Hymns of Faith and Hope Volume I


Divine ®rDer.

"~P IS first the true and then the beautiful,

J- Not first the beautiful and then the true; First the wild moor, with rock, and reed, and pool, Then the gay garden rich in scent and hue.

T is first the good and then the beautiful,
Not first the beautiful and then the good;

First the rough seed, sown in the rougher soil,
Then the flower-blossom, or the branching wood.

Not first the glad and then the sorrowful,
But first the sorrowful and then the glad;

Tears for a day, for earth of tears is full,
Then we forget that we were ever sad.

Not first the bright, and after that the dark,
But first the dark, and after that the bright;

First the thick cloud, and then the rainbow's arc,
First the dark grave, then resurrection-light.

'Tis first the night,—stern night of storm and war,—
Long night of heavy clouds and veiled skies;

Then the far sparkle of the Morning-star,
That bids the saints awake and dawn arise.

WHERE the faded flower shall freshen,
Freshen never more to fade;
Where the shaded sky shall brighten,

Brighten never more to shade:
Where the sun-blaze never scorches;

Where the star-beams cease to chill;
Where no tempest stirs the echoes

Of the wood, or wave, or hill:
Where the morn shall wake in gladness,

And the noon the joy prolong,
Where the daylight dies in fragrance,
'Mid the burst of holy song:

Brother, we shall meet and rest
'Mid the holy and the blest!

Where no shadow shall bewilder,

Where life's vain parade is o'er, Where the sleep of sin is broken,

And the dreamer dreams no more: Where no bond is ever sundered;

Partings, claspings, sob and moan, Midnight waking, twilight weeping,

Heavy noontide,—all are done: Where the child has found its mother,

Where the mother finds the child, Where dear families are gathered,

That were scattered on the wild:

Brother, we shall meet and rest
'Mid the holy and the blest!

Where the hidden wound is healed,

Where the blighted life re-blooms, Where the smitten heart the freshness

Of its buoyant youth resumes: Where the love that here we lavish

On the withering leaves of time, Shall have fadeless flowers to fix on

In an ever spring-bright clime: Where we find the joy of loving,

As we never loved before, Loving on, unchilled, unhindered,

Loving once and evermore:

Brother, we shall meet and rest
'Mid the holy and the blest!

Where a blasted world shall brighten

Underneath a bluer sphere, And a softer, gentler sunshine

Shed its healing splendour here: Where earth's barren vales shall blossom,

Putting on their robe of green, And a purer, fairer Eden

Be where only wastes have been: Where a King in kingly glory,

Such as earth has never known, Shall assume the righteous sceptre,

Claim and wear the holy crown:

Brother, we shall meet and rest 'Mid the holy and the blest! 1849.

a Stranger bere.

I MISS the dear paternal dwelling,
Which mem'ry still undimmed recalls,
A thousand early stories telling,
I miss the venerable walls.

I miss the chamber of my childhood,
I miss the shade of boyhood's tree,

The glen, the path, the cliff, the wild-wood,
The music of the well-known sea.

I miss the ivied haunt of moonlight,
I miss the forest and the stream,

I miss the fragrant grove of noonlight,
I miss our mountain's sunset gleam.

I miss the green slope, where reposing,

I mused upon the near and far,
Marked, one by one, each floweret closing,

Watched, one by one, each opening star.

I miss the well-remembered faces,
The voices, forms of fresher days:

Time ploughs not up these deep-drawn traces,
These lines no ages can erase.

I miss them all, for, unforgetting,
My spirit o'er the past still strays;

And, much its wasted years regretting,
It treads again these shaded ways.

I mourn not that each early token

Is now to me a faded flower;
Nor that the magic snare is broken,

That held me with its mystic power.

I murmur not that now a stranger

I pass along the smiling earth;
I know the snare, I dread the danger,

I hate the haunts, I shun the mirth.

My hopes are passing upward, onward,
And with my hopes my heart has gone;

My eye is turning skyward, sunward,
Where glory brightens round yon throne.

My spirit seeks its dwelling yonder;

And faith fore-dates the joyful day, When these old skies shall cease to sunder

The one dear, love-linked family.

Well pleased I find years rolling o'er me,
And hear, each day, time's measured tread;

Far fewer clouds now stretch before me,
Behind me is the darkness spread.

And summer's suns are swiftly setting,
And life moves downward in their train,

And autumn dews are fondly wetting
The faded cheek of earth in vain.

December moons are coldly waning,
And life with them is on the wane;

Storm-laden skies, with sad complaining,
Bend blackly o'er the unsmiling main.

My future from my past unlinking,
Each dying year untwines the spell;

The visible is swiftly sinking,
Uprises the invisible.

To light, unchanging and eternal,

From mists that sadden this bleak waste,

To scenes that smile for ever verpal,
From winter's blackening leaf, I haste.



'This great and wide sea.' — Ps. civ. 25.

'T'HAT rising storm! It has awakened me; -L My slumbering spirit starts to life anew; That blinding spray-drift, how it falls upon me, As on the weary flower the freshening dew!

That rugged rock-fringe that girds in the ocean, And calls the foam from its translucent blue,

It seems to pour strange strength into my spirit, — Strength for endurance, strength for conflict too.

And these bright ocean-birds, these billow-rangers, The snowy-breasted, — each a winged wave, —

They tell me how to joy in storm and dangers, When surges whiten, or when whirlwinds rave.

And these green-stretching fields, these peaceful hollows,

That hear the tempest, but take no alarm, Has not their placid verdure sweetly taught me

The peace within, when all. without is storm?

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

Silvering the sea, the sward, the rock, the foam, What light within me has thy pure gleam kindled!

'T is from the land of light that thou art come.

And of that time how blithely art thou telling, When cloud and change and tempest shall take


Each beam of thine prophetic of the glory, Creation's daybreak, earth's long - promised spring.

Even thus it is my God me daily teacheth Sweet knowledge out of all I hear and see;

Each object has a heavenly voice within it, Each scene, however troubled, speaks to me.

For all upon this earth is broken beauty;

Yet out of all, what strange, deep lessons rise! Each hour is giving out its heaven-sent wisdom,

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

Fetlar, Shetland. 1857.


ffio more Sea.

Koi i) BaKaaaa Ovk Iartv In.Rev. xxi. I.

SUMMER Ocean, idly washing
This grey rock on which I lean;
Summer Ocean, broadly flashing
With thy hues of gold and green;

Gently swelling, wildly dashing

O'er yon island-studded scene; Summer Ocean, how I'll miss thee,

Miss the thunder of thy roar, Miss the music of thy ripple,

Miss thy sorrow-soothing shore,— Summer Ocean, how I'll miss thee,

When 'the sea shall be no more.' Summer Ocean, how I'll miss thee,

As along thy strand I range; Or as here I sit and watch thee In thy moods of endless change, Mirthful moods of morning gladness, Musing moods of sunset sadness; When the dying winds caress thee, And the sinking sunbeams kiss thee, And the crimson cloudlets press thee, And all nature seems to bless thee!— Summer Ocean, how I'll miss thee,

Miss the wonders of thy shore, Miss the magic of thy grandeur, When 'the sea shall be no more.'

And yet sometimes in my musings,

When I think of what shall be; In the day of earth's new glory,

Still I seem to roam by thee.
As if all had not departed,

But the glory lingered still;
As if that which made thee lovely,

Had remained unchangeable.

Only that which marred thy beauty,

Only that had passed away;
Sullen wilds of Ocean-moorland,

Bloated features of decay.
Only that dark waste of waters,

Line ne'er fathomed, eye ne'er scanned,
Only that shall shrink and vanish,

Yielding back the imprisoned land.
Yielding back earth's fertile hollows,

Long-submerged and hidden plains;
Giving up a thousand valleys

Of the ancient world's domains.
Leaving still bright azure ranges,

Winding round this rocky tower;
Leaving still yon gem-bright island,

Sparkling like an ocean flower.
Leaving still some placid stretches,

Where the sunbeams bathe at noon,
Leaving still some lake-like reaches,

Mirrors for the silver moon.
Only all of gloom and horror,

Idle wastes of endless brine,
Haunts of darkness, storm, and danger,—

These shall be no longer thine.
Backward ebbing, wave and ripple,

Wondrous scenes shall then disclose;
And, like earth's, the wastes of ocean

Then shall blossom as the rose.

North Berwick. 1854.

die CtouMess.

NO shadows yonder!
All light and song;
Each day I wonder,

And say, How long Shall time me sunder From that dear throng?

No weeping yonder!

All fled away; While here I wander

Each weary day; And sigh as I ponder

My long, long stay.

No partings yonder!

Time and space never Again shall sunder;

Hearts cannot sever; Dearer and fonder

Hands clasp for ever.

None wanting yonder,
Bought by the Lamb!

All gathered under
The ever-green palm;

Loud as night's thunder
Ascends the glad psalm.

Cbe 3Lan& of Xffibt.

THAT clime is not like this dull clime of ours;
All, all is brightness there.
A sweeter influence breathes around its flowers,

And a far milder air.
No calm below is like that calm above,
No region here is like that realm of love;
Earth's softest spring ne'er shed so soft a light,
Earth's brightest summer never shone so bright.

That sky is not like this sad sky of ours,
Tinged with earth's change and care.
No shadow dims it, and no rain-cloud lowers

No broken sunshine there!
One everlasting stretch of azure pours
Its stainless splendour o'er those sinless shores,
For there Jehovah shines with heavenly ray,
There Jesus reigns, dispensing endless day.

Those dwellers there are not like these of earth,

No mortal stain they bear; And yet they seem of kindred blood and birth,—

Whence, and how came they there? Earth was their native soil; from sin and shame, Through tribulation they to glory came; Bond-slaves delivered from sin's crushing load, Brands plucked from burning by the hand of God.

Those robes of theirs are not like these below;

No angel's half so bright! Whence came that beauty, whence that living glow?

Whence came that radiant white?

Washed in the blood of the atoning Lamb,
Fair as the light those robes of theirs became.
And now, all tears wiped off from every eye,
They wander where the freshest pastures lie,
Through all the nightless day of that unfading sky!

Ube Seen and tbe tlnseen.

On The Great Exhibition, 1851.

HA! yon burst of crystal splendour,
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 colours shine!
Snow-gleams from an Alpine summit,

Torchlight 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 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?

What to that for which we're waiting,

Is this glittering earthly toy? Heavenly glory, holy splendour,

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,

Not 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-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 need thee, 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 yon crystal river,

There beneath life's wondrous tree,
There with nought to cloud or sever,

Ever with the Lamb to be.
Heir of glory,

That shall be for thee and me!

THE Church has waited long
Her absent Lord to see;
And still in loneliness she waits,

A friendless stranger she.
Age after age has gone,
Sun after sun has set,
And still, in weeds of widowhood,
She weeps a mourner yet.

Come, then, Lord Jesus, come!

Saint after saint on earth

Has lived, and loved, and died; And as they left us one by one,

We laid them side by side.
We laid them down to sleep,

But not in hope forlorn,
We laid them but to ripen there,

Till the last glorious morn.

Come, then, Lord Jesus, come!

The serpent's brood increase,

The powers of hell grow bold, The conflict thickens, faith is low,

And love is waxing cold. How long, O Lord our God,

Holy and true and good, Wilt Thou not judge Thy suffering Church,

Her sighs and tears and blood?

Come, then, Lord Jesus, come!

We long to hear Thy voice,

To see Thee face to face,
To share Thy crown and glory then,

As now we share Thy grace.
Should not the loving bride

The absent Bridegroom mourn? Should she not wear the weeds of grief

Until her Lord return?

Come, then, Lord Jesus, come!

The whole creation groans,

And waits to hear that voice, That shall restore her comeliness,

And make her wastes rejoice.
Come, Lord, and wipe away

The curse, the sin, the stain,
And make this blighted world of ours

Thine own fair world again.

Come, then, Lord Jesus, come!


Cbtngs bope& foe.

HTHESE are the crowns that we shall wear
-L When all Thy saints are crowned;
These are the palms that we shall bear
On yonder holy ground.

Far off as yet, reserved in heaven

Above that veiling sky,
They sparkle, like the star of even,

To hope's far-piercing eye.

These are the robes, unsoiled and white, Which then we shall put on,

When, foremost 'mong the sons of light, We sit on yonder throne.

That city with the jewelled crest,

Like some new-lighted sun; A blaze of burning amethyst,

Ten thousand orbs in one;—

That is the city of the saints,
Where we so soon shall stand,

When we shall strike these desert tents,
And quit this desert sand.

These are the everlasting hills,
With summits bathed in day,

The slopes down which the living rills
Soft-lapsing take their way.

Fair vision! how thy distant gleam
Brightens time's saddest hue;

Far fairer than the fairest dream,
And yet so strangely true!

Thy light makes even the darkest page
In memory's scroll grow fair;

Blanching the lines which tears and age Had only deepened there.

With thee in view, the rugged slope

Becomes a level way,
Smoothed by the magic of thy hope,

And gladdened by thy ray.

Then welcome toil, and care, and pain!

And welcome sorrow too!
All toil is rest, all grief is gain,

With such a prize in view.

Come crown and throne, come robe and palm,
Burst forth, glad stream of peace!

Come, holy city of the Lamb!
Rise, Sun of Righteousness!



1bora ffiovlssima.

FAR down the ages now,
Her journey well-nigh done,
The pilgrim Church pursues her way
In haste to reach the crown.

The story of the past

Comes up before her view;
How well it seems to suit her still,

Old, and yet ever new.

'Tis the same story still,

Of sin and weariness,
Of grace and love still flowing down

To pardon and to bless.

'Tis the old sorrow still,

The briar and the thorn;
And 'tis the same old solace yet,

The hope of coming morn.

No wider is the gate,

No broader is the way,
No smoother is the ancient path

That leads to light and day.

No lighter is the load

Beneath whose weight we cry,

No tamer grows the rebel flesh,
Nor less our enemy.

No sweeter is the cup,

Nor less our lot of ill; 'Twas tribulation ages since,

'Tis tribulation still.

Dawn lingers on yon cliff;

But oh, how slow to spring! Morning still nestles on yon wave,

Afraid to try its wing.

No slacker grows the fight,

No feebler is the foe; Nor less the need of armour tried,

Of shield and spear and bow.

Nor less we feel the blank
Of earth's still absent King,

Whose presence is of all our bliss
The everlasting spring.

Thus onward still we press,

Through evil and through good,

Through pain and poverty and want, Through peril and through blood.

Still faithful to our God,

And to our Captain true,
We follow where He leads the way,

The kingdom in our view. 1856.

1Rest louder.

THIS is not my place of resting,
Mine's a city yet to come;
Onwards to it I am hasting,
On to my eternal home.

In it all is light and glory,
O'er it shines a nightless day;

Every trace of sin's sad story,
All the curse has passed away.

There the Lamb our Shepherd leads us,
By the streams of life along;

On the freshest pastures feeds us,
Turns our sighing into song.

Soon we pass this desert dreary,
Soon we bid farewell to pain;

Never more be sad or weary,
Never, never sin again.

a Xittle Mbtle.

BEYOND the smiling and the weeping
I shall be soon;

Beyond the waking and the sleeping,
Beyond the sowing and the reaping,

I shall be soon.
Love, rest, and home!
Sweet hope!
Lord, tarry not, but come.

Beyond the blooming and the fading

I shall be soon;

Beyond the shining and the shading,
Beyond the hoping and the dreading,

I shall be soon.
Love, rest, and home!
Sweet hope!
Lord, tarry not, but come.

Beyond the rising and the setting

I shall be soon!

Beyond the calming and the fretting,
Beyond remembering and forgetting,

I shall be soon.
Love, rest, and home!
Sweet hope!
Lord, tarry not, but come.

Beyond the gathering and the strewing

I shall be soon!

Beyond the ebbing and the flowing,
Beyond the coming and the going,

I shall be soon.
Love, rest, and home!
Sweet hope!
Lord, tarry not, but come.

Beyond the parting and the meeting

I shall be soon!

Beyond the farewell and the greeting,
Beyond this pulse's fever beating,

I shall be soon.
Love, rest, and home!
Sweet hope!
Lord, tarry not, but come.

Beyond the frost-chain and the fever

I shall be soon!

Beyond the rock-waste and the river,
Beyond the ever and the never,

I shall be soon.
Love, rest, and home!
Sweet hope!

Lord, tarry not, but come. 1849.

ffiot IDerg Jfar.

SURELY yon heaven, where angels see God's face,

Is not so distant as we deem
From this low earth! 'T is but a little space,

The narrow crossing of a slender stream;
'T is but a veil, which winds might blow aside:
Yes, these are all that us of earth divide
From the bright dwelling of the glorified,—
The Land of which I dream!

These peaks are nearer heaven than earth below,
These hills are higher than they seem;

'T is not the clouds they touch, nor the soft brow Of the o'er-bending azure, as we deem.

'T is the blue floor of heaven that they up-bear;

And, like some old and wildly-rugged stair,

They lift us to the land where all is fair,—
The Land of which I dream!

These ocean waves, in their unmeasured sweep,

Are brighter, bluer than they seem; True image here of the celestial deep,

Fed from the fulness of the unfailing stream,— Heaven's glassy sea of everlasting rest, With not a breath to stir its silent breast, The sea that laves the land where all are blest,— The Land of which I dream!

And these keen stars, the bridal gems of night,

Are purer, lovelier than they seem .
Filled from the inner fountain of deep light,

They pour down heaven's own beam;
Clear speaking from their throne of glorious blue,
In accents ever ancient, ever new,
Of the glad home above, beyond our view,—

The Land of which I dream!

This life of ours, these lingering years of earth,

Are briefer, swifter than they seem;
A little while, and the great second birth

Of time shall come, the prophet's ancient theme!
Then He, the King, the Judge at length shall come,
And for this desert, where we sadly roam,
Shall give the kingdom for our endless home,—

The Land of which I dream!


Cbe Everlasting flBemorial.

UP and away, like the dew of the morning,
Soaring from earth to its home in the sun;
So let me steal away, gently and lovingly,
Only remembered by what I have done.

My name, and my place, and my tomb, all forgotten,
The brief race of time well and patiently run

So let me pass away, peacefully, silently,
Only remembered by what I have done.

Needs there the praise of the love-written record, The name and the epitaph graved on the stone?

The things we have lived for, let them be our story We ourselves but remembered by what we have done.

I need not be missed, if my life has been bearing (As its summer and autumn moved silently on)

The bloom, and the fruit, and the seed of its season;
I shall still be remembered by what I have done.

I need not be missed, if another succeed me
To reap down those fields which in spring I have

sown; He who ploughed and who sowed is not missed by

the reaper, He is only remembered by what he has done.

So let my living be, so be my dying;

So let my name lie, unblazoned, unknown; Unpraised and unmissed, I shall still be remembered ;—

Yes, but remembered by what I have done.


Our ©ne Xife.

'HPIS not for man to trifle! Life is brief,

-L And sin is here.
Our age is but the falling of a leaf,

A dropping tear.

We have no time to sport away the hours,
All must be earnest in a world like ours.

Not many lives, but only one have we,

One, only one;
How sacred should that one life ever be,

That narrow span!

Day after day filled up with blessed toil, Hour after hour still bringing in new spoil.

Our being is no shadow of thin air,

No vacant dream;
No fable of the things that never were,

But only seem.

'Tis full of meaning as of mystery,
Though strange and solemn may that meaning be.

Our sorrows are no phantom of the night,

No idle tale;
No cloud that floats along a sky of light,

On summer gale.

They are the true realities of earth,
Friends and companions even from our birth.

O life below, how brief, and poor, and sad!

One heavy sigh. O life above, how long, how fair, and glad!

An endless joy.

Oh, to be done with daily dying here!
Now to begin the living in yon sphere!

O day of time, how dark! O sky and earth,

How dull your hue! O day of Christ, how bright! O sky and earth,

Made fair and new!

Come, better Eden, with thy fresher green; Come, brighter Salem, gladden all the scene.

JEartb's JJeautw.

WHERE the 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 though the heavens were,
Rich though the flowers there,
Sweet though 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 you Good?


Cbe ffifgbt an& tbe Aborning.

TO dream 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

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 dream


Dark shadows vanish, rosy twilight break! Morn of the true and real, burst forth, calm beam


Day of the beautiful, arise, awake! 1849.

'I "HE loving morn is springing
.*. From night's unloving gloom,
And earth seems now arising
In beauty from the tomb.

See daylight far above us,
Tingeing each cloudy wreath,

Ere it showers itself in splendour
Upon the plain beneath.

'Tis sparkling on the mountain-peak,
'T is hurrying down the vale,

'Tis bursting through the forest-boughs,
'Tis freshening in the gale.

'T is mingling with the river's smile,

'T is glistening in the dew,
'Tis flinging far its silver net,

O'er ocean's braided blue.

'T is blushing o'er the meadow's gold,
'T is alighting on the flower,

Unfolding every gentle bud
To the gladness of the hour.

'Tis gilding the old ruin's moss,
'Tis gleaming from the spire;

And through the crumbling window-shaf
It shoots its living fire.

Tis quivering in the village-smoke,
That curls the low roof o'er;

It beats against the castle gate,
And at the cottage door.

O'er the churchyard it is resting,
On stone, and grass, and mould,

Giving voice to each grey tombstone,
As to Memnon's harp of old.

Oh, the gay burst of beauty
That is flushing over earth,

And calling forth its millions
To holy morning mirth!

Yet look we for a sunrise

More beautiful than this, And watch we for a dawning

Of purer light and bliss;

When a far fairer morning
O'er greener hills shall rise,

And a far fresher sunlight
Look down from bluer skies.

Is not creation weary?

Has sin not reigned too long?
Hear, Lord, Thy Church's pleading,

Come, end her day of wrong! 1856.


flkwlg fallen asleep.

PAST all pain for ever,
Done with sickness now; -

Let me close thine eyes, mother,

Let me smooth thy brow.
Rest, and health, and gladness,

These thy portion now;
Let me press thy hand, mother,
Let me kiss thy brow.

Eyes that shall never weep;

Life's tears all shed,

Its farewells said,—
These shall be thine!

All well with thee;
Oh, would that they were mine!

A brow without a shade;

Each wrinkle smoothed,

Each throbbing soothed,
That shall be thine!

All well with thee;
Oh, would that it were mine!

A tongue that stammers not
In tuneful praise,
Through endless days,

That shall be thine!
All well with thee;

Oh, would that it were mine!

A voice that trembles not;
All quivering past,
Death's sigh the last;

That shall be thine!
All well with thee;

Oh, would that it were mine!

Limbs that shall never tire,

Nor ask to rest,

In service blest; These shall be thine!

All well with thee;
Oh, would that they were mine!

A frame that cannot ache;
Earth's labours done,
Life's battle won;

That shall be thine!
All well with thee;

Oh, would that it were mine!

A heart that flutters not;
No timid throb,
No quick-breathed sob;

That shall be thine!

All well with thee;
Oh, would that it were mine!

A will that swerveth not,

At frown or smile,

At threat or wile;
That shall be thine!

All well with thee;
Oh, would that it were mine!

A soul still upward bent

On higher flight,

With wing of light;
That shall be thine!

All well with thee;
Oh, would that it were mine!

Hours without fret or care;

The race well run,

The prize well won; These shall be thine!

All well with thee; Oh, would that they were mine!

Days without toil or grief;

Time's burdens borne,

With strength well worn; These shall be thine!

All well with thee; Oh, would that they were mine!

Rest without broken dreams,

Or wakeful fears,

Or hidden tears;
That shall be thine!

All well with thee;
Oh, would that it were mine!

Life that shall fear no death;

God's life above,

Of light and love;
That shall be thine!

All well with thee;
Oh, would that it were mine!

Morn that shall light the tomb,
And call from dust
The slumbering just;
That shall be thine!

All well with thee;
Oh, would that it were mine!
Written after the death of his mother, Aug. 1854.

Obe Jflesb .Resting In f>ope.

EE down, frail body, here,
Earth has no fairer bed,
No gentler pillow to afford;
Come, rest thy home-sick head.

Through these well-guarded gates
No foe can entrance gain;

No sickness wastes, nor once intrudes
The memory of pain.

The tossings of the night,

The frettings of the day,
All end, and, like a cloud of dawn,

Melt from thy skies away.

Foot-sore and worn thou art,
Breathless with toil and fight;

How welcome now the long-sought sleep
Of this all-tranquil night.

Brief night and quiet couch

In some star-lighted room, Watched but by one beloved eye,

Whose light dispels all gloom.

A sky without a cloud,

A sea without a wave,—
These are but shadows of thy rest

In this thy peaceful grave.

Rest for the toiling hand,

Rest for the thought-worn brow,

Rest for the weary way-sore feet,
Rest from all labour now.

Soon shall the trump of God

Give out the welcome sound,
That shakes the silent chamber-walls,

And breaks the turf-sealed ground.

Ye dwellers in the dust,

Awake, come forth, and sing;

Sharp has your frost of winter been,

But bright shall be your spring.

a pilgrim's Song.

A FEW more years shall roll,
A few more seasons come,
And we shall be with those that rest,

Asleep within the tomb.
Then, O my Lord, prepare

My soul for that great day;
O wash me in Thy precious blood,
And take my sins away!

A few more suns shall set

O'er these dark hills of time, And we shall be where suns are not,

A far serener clime.
Then, O my Lord, prepare

My soul for that bright day;
O wash me in Thy precious blood,

And take my sins away!

A few more storms shall beat

On this wild rocky shore, And we shall be where tempests cease,

And surges swell no more.
Then, O my Lord, prepare

My soul for that calm day;
O wash me in Thy precious blood,

And take my sins away!

A few more struggles here,
A few more partings o'er,

A few more toils, a few more tears,
And we shall weep no more.

Then, O my Lord, prepare
My soul for that blest day;

O wash me in Thy precious blood,
And take my sins away!

A few more Sabbaths here

Shall cheer us on our way,
And we shall reach the endless rest,

The eternal Sabbath-day.
Then, O my Lord, prepare

My soul for that sweet day;
O wash me in Thy precious blood,

And take my sins away!

'Tis but a little while,

And He shall come again,
Who died that we might live, who lives

That we with Him may reign.
Then, O my Lord, prepare

My soul for that glad day;
O wash me in Thy precious blood,

And take my sins away!

duis Separabit?

IS thus they press the hand and part, Thus have they bid farewell again; Yet still they commune, heart with heart, Linked by a never-broken chain.

Still one in life and one in death,
One in their hope of rest above;

One in their joy, their trust, their faith,
One in each other's faithful love.

Yet must they part, and parting, weep;

What else has earth for them in store? These farewell pangs, how sharp and deep;

These farewell words, how sad and sore!

Yet shall they meet again in peace,
To sing the song of festal joy,

Where none shall bid their gladness cease,
And none their fellowship destroy.

Where none shall beckon them away,
Nor bid their festival be done;

Their meeting-time the eternal day,
Their meeting-place the eternal throne.

There, hand in hand, firm linked at last,
And, heart to heart, enfolded all,

They'll smile upon the troubled past,
And wonder why they wept at all.

Then let them press the hand and part,
The dearly loved, the fondly loving,

Still, still in spirit and in heart,
The undivided, unremoving.


Sttengtb bg tbe

TESUS, while this rough desert-soil
J I tread, be Thou my guide and stay;
Nerve me for conflict and for toil;
Uphold me on my stranger-way!

Jesus, in heaviness and fear,

'Mid cloud, and shade, and gloom I stray; For earth's last night is drawing near,

Oh, cheer me on my stranger-way!

Jesus, in solitude and grief,

When sun and stars withhold their ray, Make haste, make haste to my relief,

Oh, light me on my stranger-way!

Jesus, in weakness of this flesh,

When Satan grasps me for his prey,

Oh, give me victory afresh,
And speed me on my stranger-way!

Jesus, my righteousness and strength,
My more than life, my more than day,

Bring, bring deliverance at length;
Oh, come and end my stranger-way!


Cbe Sleep of tbe JBeloved.

'So He giveth His beloved sleep.' — Ps. cxxvii. 3.

CUNLIGHT has vanished, and the weary earth
^ Lies resting from a long day's toil and pain,
And, looking for a new dawn's early birth,
Seeks strength in slumber for its toil again.

We too would rest; but ere we close the eye Upon the consciousness of waking thought,

Would calmly turn it to yon star-bright sky,
And lift the soul to Him who slumbers not.

Above us is Thy hand, with tender care,
Distilling over us the dew of sleep;

Darkness seems loaded with oblivious air,
In deep forgetfulness each sense to steep.

Thou hast provided midnight's hour of peace,
Thou stretchest over us the wing of rest;

With more than all a parent's tenderness,
Foldest us sleeping to Thy gentle breast.

Grief flies away; care quits our easy couch,
Till, wakened by Thy hand, when breaks the day,

Like the lone prophet by the angel's touch,
We rise to tread again our pilgrim way.

God of our life, God of each day and night,
Oh, keep us still till life's short race is run,

Until there dawns the long, long day of light, That knows no night, yet needs no star nor sun.

JBine and Cbine.

'Didicisti quod nihil tui boni praecesserat, et gratia Dei conversus es ad Deum.' — AUGUSTINE.

ALL that I was, my sin, my guilt,
.**. My death was all my own;
All that I am, I owe to Thee,
My gracious God alone.

The evil of my former state

Was mine, and only mine;
The good in which I now rejoice

Is Thine, and only Thine.

The darkness of my former state,

The bondage all was mine;
The light of life in which I walk,

The liberty is Thine.

Thy grace first made me feel my sin,

It taught me to believe;
Then, in believing, peace I found,

And now I live, I live.

All that I am, even here on earth,

All that I hope to be,
When Jesus comes, and glory dawns,

I owe it, Lord, to Thee.

'He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities.'—Isa. liii. 5.

THY works, not mine, O Christ,
Speak gladness to this heart;
They tell me all is done,
They bid my fear depart.

To whom, save Thee,
Who can alone
For sin atone,
Lord, shall I flee?

Thy tears, not mine, O Christ,

Have wept my guilt away,
And turned this night of mine
Into a blessed day.

Thy cross, not mine, O Christ,

Has borne the awful load
Of sins, that none in heaven
Or earth could bear, but God.

Thy death, not mine, O Christ,

Has paid the ransom due;
Ten thousand deaths like mine
Would have been all too few.

Thy righteousness, O Christ,

Alone can cover me;
No righteousness avails
Save that which is of Thee.

Cbe Substitute.

'Jesu, plene caritate,
Manns tnae perforatae

Laxent mea crimina;
Latus tuum lanceatum,
Caput spinis coronatum,

Haec sint medicamina.'—Old Hymn.

I LAY my sins on Jesus,
The spotless Lamb of God;
He bears them all, and frees us
From the accursed load.

I bring my guilt to Jesus,

To wash my crimson stains White in His blood most precious,

Till not a spot remains.

I lay my wants on Jesus,

All fulness dwells in Him; He heals all my diseases,

He doth my soul redeem. I lay my griefs on Jesus,

My burdens and my cares; He from them all releases,

He all my sorrows shares.

I rest my soul on Jesus,

This weary soul of mine; His right hand me embraces,

I on His breast recline. I love the name of Jesus,

Immanuel, Christ, the Lord; Like fragrance on the breezes,

His name abroad is poured.

I long to be like Jesus,

Meek, loving, lowly, mild; I long to be like Jesus,

The Father's holy child.
I long to be with Jesus

Amid the heavenly throng,
To sing with saints His praises,

To learn the angels' song.

Host but found.

'Arte mira, miro consilio,
Quaerens ovem snam suinmus opilio,
Ut nos revocaret ab exilio.'—Old Hymn.

I WAS a wandering sheep,
I did not love the fold;
I did not love my Shepherd's voice,

I would not be controlled.
I was a wayward child,

I did not love my home;
I did not love my Father's voice,
I loved afar to roam.

The Shepherd sought His sheep,

The Father sought His child; They followed me o'er vale and hill,

O'er deserts waste and wild. They found me nigh to death,

Famished, and faint, and lone; They bound me with the bands of love,

They saved the wandering one!

They spoke in tender love,

They raised my drooping head: They gently closed my bleeding wounds,

My fainting soul they fed. They washed my filth away,

They made me clean and fair; They brought me to my home in peace,

The long-sought wanderer!

Jesus my Shepherd is,

'Twas He that loved my soul, 'Twas He that washed me in His blood,

'Twas He that made me whole. 'Twas He that sought the lost,

That found the wandering sheep, 'Twas He that brought me to the fold,

'Tis He that still doth keep.

I was a wandering sheep,

I would not be controlled;
But now I love my Shepherd's voice,

I love, I love the fold!
I was a wayward child,

I once preferred to roam;
But now I love my Father's voice,

I love, I love His home.

Cbe 1Uor& ma&e jflesb.

THE Son of God, in mighty love,
Came down to Bethlehem for me
Forsook His throne of light above,
An infant upon earth to be.

In love, the Father's sinless Child
Sojourned at Nazareth for me;

With sinners dwelt the Undefiled,
The Holy One in Galilee.

Jesus, whom angel-hosts adore,
Became a Man of griefs for me;

In love, though rich, becoming poor,
That I through Him enriched might be.

Though Lord of all, above, below,

He went to Olivet for me,
There drank my cup of wrath and woe,

When bleeding in Gethsemane.

The ever blessed Son of God

Went up to Calvary for me, There paid my debt, there bore my load

In His own body on the tree.

Jesus, whose dwelling is the skies,
Went down into the grave for me,

There overcame my enemies,
There won the glorious victory.

In love the whole dark path He trod,
To consecrate a way for me,

Each bitter footstep marked with blood,
From Bethlehem to Calvary.

'T is finished all: the veil is rent,
The welcome sure, the access free;

Now then we leave our banishment,
O Father, to return to Thee!

Cbe Voice of Jesns.

I HEARD the 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 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 quenched, 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 found

In Him my Star, my Sun;
And in that Light of life I'll walk,

Till travelling days are done.

a JSetblebem lfo»mn.

'Mundum implens, in praesepio jacens.'—Augustine.

HE has come! the Christ of God;
Left for us His glad abode,
Stooping from His throne of bliss,
To this darksome wilderness.

He has come! the Prince of Peace;
Come to bid our sorrows cease;

Come to scatter with His light
All the shadows of our night.

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

He has come, whose name of grace
Speaks deliverance to our race;
Left for us His glad abode,—
Son of Mary, Son of God!

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

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

Cbe Sba&ow of tbe Gtoss.

OPPRESSED with noonday's scorching heat,
To yonder cross I flee;
Beneath its shelter take my seat;
No shade like this for me!

Beneath that cross clear waters burst,

A fountain sparkling free;
And there I quench my desert thirst,—

No spring like this for me!

A stranger here, I pitch my tent

Beneath this spreading tree;
Here shall my pilgrim life be spent,—

No home like this for me!

For burdened ones a resting-place

Beside that cross I see;
Here I cast off my weariness,—

No rest like this for me!

CbilS'a Aorning

'He wakeneth morning by morning; He wakeneth mine ear to hear.'—Isa. 1. 4.

THE morning, the bright and the beautiful morning

Is up, and the sunshine is all on the wing; With its fresh flush of gladness the landscape

adorning, A gladness which nothing but morning can bring.

The earth is awaking, the sky and the ocean, The river and forest, the mountain and plain;

The city is stirring its living commotion,

And the pulse of the world is reviving again.

And we too awake, for our Heavenly Father, Who soothed us so gently to sleep on His breast,

And made the soft stillness of evening to gather
Around us, now calls us again from our rest.

But ere to our labours and duties returning,
We hasten to give Him the praise that is meet,

And in solemn devotion the first hours of morning, Our freest and freshest, we lay at His feet.

Oh now, let us haste to our Heavenly Father, And ere the fair skies of life's dawning be dim,

Let us come with glad hearts, let us come

altogether, And the morn of our youth let us hallow to Him.

Hbe Cwo Eras of tbe OLanD.

OF old they sung the song of liberty,
They sung it upon mountain and on plain,
Till every echo of both land and sea
Pealed back the song again.

They poured it on the morning's genial gale,

It floated out upon the evening's calm,
And the rich stream-breeze from each fragrant vale

Gave back the song in balm.
The peasant sang it in his straw-roofed cot,

The noble sang it in his princely hall,
Till the vexed land, responding to the note,

Rose up at freedom's call.
The blithe blue morning's newly wakened ray

Of cloudless summer, coming freshly down,
Saw chains and bondage, tears and slavery,

The tyrant's sword and frown.
The northern noon-day saw the rising war,

Like sudden tempest on a wind-swept sea,
The shout rose upwards to the evening star,—

The land, the land is free!

Amid the oppressor's threats they planted high

The ancient flag of sacred liberty,
That banner floats unthreatened to the sky,—

The Bruce hath set them free!

They sung the song of liberty again,

'T was a still louder song than that of yore,

It went like thunder-notes o'er hill and plain,
It woke each echoing shore.

It woke the heart of age and heedless youth,
It woke the spirit of the sleeping land,

It roused them to the voice of holy truth,
Who could that voice withstand?

Hear ye the truth, and hearing it obey,

Know ye the truth, the truth shall make you free,

Love not the midnight, love the lightsome day,
'T is life and liberty.

The Free One makes you free; be slaves to none,
Priest, prince or self, in body or in soul;

Serve thou with all thy strength thy God alone,
Yield but to His control.

Round went the message, over rock and plain,
Like burning words from lips of prophet old,

Priest, king and lord opposed the voice in vain,
It would not be controlled.

Wide o'er the land went forth the new-born day,
Brightening alike the cot, the hall, the throne,

Long years of darkness vanish at its ray,
Ages of night have gone.

The Christ has come, the Breaker of all chains,

The Giver of the heavenly liberty; Peace, light and freedom to these hills and plains:

The land, the land is free!

Jnner Calm.

CALM me, my God, and keep me calm,
While these hot breezes blow,
Be like the night-dew's cooling balm
Upon earth's fevered brow.

Calm me, my God, and keep me calm,

Soft resting on Thy breast,
Soothe me with holy hymn and psalm,

And bid my spirit rest.

Calm me, my God, and keep me calm;

Let Thine outstretched wing
Be like the shade of Elim's palm,

Beside her desert-spring.

Yes, keep me calm, though loud and rude
The sounds my ear that greet,

Calm in the closet's solitude,
Calm in the bustling street.

Calm in the hour of buoyant health,

Calm in my hour of pain,
Calm in my poverty or wealth,

Calm in my loss or gain.

Calm in the sufferance of wrong,
Like Him who bore my shame,

Calm 'mid the threatening, taunting throng,
Who hate Thy holy name.

Calm when the great world's news with power

My listening spirit stir;
Let not the tidings of the hour

E'er find too fond an ear.

Calm as the ray of sun or star,

Which storms assail in vain; Moving unruffled through earth's war,

The eternal calm to gain.

Suroum Cor&a.

GO up, go up, my heart,
Dwell with thy God above,
For here thou canst not rest,
Nor here give out thy love.

Go up, go up, my heart,

Be not a trifler here;
Ascend above these clouds,

Dwell in a higher sphere.

Let not thy love flow out

To things so soiled and dim;

Go up to heaven and God,
Take up thy love to Him.

Waste not thy precious stores
On creature-love below;

To God that wealth belongs,
On Him that wealth bestow.

Go up, reluctant heart,
Take up thy rest above;

Arise, earth-clinging thoughts,
Ascend, my lingering love!

Cbe ElOer asrotber.

YES, for me, for me He careth
With a brother's tender care;
Yes, with me, with me He shareth
Every burden, every fear.

Yes, o'er me, o'er me He watcheth,
Ceaseless watcheth, night and day;

Yes, even me, even me He snatcheth From the perils of the way.

Yes, for me He standeth pleading

At the mercy-seat above, Ever for me interceding,

Constant in untiring love.

Yes, in me abroad He sheddeth
Joys unearthly, love and light;

And to cover me He spreadeth
His paternal wing of might.

Yes, in me, in me He dwelleth,
I in Him, and He in me;

And my empty soul He filleth
Here and through eternity.


Thus I wait for His returning,

Singing all the way to heaven; Such the joyful song of morning, Such the tranquil song of even.


jEver fficar.

CLOSE my heavy eye,
Saviour, ever near!
I lift my soul on high

Through the darkness drear.
Be Thou my light, I cry,
Saviour, ever dear!

I feel Thine arms around,

Saviour, ever near!
With Thee let me be found,

So shall I never fear,
Whatever ills abound,

Saviour, ever dear!
Thine is the day and night,

Saviour, ever near!
Thine is the dark and light;

Be Thou my covert here.
O shield me with Thy might,

Saviour, ever dear!
And when I come to die,

Saviour, ever near!
Receive my parting sigh;

And, in my hour of fear,
Be to my spirit nigh,

Saviour, ever dear!


WHAT a. world, with all its sorrows!
What a scene, would it but stay!
What an earth, if all its morrows

Were as fair as this to-day!
When earth's summer-pulse is beating

With the fever-fire of June,
And the flowers fling up their greeting,

Quivering to the joyous noon.
When the streamlet, smiling gladly,

Hurries calmly, brightly by,
Not a voice around speaks sadly,

Not a murmur nor a sigh.
Sunbeams, with their fond caresses,

Smooth each rosebud's velvet fold, Lingering in the glowing tresses

Of yon rich laburnum's gold. Nature all its gay adorning

Opens to the day's bright bliss, Like a child at early morning,

Wakened by its mother's kiss.
What a world, when all its sorrow

Shall for ever pass away!
What an earth, when each to-morrow

Shall be fairer than to-day!

Cbe THsefuI Xife.

GO, labour on; spend, and be spent, —
Thy joy to do the Father's will;
It is the way the Master went,
Should not the servant tread it still?

Go, labour on; 'tis not for nought;

Thy earthly loss is heavenly gain; Men heed thee, love thee, praise thee not;

The Master praises,—what are men?

Go, labour on; enough, while here,
If He shall praise thee, if He deign

Thy willing heart to mark and cheer;
No toil for Him shall be in vain.

Go, labour on; your hands are weak,

Your knees are faint, your soul cast down;

Yet falter not; the prize you seek
Is near,—a kingdom and a crown!

Go, labour on, while it is day;

The world's dark night is hastening on; Speed, speed thy work, cast sloth away,

It is not thus that souls are won.

Men die in darkness at your side,
Without a hope to cheer the tomb;

Take up the torch, and wave it wide,
The torch that lights time's thickest gloom.

Toil on, faint not, keep watch and pray;

Be wise the erring soul to win; Go forth into the world's highway,

Compel the wanderer to come in.

Toil on, and in thy toil rejoice;

For toil comes rest, for exile home. Soon shalt thou hear the Bridegroom's voice,

The midnight peal, Behold, I come!

5 tbat 6t& it.

I SEE the crowd in Pilate's hall
I mark their wrathful mien;
Their shouts of 'Crucify!' appal.
With blasphemy between.

And of that shouting multitude

I feel that I am one;
And in that din of voices rude

I recognize my own.

I see the scourges tear His back,

I see the piercing crown; And of that crowd who smite and mock,

I feel that I am one.

Around yon cross the throng I see,
Mocking the Sufferer's groan;

Yet still my voice it seems to be,
As if I mocked alone.

'Twas I that shed the sacred blood,

I nailed Him to the tree,
I crucified the Christ of God,

I joined the mockery.

Yet not the less that blood avails

To cleanse away my sin,
And not the less that cross prevails

To give me peace within.


I WALK as one who knows that he is treading A stranger soil,

As one round whom a serpent-world is spreading Its subtle coil.

I walk as one but yesterday delivered

From a sharp chain, Who trembles lest the bond so newly severed

Be bound again.

I walk as one who feels that he is breathing

Ungenial air, For whom, as wiles, the tempter still is wreathing

The bright and fair.

My steps, I know, are on the plains of danger,

For sin is near;
But, looking up, I pass along, a stranger,

In haste and fear.

This earth has lost its power to drag me downward,

Its spell is gone; My course is now right upward, and right onward,

To yonder throne.

Hour after hour of time's dark night is stealing

In gloom away; Speed Thy fair dawn of light, and joy, and healing,

Thou Star of day!

For Thee, its God, its King, the long-rejected,

Earth groans and cries; For Thee, the long-beloved, the long-expected,

Thy Bride still sighs. .TOotMng Between.

FONDLY, fondly returneth the daylight
To the old hill's grey peak ere the dawn

has begun;
Slowly, slowly recedeth the daylight

From the old hill's grey peak when the long day is done.

Softly, softly returneth the ripple

To its rest on the sand of yon green-margined

bay; Sadly, sadly recedeth the ripple

To mingle again with the sea's drifting spray. Gladly, gladly the dew of the twilight

Floats up to the rainbow at blush of the dawn; Slowly, slowly the dew of the twilight

Seeks again the dark sod when the sun is withdrawn.

It is thus, even thus, that the sunlight of heaven Returns and retires with the morn and the even; Thus slowly retiring as sleep seals the eye, Returning at day-spring with joy from on high. Night's last gleam and truest, my God's gracious

love, Morn's first beam and fondest, His joy from above.

Yet, 'tis not night alone that comes between My God and me, to mar the peaceful scene;

But the world's blazing day, hour after hour,
Beats on my head, and with its scorching power
Dries up my dew and sap, nay, dims my eye
With its bewildering blaze of vanity.
Then comes the quiet and the cool of night,
To give me back the calm, of which the light
Of this gay world had sought me to bereave.
O gentle shadows of the tranquil eve!
Eve, with thy stillness and soul-soothing balm,
What do I owe thee for thy solemn calm?
Thou comest down like some peace-bringing dove,
To soothe and cheer me with thy silent love.


'Senuit mundus.'—Augustine.

COME, Lord, and tarry not,
Bring the long-looked-for day;
Oh, why these years of waiting here,
These ages of delay?

Come, for Thy saints still wait,

Daily ascends their sigh;
The Spirit and the Bride say, Come;

Dost Thou not hear the cry?

Come, for creation groans,

Impatient of Thy stay,
Worn out with these long years of ill,

These ages of delay.


Come, for love waxes cold,
Its steps are faint and slow;

Faith now is lost in unbelief,
Hope's lamp burns dim and low.

Come in Thy glorious might,
Come with the iron rod,

Scattering Thy foes before Thy face,
Most mighty Son of God.

Come, and make all things new,
Build up this ruined earth;

Restore our faded Paradise,
Creation's second birth.

Come, and begin Thy reign

Of everlasting peace, Come, take the kingdom to Thyself,

Great King of righteousness.

not /iRine.

THY way, not mine, O Lord,
However dark it be!
Lead me by Thine own hand,
Choose out the path for me.

Smooth let it be or rough,
It will be still the best;

Winding or straight, it leads
Right onward to Thy rest.

I dare not choose my lot;

I would not, if I might:
Choose Thou for me, my God,

So shall I walk aright.

The kingdom that I seek

Is Thine; so let the way
That leads to it be Thine,

Else I must surely stray.

Take Thou my cup, and it

With joy or sorrow fill,
As best to Thee may seem;

Choose Thou my good and ill.

Choose Thou for me my friends,

My sickness or my health;
Choose Thou my cares for me,

My poverty or wealth.

Not mine, not mine the choice,
In things or great or small;

Be Thou my guide, my strength,
My wisdom and my all.


ARE there not voices strangely sweet, ** And tones of music strangely dear? So lovingly the soul they greet, So kindly steal they on the ear!

We know not why they strike so deep,
We cannot tell the secret spring

Within us which they wake from sleep,

Nor how such thoughts their notes can bring.

We ask not why, nor how they thrill
So keenly through the inmost soul.

And why, when ceased, we listen still,
As though they yet upon us stole.

We feel the sweetness of the voice,
We love the richness of the tone;

It makes us sorrow or rejoice,
Compelling us its power to own.

Are there not words, too, strangely sweet,
Thoughts, musings, memories, strangely dear?

So lovingly the soul they greet,
So gently steal they on the ear!

Common the words may be and weak,
The passing stranger owns them not;

To other ears in vain they speak,
Unknown, unrelished, or forgot.

Rich in old thoughts these words appear,
Part of our being's mighty whole,

Linked with our life's strange story here,
Knit to each feeling of our soul.

Linked with the scenes of days gone past,
With all life's earnest hopes and fears;

Linked with the smiles that did not last,
The joys and griefs of faded years.

Linked with old dreams once dreamt in youth,
When dreams were gladder, truer things;

When each night's vision of bright truth
Lent to each buoyant day its wings.

Linked with the whisper of the trees,
When summer eves were fair and still,

Set to the music of the breeze,
Or murmur of the twilight rill.

Linked with some scene of sacred calm,

Of holy places, holy days; Linked with the prayer, the hymn, the psalm,

The multitude's glad voice of praise.

Linked with the names of holy men,
Martyr, or saint, or brother dear,

Some parted, ne'er to meet again,
Some still our fellow-pilgrims here.

Linked with that Name of names, the name
Of Him who bought us with His blood,

Who bore for us the wrath and shame,
The Virgin's Son, the Christ of God.

Cbe Citg.

THOU art no child of the city!
Hadst thou known it as I have done,
Thou wouldst not have smiled with pity,
As if joy were with thee alone,—

With thee, the unfettered ranger
Of the forest and moorland free;

As if gloom, and toil, and danger
Could alone in a city be.

The smoke, the din, and the bustle
Of the city, I know them well;

And I know the gentle rustle
Of the leaves in your breezy dell.

Day's hurry and evening's riot

In the city, I know them all; I know, too, the loving quiet

Of your glen at the day's sweet fall.

I know, too, each grim old alley,

With the blanched ray, flickering through; I know each sweep of your valley,

Where the rosy light dies in dew.

I know, too, the stifling sadness
Of the summer noon's sultry street;

I've breathed the air of your gladness,
Where the streams and the breezes meet.

I know the dun haunts of fever,
Where the blossoms of youth decay;

I know where your free broad river
Sweeps disease on its breast away.

Yet despite your earnest pity,

And despite its own smoke and din,

I cling to yon crowded city,
Though I shrink from its woe and sin.

For I know its boundless measure
Of the true, and the good, and fair,

Its vast and far-gathered treasure,
All the wealth of soul that is there.

You may smile, or sneer, or pity,
You may fancy it weak and strange;

My eye to yon smoky city

Still returns from its widest range.

My heart, in its inmost beatings,

Ever lingers around its homes; My soul wakes up in its greetings,

To the gleam of its spires and domes.

You call it life's weary common,

At the best but an idle fair,
The market of man and woman,—

But the choice of the race are there.

The wonders of life and gladness,
All the wonders of hope and fear;

The wonders of death and sadness,
All the wonders of time are there.

In your lone lake's still face yonder,

By your rivulet's bursting glee, Deep truth I may read and ponder

Of the earth and its mystery.

There seems, in yon city's motion,

Yet a mightier truth for me;
'Tis the sound of life's great ocean,

'Tis the tides of the human sea.

O'er the fields of earth lie scattered
Noble fruitage and blossoms rare;

Yon city the store has gathered,
And the garner of hearts is there.

You may prize the lonely lustre
Of your pearl or emerald green;

What is that to the gorgeous cluster
On the brow of the crowned queen?

And the home to which I'm hasting

Is not in some silent glen;
The place where my hopes are resting

Is a city of living men.

The crowds are there; but the sadness
Is fled, with the toil and pain:

Nought is heard but the song of gladness;
' T is the city of holy men.

And wilt thou my sad fate pity,

Wilt thou grieve o'er my heavy doom,

When within that resplendent city
I shall find my glorious home?