I seek;O! take this cup away.

Father!Thy will, not mine, be done!

So prayed on earth Thy suffering Son,

So, in His name I pray:

The spirit fails, the flesh is weak;

Thy help in agony I seek;

O! take this cup away.

If such be not Thy sovereign will,Thy wiser purpose then fulfil;My wishes I resign,Into Thine hands my soul commend,On Thee for life or death depend;Thy will be done, not mine.

If such be not Thy sovereign will,

Thy wiser purpose then fulfil;

My wishes I resign,

Into Thine hands my soul commend,

On Thee for life or death depend;

Thy will be done, not mine.

—James Montgomery.

Giveto the winds thy fears;Hope, and be undismay'd;God hears thy sighs, and counts thy tears.God shall lift up thy head.Through waves, through clouds and storms,He gently clears thy way;Wait thou His time; so shall this nightSoon end in joyous day.Still heavy is thy heart?Still sink thy spirits down?Cast off the weight, let fear depart,Bid every care be gone.What though thou rulest not!Yet heaven, and earth, and hellProclaim, God sitteth on the throne,And ruleth all things well.—Gerhard.

Giveto the winds thy fears;Hope, and be undismay'd;God hears thy sighs, and counts thy tears.God shall lift up thy head.

Giveto the winds thy fears;

Hope, and be undismay'd;

God hears thy sighs, and counts thy tears.

God shall lift up thy head.

Through waves, through clouds and storms,He gently clears thy way;Wait thou His time; so shall this nightSoon end in joyous day.

Through waves, through clouds and storms,

He gently clears thy way;

Wait thou His time; so shall this night

Soon end in joyous day.

Still heavy is thy heart?Still sink thy spirits down?Cast off the weight, let fear depart,Bid every care be gone.

Still heavy is thy heart?

Still sink thy spirits down?

Cast off the weight, let fear depart,

Bid every care be gone.

What though thou rulest not!Yet heaven, and earth, and hellProclaim, God sitteth on the throne,And ruleth all things well.

What though thou rulest not!

Yet heaven, and earth, and hell

Proclaim, God sitteth on the throne,

And ruleth all things well.

—Gerhard.

Wherewilt thou put thy trust?In a frail form of clay,That to its element of dustMust soon resolve away?Where will thou cast thy care?Upon an erring heart,Which hath its own sore ills to bear,And shrinks from sorrow's dart?No! place thy trust aboveThis shadowy realm of night,In Him, whose boundless power and loveThy confidence invite.His mercies still endureWhen skies and stars grow dim,His changeless promise standeth sure,Go,—cast thy care on Him.—Mrs. Sigourney.

Wherewilt thou put thy trust?In a frail form of clay,That to its element of dustMust soon resolve away?

Wherewilt thou put thy trust?

In a frail form of clay,

That to its element of dust

Must soon resolve away?

Where will thou cast thy care?Upon an erring heart,Which hath its own sore ills to bear,And shrinks from sorrow's dart?

Where will thou cast thy care?

Upon an erring heart,

Which hath its own sore ills to bear,

And shrinks from sorrow's dart?

No! place thy trust aboveThis shadowy realm of night,In Him, whose boundless power and loveThy confidence invite.

No! place thy trust above

This shadowy realm of night,

In Him, whose boundless power and love

Thy confidence invite.

His mercies still endureWhen skies and stars grow dim,His changeless promise standeth sure,Go,—cast thy care on Him.

His mercies still endure

When skies and stars grow dim,

His changeless promise standeth sure,

Go,—cast thy care on Him.

—Mrs. Sigourney.

Onethere is above all others,Well deserves the name of Friend;His is love beyond a brother's,Costly, free and knows no end.Which of all our friends, to save us,Could or would have shed his blood?But our Jesus died to have usReconciled in Him to God.When He lived on earth abasèd,Friend of sinners was His name;Now, above all glory raisèd,He rejoices in the same.Could we bear from one anotherWhat He daily bears from us?Yet this glorious Friend and BrotherLoves us though we treat Him thus.Oh for grace our hearts to soften!Teach us, Lord, at length to love!We, alas! forget too oftenWhat a Friend we have above.—Newton.

Onethere is above all others,Well deserves the name of Friend;His is love beyond a brother's,Costly, free and knows no end.

Onethere is above all others,

Well deserves the name of Friend;

His is love beyond a brother's,

Costly, free and knows no end.

Which of all our friends, to save us,Could or would have shed his blood?But our Jesus died to have usReconciled in Him to God.

Which of all our friends, to save us,

Could or would have shed his blood?

But our Jesus died to have us

Reconciled in Him to God.

When He lived on earth abasèd,Friend of sinners was His name;Now, above all glory raisèd,He rejoices in the same.

When He lived on earth abasèd,

Friend of sinners was His name;

Now, above all glory raisèd,

He rejoices in the same.

Could we bear from one anotherWhat He daily bears from us?Yet this glorious Friend and BrotherLoves us though we treat Him thus.

Could we bear from one another

What He daily bears from us?

Yet this glorious Friend and Brother

Loves us though we treat Him thus.

Oh for grace our hearts to soften!Teach us, Lord, at length to love!We, alas! forget too oftenWhat a Friend we have above.

Oh for grace our hearts to soften!

Teach us, Lord, at length to love!

We, alas! forget too often

What a Friend we have above.

—Newton.

Godmoves in a mysterious wayHis wonders to perform;He plants His footsteps in the sea,And rides upon the storm.Deep in unfathomable minesOf never-failing skill,He treasures up His vast designs,And works His sovereign will.Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;The clouds ye so much dreadAre big with mercy, and will breakIn blessings on your head.Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,But trust Him for His grace;Behind a frowning providenceHe hides a smiling face.His purposes will ripen fast,Unfolding every hour,The bud may have a bitter taste,But sweet will be the flower.Blind unbelief is sure to err,And scan His work in vain;God is His own interpreter,And he will make it plain.—Cowper.

Godmoves in a mysterious wayHis wonders to perform;He plants His footsteps in the sea,And rides upon the storm.

Godmoves in a mysterious way

His wonders to perform;

He plants His footsteps in the sea,

And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable minesOf never-failing skill,He treasures up His vast designs,And works His sovereign will.

Deep in unfathomable mines

Of never-failing skill,

He treasures up His vast designs,

And works His sovereign will.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;The clouds ye so much dreadAre big with mercy, and will breakIn blessings on your head.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;

The clouds ye so much dread

Are big with mercy, and will break

In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,But trust Him for His grace;Behind a frowning providenceHe hides a smiling face.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,

But trust Him for His grace;

Behind a frowning providence

He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,Unfolding every hour,The bud may have a bitter taste,But sweet will be the flower.

His purposes will ripen fast,

Unfolding every hour,

The bud may have a bitter taste,

But sweet will be the flower.

Blind unbelief is sure to err,And scan His work in vain;God is His own interpreter,And he will make it plain.

Blind unbelief is sure to err,

And scan His work in vain;

God is His own interpreter,

And he will make it plain.

—Cowper.

Onward,Christian, though the regionWhere thou art be drear and lone;God has set a guardian legionVery near thee; press thou on.Listen, Christian; their hosannaRolleth o'er thee: "God is love,"Write upon thy red-cross banner,"Upward ever; heaven's above."By the thorn-road, and none other,Is the mount of vision won;Tread it without shrinking, brother;Jesus trod it; press thou on.Be this world the wiser, stronger,For thy life of pain and peace,While it needs thee; oh! no longerPray thou for thy quick release.Pray thou, Christian, daily rather,That thou be a faithful son;By the prayer of Jesus, "Father,Not my will, but thine, be done."—Johnson.

Onward,Christian, though the regionWhere thou art be drear and lone;God has set a guardian legionVery near thee; press thou on.

Onward,Christian, though the region

Where thou art be drear and lone;

God has set a guardian legion

Very near thee; press thou on.

Listen, Christian; their hosannaRolleth o'er thee: "God is love,"Write upon thy red-cross banner,"Upward ever; heaven's above."

Listen, Christian; their hosanna

Rolleth o'er thee: "God is love,"

Write upon thy red-cross banner,

"Upward ever; heaven's above."

By the thorn-road, and none other,Is the mount of vision won;Tread it without shrinking, brother;Jesus trod it; press thou on.

By the thorn-road, and none other,

Is the mount of vision won;

Tread it without shrinking, brother;

Jesus trod it; press thou on.

Be this world the wiser, stronger,For thy life of pain and peace,While it needs thee; oh! no longerPray thou for thy quick release.

Be this world the wiser, stronger,

For thy life of pain and peace,

While it needs thee; oh! no longer

Pray thou for thy quick release.

Pray thou, Christian, daily rather,That thou be a faithful son;By the prayer of Jesus, "Father,Not my will, but thine, be done."

Pray thou, Christian, daily rather,

That thou be a faithful son;

By the prayer of Jesus, "Father,

Not my will, but thine, be done."

—Johnson.

MyGod, I thank Thee who hast madeThe Earth so bright;So full of splendor and of joy,Beauty and light;So many glorious things are here,Noble and right!I thank Thee, too, that Thou hast madeJoy to abound:So many gentle thoughts and deedsCircling us round,That in the darkest spot of EarthSome love is found.I thank Theemorethan all our joyIs touched with pain;That shadows fall on brightest hours;That thorns remain;So that Earth's bliss may be our guide,And not our chain.For Thou who knowest, Lord, how soonOur weak heart clings,Hast given us joys, tender and true,Yet all with wings,So that we see, gleaming on high,Diviner things!I thank Thee, Lord, that Thou hast keptThe best in store;We have enough, yet, not too muchTo long for more:A yearning for a deeper peace,Not known before.I thank Thee, Lord, that here our souls,Though amply blest,Can never find, although they seek,A perfect rest,—Nor ever shall, until they leanOn Jesus' breast!—Adelaide Procter.

MyGod, I thank Thee who hast madeThe Earth so bright;So full of splendor and of joy,Beauty and light;So many glorious things are here,Noble and right!

MyGod, I thank Thee who hast made

The Earth so bright;

So full of splendor and of joy,

Beauty and light;

So many glorious things are here,

Noble and right!

I thank Thee, too, that Thou hast madeJoy to abound:So many gentle thoughts and deedsCircling us round,That in the darkest spot of EarthSome love is found.

I thank Thee, too, that Thou hast made

Joy to abound:

So many gentle thoughts and deeds

Circling us round,

That in the darkest spot of Earth

Some love is found.

I thank Theemorethan all our joyIs touched with pain;That shadows fall on brightest hours;That thorns remain;So that Earth's bliss may be our guide,And not our chain.

I thank Theemorethan all our joy

Is touched with pain;

That shadows fall on brightest hours;

That thorns remain;

So that Earth's bliss may be our guide,

And not our chain.

For Thou who knowest, Lord, how soonOur weak heart clings,Hast given us joys, tender and true,Yet all with wings,So that we see, gleaming on high,Diviner things!

For Thou who knowest, Lord, how soon

Our weak heart clings,

Hast given us joys, tender and true,

Yet all with wings,

So that we see, gleaming on high,

Diviner things!

I thank Thee, Lord, that Thou hast keptThe best in store;We have enough, yet, not too muchTo long for more:A yearning for a deeper peace,Not known before.

I thank Thee, Lord, that Thou hast kept

The best in store;

We have enough, yet, not too much

To long for more:

A yearning for a deeper peace,

Not known before.

I thank Thee, Lord, that here our souls,Though amply blest,Can never find, although they seek,A perfect rest,—Nor ever shall, until they leanOn Jesus' breast!

I thank Thee, Lord, that here our souls,

Though amply blest,

Can never find, although they seek,

A perfect rest,—

Nor ever shall, until they lean

On Jesus' breast!

—Adelaide Procter.

Doesthe Gospel word proclaimRest for those that weary be?Then, my soul put in thy claim—Sure that promise speaks to thee!Marks of grace I cannot show,All polluted is my best;But I weary am, I know,And the weary long for rest.Burdened with a load of sin,Harassed with tormenting doubt,Hourly conflicts from within,Hourly crosses from without;—All my little strength is gone,Sink I must without supply;Sure upon the earth is noneCan more weary be than I.In the ark the weary doveFound a welcome resting-place;Thus my spirit longs to proveRest in Christ, the Ark of grace.Tempest-tossed I long have been,And the flood increases fast;Open, Lord, and take me in,Till the storm be overpast!—Newton.

Doesthe Gospel word proclaimRest for those that weary be?Then, my soul put in thy claim—Sure that promise speaks to thee!

Doesthe Gospel word proclaim

Rest for those that weary be?

Then, my soul put in thy claim—

Sure that promise speaks to thee!

Marks of grace I cannot show,All polluted is my best;But I weary am, I know,And the weary long for rest.

Marks of grace I cannot show,

All polluted is my best;

But I weary am, I know,

And the weary long for rest.

Burdened with a load of sin,Harassed with tormenting doubt,Hourly conflicts from within,Hourly crosses from without;—

Burdened with a load of sin,

Harassed with tormenting doubt,

Hourly conflicts from within,

Hourly crosses from without;—

All my little strength is gone,Sink I must without supply;Sure upon the earth is noneCan more weary be than I.

All my little strength is gone,

Sink I must without supply;

Sure upon the earth is none

Can more weary be than I.

In the ark the weary doveFound a welcome resting-place;Thus my spirit longs to proveRest in Christ, the Ark of grace.

In the ark the weary dove

Found a welcome resting-place;

Thus my spirit longs to prove

Rest in Christ, the Ark of grace.

Tempest-tossed I long have been,And the flood increases fast;Open, Lord, and take me in,Till the storm be overpast!

Tempest-tossed I long have been,

And the flood increases fast;

Open, Lord, and take me in,

Till the storm be overpast!

—Newton.

MyGod, my Father, while I strayFar from my home on life's rough way,Oh, teach me from my heart to say,"Thy will be done, Thy will be done!"What though in love or grief I sighFor friends beloved no longer nigh;Submissive still would I reply,"Thy will be done, Thy will be done!"If thou shouldst call me to resignWhat most I prize,—it ne'er was mine;I only yield thee what was Thine:"Thy will be done, Thy will be done!"If but my fainting heart be blestWith Thy sweet Spirit for its guest,My God, to Thee I leave the rest;"Thy will be done, Thy will be done!"—C. Elliott.

MyGod, my Father, while I strayFar from my home on life's rough way,Oh, teach me from my heart to say,"Thy will be done, Thy will be done!"

MyGod, my Father, while I stray

Far from my home on life's rough way,

Oh, teach me from my heart to say,

"Thy will be done, Thy will be done!"

What though in love or grief I sighFor friends beloved no longer nigh;Submissive still would I reply,"Thy will be done, Thy will be done!"

What though in love or grief I sigh

For friends beloved no longer nigh;

Submissive still would I reply,

"Thy will be done, Thy will be done!"

If thou shouldst call me to resignWhat most I prize,—it ne'er was mine;I only yield thee what was Thine:"Thy will be done, Thy will be done!"

If thou shouldst call me to resign

What most I prize,—it ne'er was mine;

I only yield thee what was Thine:

"Thy will be done, Thy will be done!"

If but my fainting heart be blestWith Thy sweet Spirit for its guest,My God, to Thee I leave the rest;"Thy will be done, Thy will be done!"

If but my fainting heart be blest

With Thy sweet Spirit for its guest,

My God, to Thee I leave the rest;

"Thy will be done, Thy will be done!"

—C. Elliott.

On the Great Exhibition, 1851.

Ha!yon burst of crystal splendor,Sunlight, starlight, blent in one;Starlight set in arctic azure,Sunlight from the burning zone!Gold and silver, gems and marble,All creation's jewelry;Earth's uncovered waste of riches,Treasures of the ancient sea.Heir of glory,What is that to thee and me?Iris and Aurora braided—How the woven colors shine!Snow-gleams from an Alpine summit.Torch-light from a spar-roofed mine.Like Arabia's matchless palace,Child of magic's strong decree,One vast globe of living sapphire,Floor, walls, columns, canopy.Heir of glory,What is that to thee and me?Forms of beauty, shapes of wonder,Trophies of triumphant toil;Never Athens, Rome, Palmyra,Gazed on such a costly spoil.Dazzling the bewildered vision,More than princely pomp we see:What the blaze of the Alhambra,Dome of emerald, to thee?Heir of glory,What is that to thee and me?Farthest cities pour their riches,Farthest empires muster here,Art her jubilee proclaimingTo the nations far and near.From the crowd in wonder gazing,Science claims the prostrate knee;This her temple, diamond-blazing,Shrine of her idolatry.Heir of glory,What is that to thee and me?Listen to her tale of wonder,Of her plastic, potent spell;'Tis a big and braggart story,Yet she tells it fair and well.She the gifted, gay magician,Mistress of earth, air, and sea;This majestic apparition,Offspring of her sorcery.Heir of glory,What is that to thee and me?What to that for which we're waitingIs this glittering earthly toy?Heavenly glory, holy splendor,Sum of grandeur, sum of joy.Not the gems that time can tarnish,Not the hues that dim and die,Not the glow that cheats the lover,Shaded with mortality.Heir of glory,That shall be for thee and me!Not the light that leaves us darker,Nor the gleams that come and go,Not the mirth whose end is madness,Not the joy whose fruit is woe;Not the notes that die at sunset,Not the fashion of a day;But the everlasting beauty,And the endless melody.Heir of glory,That shall be for thee and me!City of the pearl-bright portal;City of the jasper wall;City of the golden pavement;Seat of endless festival.City of Jehovah, Salem,City of eternity,To thy bridal-hall of gladness,From this prison would I flee.Heir of glory,That shall be for thee and me!Ah! with such strange spells around me,Fairest of what earth calls fair,How I need thy fairer image,To undo the syren snare?Lest the subtle serpent-tempterLure me with his radiant lie;As if sin were sin no longer,Life were no more vanity.Heir of glory,What is that to thee and me?Yes, I needthee, heavenly city,My low spirit to upbear;Yes, I need thee—earth's enchantmentsSo beguile me with their glare.Let me see thee, then these fettersBreak asunder; I am free;Then this pomp no longer chains me;Faith has won the victory.Heir of glory,That shall be for thee and me?Soon where earthly beauty blinds not,No excess of brilliance palls,Salem, city of the holy,We shall be within thy walls!There, beside you crystal river,There, beneath life's wondrous tree,There, with naught to cloud or sever—Ever with the Lamb to be!Heir of glory,That shall be for thee and me!—Horatius Bonar.

Ha!yon burst of crystal splendor,

Sunlight, starlight, blent in one;

Starlight set in arctic azure,

Sunlight from the burning zone!

Gold and silver, gems and marble,

All creation's jewelry;

Earth's uncovered waste of riches,

Treasures of the ancient sea.

Heir of glory,

What is that to thee and me?

Iris and Aurora braided—How the woven colors shine!Snow-gleams from an Alpine summit.Torch-light from a spar-roofed mine.Like Arabia's matchless palace,Child of magic's strong decree,One vast globe of living sapphire,Floor, walls, columns, canopy.Heir of glory,What is that to thee and me?

Iris and Aurora braided—

How the woven colors shine!

Snow-gleams from an Alpine summit.

Torch-light from a spar-roofed mine.

Like Arabia's matchless palace,

Child of magic's strong decree,

One vast globe of living sapphire,

Floor, walls, columns, canopy.

Heir of glory,

What is that to thee and me?

Forms of beauty, shapes of wonder,Trophies of triumphant toil;Never Athens, Rome, Palmyra,Gazed on such a costly spoil.Dazzling the bewildered vision,More than princely pomp we see:What the blaze of the Alhambra,Dome of emerald, to thee?Heir of glory,What is that to thee and me?

Forms of beauty, shapes of wonder,

Trophies of triumphant toil;

Never Athens, Rome, Palmyra,

Gazed on such a costly spoil.

Dazzling the bewildered vision,

More than princely pomp we see:

What the blaze of the Alhambra,

Dome of emerald, to thee?

Heir of glory,

What is that to thee and me?

Farthest cities pour their riches,Farthest empires muster here,Art her jubilee proclaimingTo the nations far and near.From the crowd in wonder gazing,Science claims the prostrate knee;This her temple, diamond-blazing,Shrine of her idolatry.Heir of glory,What is that to thee and me?

Farthest cities pour their riches,

Farthest empires muster here,

Art her jubilee proclaiming

To the nations far and near.

From the crowd in wonder gazing,

Science claims the prostrate knee;

This her temple, diamond-blazing,

Shrine of her idolatry.

Heir of glory,

What is that to thee and me?

Listen to her tale of wonder,Of her plastic, potent spell;'Tis a big and braggart story,Yet she tells it fair and well.She the gifted, gay magician,Mistress of earth, air, and sea;This majestic apparition,Offspring of her sorcery.Heir of glory,What is that to thee and me?

Listen to her tale of wonder,

Of her plastic, potent spell;

'Tis a big and braggart story,

Yet she tells it fair and well.

She the gifted, gay magician,

Mistress of earth, air, and sea;

This majestic apparition,

Offspring of her sorcery.

Heir of glory,

What is that to thee and me?

What to that for which we're waitingIs this glittering earthly toy?Heavenly glory, holy splendor,Sum of grandeur, sum of joy.Not the gems that time can tarnish,Not the hues that dim and die,Not the glow that cheats the lover,Shaded with mortality.Heir of glory,That shall be for thee and me!

What to that for which we're waiting

Is this glittering earthly toy?

Heavenly glory, holy splendor,

Sum of grandeur, sum of joy.

Not the gems that time can tarnish,

Not the hues that dim and die,

Not the glow that cheats the lover,

Shaded with mortality.

Heir of glory,

That shall be for thee and me!

Not the light that leaves us darker,Nor the gleams that come and go,Not the mirth whose end is madness,Not the joy whose fruit is woe;Not the notes that die at sunset,Not the fashion of a day;But the everlasting beauty,And the endless melody.Heir of glory,That shall be for thee and me!

Not the light that leaves us darker,

Nor the gleams that come and go,

Not the mirth whose end is madness,

Not the joy whose fruit is woe;

Not the notes that die at sunset,

Not the fashion of a day;

But the everlasting beauty,

And the endless melody.

Heir of glory,

That shall be for thee and me!

City of the pearl-bright portal;City of the jasper wall;City of the golden pavement;Seat of endless festival.City of Jehovah, Salem,City of eternity,To thy bridal-hall of gladness,From this prison would I flee.Heir of glory,That shall be for thee and me!

City of the pearl-bright portal;

City of the jasper wall;

City of the golden pavement;

Seat of endless festival.

City of Jehovah, Salem,

City of eternity,

To thy bridal-hall of gladness,

From this prison would I flee.

Heir of glory,

That shall be for thee and me!

Ah! with such strange spells around me,Fairest of what earth calls fair,How I need thy fairer image,To undo the syren snare?Lest the subtle serpent-tempterLure me with his radiant lie;As if sin were sin no longer,Life were no more vanity.Heir of glory,What is that to thee and me?

Ah! with such strange spells around me,

Fairest of what earth calls fair,

How I need thy fairer image,

To undo the syren snare?

Lest the subtle serpent-tempter

Lure me with his radiant lie;

As if sin were sin no longer,

Life were no more vanity.

Heir of glory,

What is that to thee and me?

Yes, I needthee, heavenly city,My low spirit to upbear;Yes, I need thee—earth's enchantmentsSo beguile me with their glare.Let me see thee, then these fettersBreak asunder; I am free;Then this pomp no longer chains me;Faith has won the victory.Heir of glory,That shall be for thee and me?

Yes, I needthee, heavenly city,

My low spirit to upbear;

Yes, I need thee—earth's enchantments

So beguile me with their glare.

Let me see thee, then these fetters

Break asunder; I am free;

Then this pomp no longer chains me;

Faith has won the victory.

Heir of glory,

That shall be for thee and me?

Soon where earthly beauty blinds not,No excess of brilliance palls,Salem, city of the holy,We shall be within thy walls!There, beside you crystal river,There, beneath life's wondrous tree,There, with naught to cloud or sever—Ever with the Lamb to be!Heir of glory,That shall be for thee and me!

Soon where earthly beauty blinds not,

No excess of brilliance palls,

Salem, city of the holy,

We shall be within thy walls!

There, beside you crystal river,

There, beneath life's wondrous tree,

There, with naught to cloud or sever—

Ever with the Lamb to be!

Heir of glory,

That shall be for thee and me!

—Horatius Bonar.

I amfar frae my hame, an' I'm weary aftenwhiles,For the langed-far hame-bringin', an' my Father's welcome smiles,An' I'll ne'er be fu' content, until mine een do seeThe gowden gates o' heav'n an' my ain countrie.The earth is fleck'd wi' flowers, mony-tinted, fresh an' gay,The birdies warble blithely, for my Faither made them sae:But these sights an' these soun's will as naething be to me,When I hear the angels singin' in my ain countrie.I've His gude word of promise that some gladsome day, the KingTo His ain royal palace His banished hame will bring;Wi' een an' wi' hert rinning ower, we shall seeThe King in His beauty, in oor ain countrie.My sins hae been mony, an' my sorrows hae been sair,But there they'll never vex me, nor be remembered mairFor His bluid has made me white, and His han' shall dry my e'e,When He brings me hame at last, to my ain countrie.Sae little noo I ken, o' yon blessed, bonnie place,I only ken it's Hame, whaur we shall see His face:It wad surely be eneuch for ever mair to beIn the glory o' His presence, in oor ain countrie.Like a bairn to his mither, a wee birdie to its nest,I wad fain' be gangin' noo, unto my Saviour's breast,For He gathers in His bosom witless, worthless lambs like me,And carries them Himsel', to His ain countrie.He is faithfu' that hath promised, an' He'll surely come again,He'll keep His tryst wi' me, at what hour I dinna ken;But He bids me still to wait, an' ready aye to be,To gang at ony moment to my ain countrie.Sae I'm watching aye, an' singin' o' my hame as I waitFor the soun'ing o' His footfa' this side the gowden gate:God gie His grace to ilka ane wha' listens noo to me,That we a' may gang in gladness to oor ain countrie.(Unidentified.)

I amfar frae my hame, an' I'm weary aftenwhiles,

For the langed-far hame-bringin', an' my Father's welcome smiles,

An' I'll ne'er be fu' content, until mine een do see

The gowden gates o' heav'n an' my ain countrie.

The earth is fleck'd wi' flowers, mony-tinted, fresh an' gay,

The birdies warble blithely, for my Faither made them sae:

But these sights an' these soun's will as naething be to me,

When I hear the angels singin' in my ain countrie.

I've His gude word of promise that some gladsome day, the KingTo His ain royal palace His banished hame will bring;Wi' een an' wi' hert rinning ower, we shall seeThe King in His beauty, in oor ain countrie.My sins hae been mony, an' my sorrows hae been sair,But there they'll never vex me, nor be remembered mairFor His bluid has made me white, and His han' shall dry my e'e,When He brings me hame at last, to my ain countrie.

I've His gude word of promise that some gladsome day, the King

To His ain royal palace His banished hame will bring;

Wi' een an' wi' hert rinning ower, we shall see

The King in His beauty, in oor ain countrie.

My sins hae been mony, an' my sorrows hae been sair,

But there they'll never vex me, nor be remembered mair

For His bluid has made me white, and His han' shall dry my e'e,

When He brings me hame at last, to my ain countrie.

Sae little noo I ken, o' yon blessed, bonnie place,I only ken it's Hame, whaur we shall see His face:It wad surely be eneuch for ever mair to beIn the glory o' His presence, in oor ain countrie.Like a bairn to his mither, a wee birdie to its nest,I wad fain' be gangin' noo, unto my Saviour's breast,For He gathers in His bosom witless, worthless lambs like me,And carries them Himsel', to His ain countrie.

Sae little noo I ken, o' yon blessed, bonnie place,

I only ken it's Hame, whaur we shall see His face:

It wad surely be eneuch for ever mair to be

In the glory o' His presence, in oor ain countrie.

Like a bairn to his mither, a wee birdie to its nest,

I wad fain' be gangin' noo, unto my Saviour's breast,

For He gathers in His bosom witless, worthless lambs like me,

And carries them Himsel', to His ain countrie.

He is faithfu' that hath promised, an' He'll surely come again,He'll keep His tryst wi' me, at what hour I dinna ken;But He bids me still to wait, an' ready aye to be,To gang at ony moment to my ain countrie.Sae I'm watching aye, an' singin' o' my hame as I waitFor the soun'ing o' His footfa' this side the gowden gate:God gie His grace to ilka ane wha' listens noo to me,That we a' may gang in gladness to oor ain countrie.

He is faithfu' that hath promised, an' He'll surely come again,

He'll keep His tryst wi' me, at what hour I dinna ken;

But He bids me still to wait, an' ready aye to be,

To gang at ony moment to my ain countrie.

Sae I'm watching aye, an' singin' o' my hame as I wait

For the soun'ing o' His footfa' this side the gowden gate:

God gie His grace to ilka ane wha' listens noo to me,

That we a' may gang in gladness to oor ain countrie.

(Unidentified.)

O thou,the contrite sinner's Friend,Who loving, lov'st them to the end,On this alone my hopes depend,That Thou wilt plead for me!When, weary in the Christian race,Far-off appears my resting-place,And fainting, I mistrust Thy grace—Then, Saviour, plead for me!When I have err'd and gone astrayAfar from Thine own and Wisdom's way,And see no glimmering guiding ray—Still, Saviour, plead for me!When Satan, by my sins made bold,Strives from Thy cross to loose my hold,Then with Thy pitying arms enfold,And plead, oh, plead for me!And when my dying hour draws near,Darken'd with anguish, guilt, and fear,Then to my fainting sight appear,Pleading in Heaven for me!When the full light of Heavenly dayReveals my sins in dread array,Say, Thou hast wash'd them all away;Oh, say, Thou plead'st for me!—Charlotte Elliott.

O thou,the contrite sinner's Friend,Who loving, lov'st them to the end,On this alone my hopes depend,That Thou wilt plead for me!

O thou,the contrite sinner's Friend,

Who loving, lov'st them to the end,

On this alone my hopes depend,

That Thou wilt plead for me!

When, weary in the Christian race,Far-off appears my resting-place,And fainting, I mistrust Thy grace—Then, Saviour, plead for me!

When, weary in the Christian race,

Far-off appears my resting-place,

And fainting, I mistrust Thy grace—

Then, Saviour, plead for me!

When I have err'd and gone astrayAfar from Thine own and Wisdom's way,And see no glimmering guiding ray—Still, Saviour, plead for me!

When I have err'd and gone astray

Afar from Thine own and Wisdom's way,

And see no glimmering guiding ray—

Still, Saviour, plead for me!

When Satan, by my sins made bold,Strives from Thy cross to loose my hold,Then with Thy pitying arms enfold,And plead, oh, plead for me!

When Satan, by my sins made bold,

Strives from Thy cross to loose my hold,

Then with Thy pitying arms enfold,

And plead, oh, plead for me!

And when my dying hour draws near,Darken'd with anguish, guilt, and fear,Then to my fainting sight appear,Pleading in Heaven for me!

And when my dying hour draws near,

Darken'd with anguish, guilt, and fear,

Then to my fainting sight appear,

Pleading in Heaven for me!

When the full light of Heavenly dayReveals my sins in dread array,Say, Thou hast wash'd them all away;Oh, say, Thou plead'st for me!

When the full light of Heavenly day

Reveals my sins in dread array,

Say, Thou hast wash'd them all away;

Oh, say, Thou plead'st for me!

—Charlotte Elliott.

"Now in thy youth, beseech of Him,Who giveth, upbraiding not,That His light in thy heart become not dim,And His love be unforgot;And thy God, in the darkest of days, will beGreenness, and beauty, and strength to thee."—Bernard Barton.

"Now in thy youth, beseech of Him,

Who giveth, upbraiding not,

That His light in thy heart become not dim,

And His love be unforgot;

And thy God, in the darkest of days, will be

Greenness, and beauty, and strength to thee."

—Bernard Barton.

Hush!'tis a holy hour—the quiet roomSeems like a temple, while yon soft lamp shedsA faint and starry radiance, through the gloomAnd the sweet stillness, down on bright young heads,With all their clustering locks, untouched by care,And bowed, as flowers are bowed with night—in prayer.Gaze on,—'tis lovely! childhood's lip and cheek,Mantling beneath its earnest brow of thought—Gaze—yet what seest thou in those fair, and meek,And fragile things, as but for sunshine wrought?Thou seest what grief must nurture for the sky,What death must fashion for eternity!Oh! joyous creatures, that will sink to rest,Lightly, when those pure orisons are done,As birds with slumber's honey-dew oppressed,'Midst the dim folded leaves, at set of sun—Lift up your hearts! though yet no sorrow liesDark in the summer-heaven of those clear eyes;Though fresh within your breasts th' untroubled springsOf hope make melody where'er ye tread;And o'er your sleep bright shadows, from the wingsOf spirits visiting but youth, be spread;Yet in those flute-like voices, mingling low,Is woman's tenderness—how soon her woe!Her lot is on you—silent tears to weep,And patient smiles to wear through suffering's hour,And sunless riches, from affection's deep,To pour on broken reeds—a wasted shower?And to make idols, and to find them clay,And to bewail that worship—therefore pray!Her lot is on you—to be found untired,Watching the stars out by the bed of pain,With a pale cheek, and yet a brow inspired,And a true heart of hope, though hope be vain.Meekly to bear with wrong, to cheer decay,And oh! to love through all things—therefore pray!And take the thought of this calm vesper time,With its low murmuring sounds and silvery light,On through the dark days fading from their prime,As a sweet dew to keep your souls from blight.Earth will forsake—oh! happy to have givenTh' unbroken heart's first fragrance unto Heaven.—Mrs. Hemans.

Hush!'tis a holy hour—the quiet room

Seems like a temple, while yon soft lamp sheds

A faint and starry radiance, through the gloom

And the sweet stillness, down on bright young heads,

With all their clustering locks, untouched by care,

And bowed, as flowers are bowed with night—in prayer.

Gaze on,—'tis lovely! childhood's lip and cheek,Mantling beneath its earnest brow of thought—Gaze—yet what seest thou in those fair, and meek,And fragile things, as but for sunshine wrought?Thou seest what grief must nurture for the sky,What death must fashion for eternity!

Gaze on,—'tis lovely! childhood's lip and cheek,

Mantling beneath its earnest brow of thought—

Gaze—yet what seest thou in those fair, and meek,

And fragile things, as but for sunshine wrought?

Thou seest what grief must nurture for the sky,

What death must fashion for eternity!

Oh! joyous creatures, that will sink to rest,Lightly, when those pure orisons are done,As birds with slumber's honey-dew oppressed,'Midst the dim folded leaves, at set of sun—Lift up your hearts! though yet no sorrow liesDark in the summer-heaven of those clear eyes;

Oh! joyous creatures, that will sink to rest,

Lightly, when those pure orisons are done,

As birds with slumber's honey-dew oppressed,

'Midst the dim folded leaves, at set of sun—

Lift up your hearts! though yet no sorrow lies

Dark in the summer-heaven of those clear eyes;

Though fresh within your breasts th' untroubled springsOf hope make melody where'er ye tread;And o'er your sleep bright shadows, from the wingsOf spirits visiting but youth, be spread;Yet in those flute-like voices, mingling low,Is woman's tenderness—how soon her woe!

Though fresh within your breasts th' untroubled springs

Of hope make melody where'er ye tread;

And o'er your sleep bright shadows, from the wings

Of spirits visiting but youth, be spread;

Yet in those flute-like voices, mingling low,

Is woman's tenderness—how soon her woe!

Her lot is on you—silent tears to weep,And patient smiles to wear through suffering's hour,And sunless riches, from affection's deep,To pour on broken reeds—a wasted shower?And to make idols, and to find them clay,And to bewail that worship—therefore pray!

Her lot is on you—silent tears to weep,

And patient smiles to wear through suffering's hour,

And sunless riches, from affection's deep,

To pour on broken reeds—a wasted shower?

And to make idols, and to find them clay,

And to bewail that worship—therefore pray!

Her lot is on you—to be found untired,Watching the stars out by the bed of pain,With a pale cheek, and yet a brow inspired,And a true heart of hope, though hope be vain.Meekly to bear with wrong, to cheer decay,And oh! to love through all things—therefore pray!

Her lot is on you—to be found untired,

Watching the stars out by the bed of pain,

With a pale cheek, and yet a brow inspired,

And a true heart of hope, though hope be vain.

Meekly to bear with wrong, to cheer decay,

And oh! to love through all things—therefore pray!

And take the thought of this calm vesper time,With its low murmuring sounds and silvery light,On through the dark days fading from their prime,As a sweet dew to keep your souls from blight.Earth will forsake—oh! happy to have givenTh' unbroken heart's first fragrance unto Heaven.

And take the thought of this calm vesper time,

With its low murmuring sounds and silvery light,

On through the dark days fading from their prime,

As a sweet dew to keep your souls from blight.

Earth will forsake—oh! happy to have given

Th' unbroken heart's first fragrance unto Heaven.

—Mrs. Hemans.

I worshipthee, sweet Will of God!And all thy ways adore;And every day I live, I seemTo love thee more and more.Thou wert the end, the blessed ruleOf our Saviour's toils and tears;Thou wert the passion of His HeartThose three-and-thirty years.And He hath breathed into my soulA special love of thee,A love to lose my will in His,And by that loss be free.I love to see thee bring to noughtThe plans of wily men;When simple hearts outwit the wise,Oh thou art loveliest then!The headstrong world, it presses hardUpon the church full oft,And then how easily thou turn'stThe hard ways into soft.I love to kiss each print where thouHast set thine unseen feet;I cannot fear thee, blessèd will,Thine empire is so sweet.When obstacles and trials seemLike prison-walls to be,I do the little I can do,And leave the rest to thee.I know not what it is to doubt;My heart is ever gay;I run no risk, for come what will,Thou always hast thy way.I have no cares, O blessèd will,For all my cares are thine;I live in triumph, Lord, for thouHast made thy triumphs mine.And when it seems no chance or changeFrom grief can set me free,Hope finds its strength in helplessness,And gayly waits on thee.Man's weakness waiting upon GodIts end can never miss,For men on earth no work can doMore angel-like than this.Ride on, ride on triumphantly,Thou glorious Will! ride on;Faith's pilgrim sons behind thee takeThe road that thou hast gone.He always wins who sides with God,To him no chance is lost;God's will is sweetest to him whenIt triumphs at his cost.Ill, that God blesses, is our good,And unblest good is ill;And all is right that seems most wrong,If it be his dear will!—F. W. Faber.

I worshipthee, sweet Will of God!And all thy ways adore;And every day I live, I seemTo love thee more and more.

I worshipthee, sweet Will of God!

And all thy ways adore;

And every day I live, I seem

To love thee more and more.

Thou wert the end, the blessed ruleOf our Saviour's toils and tears;Thou wert the passion of His HeartThose three-and-thirty years.

Thou wert the end, the blessed rule

Of our Saviour's toils and tears;

Thou wert the passion of His Heart

Those three-and-thirty years.

And He hath breathed into my soulA special love of thee,A love to lose my will in His,And by that loss be free.

And He hath breathed into my soul

A special love of thee,

A love to lose my will in His,

And by that loss be free.

I love to see thee bring to noughtThe plans of wily men;When simple hearts outwit the wise,Oh thou art loveliest then!

I love to see thee bring to nought

The plans of wily men;

When simple hearts outwit the wise,

Oh thou art loveliest then!

The headstrong world, it presses hardUpon the church full oft,And then how easily thou turn'stThe hard ways into soft.

The headstrong world, it presses hard

Upon the church full oft,

And then how easily thou turn'st

The hard ways into soft.

I love to kiss each print where thouHast set thine unseen feet;I cannot fear thee, blessèd will,Thine empire is so sweet.

I love to kiss each print where thou

Hast set thine unseen feet;

I cannot fear thee, blessèd will,

Thine empire is so sweet.

When obstacles and trials seemLike prison-walls to be,I do the little I can do,And leave the rest to thee.

When obstacles and trials seem

Like prison-walls to be,

I do the little I can do,

And leave the rest to thee.

I know not what it is to doubt;My heart is ever gay;I run no risk, for come what will,Thou always hast thy way.

I know not what it is to doubt;

My heart is ever gay;

I run no risk, for come what will,

Thou always hast thy way.

I have no cares, O blessèd will,For all my cares are thine;I live in triumph, Lord, for thouHast made thy triumphs mine.

I have no cares, O blessèd will,

For all my cares are thine;

I live in triumph, Lord, for thou

Hast made thy triumphs mine.

And when it seems no chance or changeFrom grief can set me free,Hope finds its strength in helplessness,And gayly waits on thee.

And when it seems no chance or change

From grief can set me free,

Hope finds its strength in helplessness,

And gayly waits on thee.

Man's weakness waiting upon GodIts end can never miss,For men on earth no work can doMore angel-like than this.

Man's weakness waiting upon God

Its end can never miss,

For men on earth no work can do

More angel-like than this.

Ride on, ride on triumphantly,Thou glorious Will! ride on;Faith's pilgrim sons behind thee takeThe road that thou hast gone.

Ride on, ride on triumphantly,

Thou glorious Will! ride on;

Faith's pilgrim sons behind thee take

The road that thou hast gone.

He always wins who sides with God,To him no chance is lost;God's will is sweetest to him whenIt triumphs at his cost.

He always wins who sides with God,

To him no chance is lost;

God's will is sweetest to him when

It triumphs at his cost.

Ill, that God blesses, is our good,And unblest good is ill;And all is right that seems most wrong,If it be his dear will!

Ill, that God blesses, is our good,

And unblest good is ill;

And all is right that seems most wrong,

If it be his dear will!

—F. W. Faber.

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