Chapter I: Front Matter (1)

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Transcriber's Note.

The compiler of this collection is not identified.

Apparent typographical errors have been corrected. "Zavier" has been replaced by "Xavier". Inconsistencies in the use of hyphens and of accents have been retained.

Italic font is indicated by _underscores_ and transliterated Greek by =equal signs=. Small capitals have been replaced by full capitals, and "oe" ligatures have been removed.

Where individual poems lack titles they are identified, in the Table of Contents, by their first line or an appropriate phrase.

RELIGIOUS POEMS

SELECTED.

PHILADELPHIA: THE RODGERS COMPANY.

CONTENTS.

PAGE

Our King _Frances R. Havergal._ 9 The Sleep _E. B. Browning._ 10 God's Commands _Doddridge._ 13 Be Strong _Adelaide Procter._ 14 The Sleep of the Beloved _Horatius Bonar._ 15 Self-Dependence _Matthew Arnold._ 16 What is Prayer? _James Montgomery._ 18 The Virgin Mary to the Child Jesus _E. B. Browning._ 19 The Voice from Galilee _Horatius Bonar._ 28 Lead, Kindly Light _Cardinal Newman._ 29 Weary of Life _Unidentified._ 30 Come unto Me _Unidentified._ 31 Earth's Beauty _Horatius Bonar._ 33 Servant of God _James Montgomery._ 34 The Angel's Story _Adelaide Procter._ 35 Jesus _Bernard._ 44 Morality _Matthew Arnold._ 45 Morning _John Keble._ 47 Divine Order _Horatius Bonar._ 50 The Issues of Life and Death _James Montgomery._ 51 Gracious Spirit _Stocker._ 52 St. Agnes' Eve _Alfred Tennyson._ 53 Life and Death _Adelaide Procter._ 54 The Angel's Call _Mrs. Hemans._ 56 I would not Live alway _Muhlenberg._ 57 Jerusalem the Golden _Bernard._ 58 When our Heads are Bowed _Heber._ 60 O Soul, Soul _Henry C. Graves._ 61 The Look _E. B. Browning._ 62 The Meaning of the Look _E. B. Browning._ 62 Comfort _E. B. Browning._ 63 Substitution _E. B. Browning._ 64 Tears _E. B. Browning._ 65 Cheerfulness taught by Reason _E. B. Browning._ 65 The Prospect _E. B. Browning._ 66 Consolation _E. B. Browning._ 67 A Thought over a Cradle _N. P. Willis._ 68 Everlasting Blessings _Frances R. Havergal._ 69 The Mother to her Child _N. P. Willis._ 70 Give me thy Heart _Adelaide Procter._ 72 One Sweetly Solemn Thought _Phoebe Carey._ 75 Left Behind _Horatius Bonar._ 76 Lord, what a Change _Richard C. Trench._ 78 Our Father _Frances R. Havergal._ 78 Thou art the Way _Doane._ 85 The Night and the Morning _Horatius Bonar._ 86 In Affliction _James Montgomery._ 87 Give to the Winds _Gerhard._ 87 Where wilt Thou _Mrs. Sigourney._ 88 One there is above _Newton._ 89 God moves in a mysterious way _Cowper._ 90 Onward, Christian _Johnson._ 91 Thankfulness _Adelaide Procter._ 92 Does the Gospel word proclaim _Newton._ 94 My God, my Father _C. Elliott._ 95 The Seen and the Unseen _Horatius Bonar._ 96 I am far frae my Hame _Unidentified._ 101 The Sinner's Friend _Charlotte Elliott._ 103 Evening Prayer at a Girls' School _Mrs. Hemans._ 105 I Worship Thee _F. W. Faber._ 107 The Peace of God _Adelaide Procter._ 110 Listening in Darkness--Speaking in Light _Frances R. Havergal._ 112 The Morning Star _Horatius Bonar._ 113 God of the World _S. S. Cutting._ 114 There is a God _Steele._ 115 Lord, how Mysterious _Steele._ 116 The Shadow of the Rock _F. W. Faber._ 116 Elegy _Henry King._ 120 Rest Yonder _Horatius Bonar._ 122 Soldiers of Christ _C. Wesley._ 123 Thy Will be done _J. Roscoe._ 124 It is not Dying _Malan._ 125 Watchman! tell us of the Night _Bowring._ 126 The Spirit accompanying the Word of God _James Montgomery._ 127 The Cloudless _Horatius Bonar._ 128 Comfort _Adelaide Procter._ 130 "Master, Say On!" _Frances R. Havergal._ 132 The Leper _N. P. Willis._ 134 Things hoped for _Horatius Bonar._ 141 The Sure Refuge _Unidentified._ 144 Unfruitfulness _F. W. Faber._ 145 Murmuring _Richard C. Trench._ 148 If thou couldst Know _Adelaide Procter._ 149 Compensation _Frances R. Havergal._ 150 Valiant for the Truth _James Montgomery._ 156 Advent _Horatius Bonar._ 158 A Bethlehem Hymn _Horatius Bonar._ 160 A Desire _Adelaide Procter._ 161 That Glorious Song of Old _Sears._ 164 Hail to the Lord's _Montgomery._ 165 The Old, Old Story _Jemima Luke._ 167 My Jesus _Unidentified._ 168 How Beauteous were the marks divine _A. C. Coxe._ 169 O Sacred Head _Bernard._ 171 Heart of Stone _C. Wesley._ 172 "By Thy Cross and Passion" _Frances R. Havergal._ 173 Abide in Him _Horatius Bonar._ 175 Rejoice, all ye Believers _Laurenti._ 176 Joined to Christ _Frances R. Havergal._ 177 "Till He Come!" _E. W. Bickersteth._ 178 "Forever with the Lord!" _James Montgomery._ 180 The Meeting-Place _Horatius Bonar._ 181 A Little While _Horatius Bonar._ 183 Ascension Day _John Keble._ 185 The Sacrifice of Abraham _N. P. Willis._ 188 A Solitary Way _Unidentified._ 192 The Child's Welcome into Heaven _Unidentified._ 194 "Now" _Frances R. Havergal._ 196 Ocean Teachings _Horatius Bonar._ 201 Incompleteness _Adelaide Procter._ 203 Nothing to Do _Unidentified._ 205 Death _From "Sintram."_ 206 It is not Death to Die _Bethune._ 207 Rugby Chapel _Matthew Arnold._ 208 The Right must Win _F. W. Faber._ 217 The Substitute _Horatius Bonar._ 221 Jephthah's Daughter _N. P. Willis._ 222 Lord, many Times _Richard C. Trench._ 228 Cleansing Fires _Adelaide Procter._ 228 Gone Before _Horatius Bonar._ 229 The Lent Jewels _Richard C. Trench._ 231 On the Death of a Missionary _N. P. Willis._ 233 Set Apart _Frances R. Havergal._ 236 The Useful Life _Horatius Bonar._ 238 Hymn _Charlotte Elliott._ 240 "Behold, the Bridegroom Cometh!" _Unidentified._ 242 It may be in the Evening _Unidentified._ 246 The Joy of Assurance _Frances R. Havergal._ 251 "How Wonderful!" _Frances R. Havergal._ 252 Thy Way, not Mine _Horatius Bonar._ 253 A Child's First Impression of a Star _N. P. Willis._ 255 "Come unto Me!" _St. Stephen the Sabaite._ 256 "Looking unto Jesus" _From the German._ 257 Evening Hymn _Adelaide Procter._ 259 Are all the Children in? _Unidentified._ 261 He Leads us On _Unidentified._ 263 Nothing but Leaves _Unidentified._ 264 Because He first Loved us _Francis Xavier._ 265 Sonnet _Richard C. Trench._ 266 Rest at Evening _Adelaide Procter._ 267 Now the Day is over _Unidentified._ 268 The Land of Light _Horatius Bonar._ 270 Abide with Me _Lyte._ 271 Farewell of the Soul to the Body _Mrs. Sigourney._ 272

RELIGIOUS POEMS.

OUR KING.

"Worship thou Him." Ps. xlv. 11.

O Saviour, precious Saviour,
Whom yet unseen we love,
O Name of might and favor,
All other names above:
We worship Thee, we bless Thee,
To Thee alone we sing;
We praise Thee, and confess Thee
Our holy Lord and King!

O Bringer of salvation,
Who wondrously hast wrought,
Thyself the revelation
Of love beyond our thought:
We worship Thee, we bless Thee,
To Thee alone we sing;
We praise Thee, and confess Thee
Our gracious Lord and King!

In Thee all fullness dwelleth,
All grace and power divine;
The glory that excelleth,
O, Son of God, is Thine:
We worship Thee, we bless Thee,
To Thee alone we sing;
We praise Thee, and confess Thee
Our glorious Lord and King!

Oh, grant the consummation
Of this our song above,
In endless adoration,
And everlasting love:
Then shall we praise and bless Thee,
Where perfect praises ring,
And evermore confess Thee
Our Saviour and our King!

--_Frances Ridley Havergal._

THE SLEEP.

He giveth His beloved sleep. Ps. cxxvii. 2.

Of all the thoughts of God that are
Borne inward unto souls afar,
Along the Psalmist's music deep,
Now tell me if that any is,
For gift or grace, surpassing this--
'He giveth His beloved, sleep?'

What would we give to our beloved?
The hero's heart, to be unmoved,
The poet's star-tuned harp, to sweep,
The patriot's voice, to teach and rouse,
The monarch's crown, to light the brows?--
'He giveth _His_ beloved, sleep.'

What do we give to our beloved?
A little faith all undisproved,
A little dust to overweep,
And bitter memories to make
The whole earth blasted for our sake.
'He giveth _His_ beloved, sleep.'

'Sleep soft, beloved!' we sometimes say
But have no tune to charm away
Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep.
But never doleful dream again
Shall break the happy slumber when
'He giveth _His_ beloved, sleep.'

O earth, so full of dreary noises!
O men, with wailing in your voices!
O delvèd gold, the wailers heap!
O strife, O curse, that o'er it fall!
God strikes a silence through you all,
And 'giveth His beloved, sleep.'

His dews drop mutely on the hill,
His cloud above it saileth still,
Though on its slope men sow and reap,
More softly than the dew is shed,
Or clouds is floated overhead,
'He giveth His beloved, sleep.'

Aye, men may wonder while they scan
A living, thinking, feeling man,
Confirmed in such a rest to keep;
But angels say, and through the word
I think their happy smile is _heard_--
'He giveth His beloved, sleep!'

For me, my heart that erst did go
Most like a tired child at a show,
That sees through tears the mummers leap,
Would now its wearied vision close,
Would child-like on _His_ love repose,
Who 'giveth His beloved, sleep!'

And friends, dear friends,--when it shall be
That this low breath is gone from me,
And round my bier ye come to weep,
Let one, most loving of you all,
Say, 'Not a tear must o'er her fall--
He giveth His beloved, sleep.'

--_E. B. Browning._

How gentle God's commands!
How kind his precepts are!
Come, cast your burdens on the Lord,
And trust his constant care.

Beneath his watchful eye
His saints securely dwell;
That hand which bears all nature up
Shall guard his children well.

Why should this anxious load
Press down your weary mind?
Haste to your heavenly Father's throne
And sweet refreshment find.

His goodness stands approved,
Unchanged from day to day:
I'll drop my burden at his feet,
And bear a song away.

--_Doddridge._

BE STRONG.

Be strong to _hope_, O Heart!
Though day is bright,
The stars can only shine
In the dark night.
Be strong, O Heart of mine,
Look towards the light!

Be strong to _bear_, O Heart!
Nothing is vain:
Strive not, for life is care,
And God sends pain;
Heaven is above, and there
Rest will remain!

Be strong to _love_, O Heart!
Love knows not wrong;
Didst thou love--creatures even,
Life were not long;
Didst thou love God in heaven,
Thou wouldst be strong!

--_Adelaide Procter._

THE SLEEP OF THE BELOVED.

"So He giveth his beloved sleep." Ps. cxxvii. 2.

Sunlight 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.

--_Horatius Bonar._

SELF-DEPENDENCE.

Weary of myself, and sick of asking
What I am, and what I ought to be,
At this vessel's prow I stand, which bears me
Forwards, forwards, o'er the starlit sea.

And a look of passionate desire
O'er the sea and to the stars I send:
"Ye who from my childhood up have calmed me,
Calm me, ah, compose me to the end!

"Ah, once more," I cried, "ye stars, ye waters,
On my heart your mighty charm renew;
Still, still let me, as I gaze upon you,
Feel my soul becoming vast like you!"

From the intense, clear, star-sown vault of heaven,
Over the lit sea's unquiet way,
In the rustling night-air came the answer,--
"Wouldst thou _be_ as these are? _Live_ as they.

"Unaffrighted by the silence round them,
Undistracted by the sights they see,
These demand not that the things without them
Yield them love, amusement, sympathy.

"And with joy the stars perform their shining,
And the sea its long moon-silvered roll;
For self-poised they live, nor pine with noting
All the fever of some differing soul.

"Bounded by themselves, and unregardful
In what state God's other works may be,
In their own tasks all their powers pouring,
These attain the mighty life you see."

O air-born voice! long since severely clear,
A cry like thine in mine own heart I hear,--
"Resolve to be thyself; and know, that he
Who finds himself loses his misery!"

--_Matthew Arnold._

WHAT IS PRAYER?

Prayer is the soul's sincere desire,
Unuttered or expressed;
The motion of a hidden fire
That trembles in the breast.

Prayer is the burden of a sigh,
The falling of a tear,
The upward glancing of an eye,
When none but God is near.

Prayer is the simplest form of speech
That infant lips can try;
Prayer the sublimest strains that reach
The majesty on high.

Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice,
Returning from his ways;
While angels in their songs rejoice,
And cry--"Behold he prays!"

Prayer is the Christian's vital breath,
The Christian's native air:
His watchword at the gates of death--
He enters heaven with prayer.

The saints in prayer appear as one
In word, and deed, and mind,
While with the Father and the Son
Sweet fellowship they find.

Nor prayer is made by man alone
The Holy Spirit pleads
And Jesus, on the eternal throne
For sinners intercedes.

O Thou, by whom we come to God--
The Life, the Truth, the Way;
The path of prayer Thyself hast trod;
Lord! teach us how to pray.

--_James Montgomery._

THE VIRGIN MARY TO THE CHILD JESUS.

But see, the Virgin blest Hath laid her babe to rest. MILTON'S _Hymn on the Nativity_.

Sleep, sleep, mine Holy One!
My flesh, my Lord!--what name? I do not know
A name that seemeth not too high or low,
Too far from me or Heaven.
My Jesus, _that_ is best! that word being given
By the majestic angel whose command
Was softly as a man's beseeching said,
When I and all the earth appeared to stand
In the great overflow
Of light celestial from his wings and head.
Sleep, sleep, my saving One!

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

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

The slumber of His lips meseems to run
Through _my_ lips to mine heart; to all its shiftings
Of sensual life, bringing contrariousness
In a great calm. I feel, I could lie down
As Moses did, and die,[1]--and then live most.
I am 'ware of you, heavenly Presences,
That stand with your peculiar light unlost,
Each forehead with a high thought for a crown,
Unsunned i' the sunshine! I am 'ware. Yet throw
No shade against the wall! How motionless
Ye round me with your living statuary,
While through your whiteness, in and outwardly,
Continual thoughts of God appear to go,
Like light's soul in itself! I bear, I bear,
To look upon the dropped lids of your eyes,
Though their external shining testifies
To that beatitude within, which were
Enough to blast an eagle at his sun.
I fall not on my sad clay face before ye;
I look on His. I know
My spirit which dilateth with the woe
Of His mortality,
May well contain your glory.
Yea, drop your lids more low.
Ye are but fellow-worshipers with me!
Sleep, sleep, my worshiped One!

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

I am not proud--meek angels, ye invest
New meeknesses to hear such utterance rest
On mortal lips,--'I am not proud'--_not proud_!
Albeit in my flesh God sent His Son,
Albeit over Him my head is bowed
As others bow before Him, still mine heart
Bows lower than their knees. O centuries
That roll, in vision, your futurities
My future grave athwart,--
Whose murmurs seem to reach me while I keep
Watch o'er this sleep,--
Say of me as the Heavenly said,--'Thou art
The blessedest of women!'--blessedest,
Not holiest, not noblest--no high name,
Whose height misplaced may pierce me like a shame,
When I sit meek in heaven!

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

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

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

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

And then the drear sharp tongue of prophecy,
With the dread sense of things which shall be done,
Doth smite me inly, like a sword--a sword?
(_That_ 'smites the Shepherd!') then, I think aloud
The words 'despised,'--'rejected,'--every word
Recoiling into darkness as I view
The DARLING on my knee.
Bright angels,--move not!--lest ye stir the cloud
Betwixt my soul and his futurity!
I must not die, with mother's work to do,
And could not live--and see.

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

That tear fell not on THEE,
Beloved, yet Thou stirrest in thy slumber!
THOU, stirring not for glad sounds out of number
Which through the vibratory palm trees run
From summer wind and bird,
So quickly hast Thou heard
A tear fall silently?--
Wak'st Thou, O loving One?--

--_E. B. Browning._

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

THE VOICE FROM GALILEE.

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 quench'd, my soul revived,
And now I live in Him.

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

--_Horatius Bonar._

LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT.

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

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

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

--_Cardinal Newman._

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

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

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

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

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

O great Absolver, grant my soul may wear
The lowliest garb of penitence and prayer,
That in the FATHER'S courts my glorious dress
May be the garment of Thy righteousness.

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

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

--_Unidentified._

"Come unto Me, ye weary,
And I will give you rest."
O blessed voice of JESUS,
Which comes to hearts oppressed;
It tells of benediction,
Of pardon, grace, and peace,
Of joy that hath no ending,
Of love which cannot cease.

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

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

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

--_Unidentified._

EARTH'S BEAUTY.

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

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

--_Horatius Bonar._

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

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

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

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

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

--_James Montgomery._

THE ANGEL'S STORY.

Through the blue and frosty heavens
Christmas stars were shining bright;
Glistening lamps throughout the City
Almost matched their gleaming light;
While the winter snow was lying,
And the winter winds were sighing,
Long ago, one Christmas night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

So she knelt there still beside him,
She alone with strength to smile,
Promising that he should suffer
No more in a little while,
Murmuring tender song and story
Weary hours to beguile.

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

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

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

So the angel, slowly rising,
Spread his wings, and through the air
Bore the child, and, while he held him
To his heart with loving care,
Placed a branch of crimson roses
Tenderly beside him there.

While the child, thus clinging, floated
Towards the mansions of the Blest,
Gazing from his shining guardian
To the flowers upon his breast,
Thus the angel spake, still smiling
On the little heavenly guest:

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

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

"All the striving anxious fore-thought
That should only come with age
Weighed upon his baby spirit,
Showed him soon life's sternest page;
Grim Want was his nurse, and Sorrow
Was his only heritage.

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

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

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

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

"There were trees with giant branches,
Velvet glades where shadows hide;
There were sparkling fountains glancing
Flowers, which in luxuriant pride
Even wafted breaths of perfume
To the child who stood outside.

"He against the gate of iron
Pressed his wan and wistful face,
Gazing with an awe struck pleasure
At the glories of the place;
Never had his brightest day-dream
Shone with half such wondrous grace.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Know, dear little one! our Father
Will no gentle deed disdain;
Love on the cold earth beginning
Lives divine in Heaven again,
While the angel hearts that beat there
Still all tender thoughts retain."

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

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

* * * * *

In the churchyard of that city
Rose a tomb of marble rare
Decked, as soon as Spring awakened,
With her buds and blossoms fair,--
And a humble grave beside it,--
No one knew who rested there.

--_Adelaide Procter._

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

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

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

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

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

--_Bernard._

MORALITY.

We cannot kindle when we will
The fire which in the heart resides;
The spirit bloweth and is still,
In mystery our soul abides.
But tasks in hours of insight willed
Can be through hours of gloom fulfilled.

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

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

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

There is no effort on _my_ brow;
I do not strive, I do not weep:
I rush with the swift spheres, and glow
In joy, and when I will, I sleep.
Yet that severe, that earnest air,
I saw, I felt it once--but where?

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

--_Matthew Arnold._

MORNING.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--_John Keble._

DIVINE ORDER.

'Tis first the true and then the beautiful,--
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.

'Tis 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 nights of heavy clouds and veiled skies;
Then the far sparkle of the Morning-star,
That bids the saints awake and dawn arise.

--_Horatius Bonar._

THE ISSUES OF LIFE AND DEATH.

Oh, where shall rest be found--
Rest for the weary soul?
'Twere vain the ocean depths to sound,
Or pierce to either pole.
The world can never give
The bliss for which we sigh:
'Tis not the whole of life to live,
Nor all of death to die.

Beyond this vale of tears
There is a life above,
Unmeasured by the flight of years;
And all that life is love.
There is a death whose pang
Outlasts the fleeting breath:
Oh, what eternal horrors hang
Around the second death!

Lord God of truth and grace,
Teach us that death to shun,
Lest we be banished from Thy face,
And evermore undone.
Here would we end our quest;
Alone are found in Thee,
The life of perfect love,--the rest
Of immortality.

--_James Montgomery._

Gracious Spirit, Love divine!
Let Thy light within me shine;
All my guilty fears remove,
Fill me full of heaven and love.

Speak Thy pardoning grace to me,
Set the burdened sinner free;
Lead me to the Lamb of God,
Wash me in His precious blood.

Life and peace to me impart,
Seal salvation on my heart;
Breathe Thyself into my breast,--
Earnest of immortal rest.

Let me never from Thee stray,
Keep me in the narrow way;
Fill my soul with love divine,
Keep me, Lord, forever Thine.

--_Stocker._

ST. AGNES' EVE.

Deep on the convent roof the snows
Are sparkling to the moon:
My breath to heaven like vapor goes:
May my soul follow soon!
The shadows of the convent-towers
Slant down the snowy sward,
Still creeping with the creeping hours
That lead me to my Lord:
Make Thou my spirit pure and clear
As are the frosty skies,
Or this first snowdrop of the year
That in my bosom lies.

As these white robes are soil'd and dark,
To yonder shining ground;
As this pale taper's earthly spark,
To yonder argent round;
So shows my soul before the Lamb,
My spirit before Thee;
So in mine earthly house I am,
To that I hope to be.
Break up the heavens, O Lord! and far,
Thro' all yon starlight keen,
Draw me, Thy bride, a glittering star,
In raiment white and clean.

He lifts me to the golden doors;
The flashes come and go;
All heaven bursts her starry floors,
And strews her lights below,
And deepens on and up! the gates
Roll back, and far within
For me the Heavenly Bridegroom waits,
To make me pure of sin.
The sabbaths of Eternity,
One sabbath deep and wide--
A light upon the shining sea--
The Bridegroom with His bride!

--_Alfred Tennyson._

LIFE AND DEATH.

"What is life, father?"
"A Battle, my child,
Where the strongest lance may fail,
Where the wariest eyes may be beguiled,
And the stoutest heart may quail.
Where the foes are gathered on every hand,
And rest not day or night,
And the feeble little ones must stand
In the thickest of the fight."

"What is Death, father?"
"The rest, my child,
When the strife and toil are o'er;
The angel of God, who, calm and mild,
Says we need fight no more;
Who, driving away the demon band,
Bids the din of the battle cease;
Takes banner and spear from our failing hand,
And proclaims an eternal peace."

"Let me die, father! I tremble, and fear
To yield in that terrible strife!"
"The crown must be won for Heaven, dear,
In the battle-field of life;
My child, though thy foes are strong and tried,
He loveth the weak and small;
The angels of heaven are on thy side,
And God is over all!"

--_Adelaide Procter._

THE ANGEL'S CALL.

Come to the land of peace!
Come where the tempest hath no longer sway,
The shadow passes from the soul away,
The sounds of weeping cease.

Fear hath no dwelling there!
Come to the mingling of repose and love,
Breathed by the silent spirit of the dove
Through the celestial air!

Come to the bright and blest
And crown'd for ever!--'midst that shining band,
Gather'd to heaven's own wreath from every land,
Thy spirit shall find rest!

Thou hast been long alone:
Come to thy mother!--on the sabbath shore,
The heart that rock'd thy childhood, back once more
Shall take its wearied one.

In silence wert thou left!
Come to thy sisters!--joyously again
All the home voices, blest in one sweet strain,
Shall greet their long-bereft.

Over thine orphan head
The storm hath swept as o'er a willow's bough:
Come to thy father!--it is finish'd now;
_Thy tears have all been shed_.

In thy divine abode
Change finds no pathway, mem'ry no dark trace,
And, oh! bright victory--death by love no place!
Come, Spirit! to thy God!

--_Mrs. Hemans._

I would not live alway: I ask not to stay,
Where storm after storm rises dark o'er the way;
The few lurid mornings that dawn on us here
Are enough for life's woes, full enough for its cheer.

I would not live alway, thus fettered by sin,
Temptation without and corruption within:
E'en the rapture of pardon is mingled with fears,
And the cup of thanksgiving with penitent tears.

I would not live alway; no, welcome the tomb;
Since Jesus hath lain there, I dread not its gloom;
There sweet be my rest, till He bid me arise
To hail Him in triumph descending the skies.

Who, who would live alway, away from his God!
Away from yon heaven, that blissful abode,
Where the rivers of pleasure flow o'er the bright plains,
And the noontide of glory eternally reigns.

Where the saints of all ages in harmony meet,
Their Saviour and brethren transported to greet,
While the anthems of rapture unceasingly roll,
And the smile of the Lord is the feast of the soul.

--_Muhlenberg._

Jerusalem the golden,
With milk and honey blest,
Beneath thy contemplation
Sink heart and voice oppressed.
I know not, oh, I know not
What joys await us there,
What radiancy of glory,
What bliss beyond compare.

They stand, those halls of Sion,
All jubilant with song,
And bright with many an Angel,
And all the Martyr throng;
The Prince is ever in them,
The daylight is serene;
The pastures of the blessed
Are decked in glorious sheen.

There is the throne of David;
And there, from care released,
The shout of them that triumph,
The song of them that feast;
And they, who with their Leader
Have conquered in the fight,
For ever and for ever
Are clad in robes of white.

O sweet and blessed country,
The home of GOD'S elect;
O sweet and blessed country
That eager hearts expect;
JESU, in mercy bring us
To that dear land of rest;
Who art, with GOD the FATHER
And SPIRIT, ever Blest.

--_Bernard._

When our heads are bowed with woe,
When our bitter tears o'erflow,
When we mourn the lost, the dear,
Gracious Son of Mary, hear!
Thou our throbbing flesh hast worn,
Thou our mortal griefs hast borne,
Thou hast shed the human tear:
Gracious Son of Mary, hear!

When the solemn death-bell tolls
For our own departing souls,
When our final doom is near,
Gracious Son of Mary, hear!
Thou hast bowed the dying head,
Thou the blood of life hast shed,
Thou hast filled a mortal bier:
Gracious Son of Mary, hear!

When the heart is sad within
With the thought of all its sin,
When the spirit shrinks with fear,
Gracious Son of Mary, hear!
Thou, the same, the grief hast known;
Though the sins were not Thine own,
Thou hast deigned their load to bear:
Gracious Son of Mary, hear!

--_Heber._

O soul, soul, thou art passing,
Just now, the border lands:
Soul, soul, thy God is calling
Thee, from the border lands.
Soul, soul, what wilt thou answer,
When thou shalt stand alone,
Before thy God and Saviour,
'Midst th' glories of the throne?

How hast thou passed the border?
What course pursued below?
Of all I gave thee, warder,
Hast conquered every foe?
Soul, soul, hear Jesus calling!
He waits for thee above,
Oh! answer now, responding
In faith, and hope, and love.

--_Henry C. Graves._

THE LOOK.

The Saviour looked on Peter. Aye, no word--
No gesture of reproach! The heavens serene
Though heavy with armed justice, did not lean
Their thunders that way. The forsaken Lord
_Looked_ only, on the traitor. None record
What that look was; none guess: for those who have seen
Wronged lovers loving through a death-pang keen,
Or pale-cheeked martyrs smiling to a sword,
Have missed Jehovah at the judgment call,
And Peter, from the height of blasphemy--
'I never knew this man' did quail and fall,
As knowing straight THAT GOD,--and turned free
And went out speechless from the face of all,
And filled the silence, weeping bitterly.