Chapter III: Front Matter (3)

And pass thou not between
The weary traveler and the cooling breeze;
And lie not down to sleep beneath the trees
Where human tracks are seen;
Nor milk the goat that browseth on the plain
Nor pluck the standing corn, or yellow grain.

And now depart! and when
Thy heart is heavy, and thine eyes are dim,
Lift up thy prayer beseechingly to Him
Who, from the tribes of men,
Selected thee to feel His chastening rod.
Depart! O leper! and forget not God!

And he went forth--alone! not one of all
The many whom he loved, nor she whose name
Was woven in the fibres of the heart
Breaking within him now, to come and speak
Comfort unto him. Yea--he went his way,
Sick, and heart-broken, and alone--to die!
For God had cursed the leper!

It was noon,
And Helon knelt beside a stagnant pool
In the lone wilderness, and bathed his brow,
Hot with the burning leprosy, and touch'd
The loathsome water to his fever'd lips,
Praying that he might be so blest--to die!
Footsteps approach'd, and, with no strength to flee,
He drew the covering closer on his lip,
Crying, "Unclean! unclean!" and in the folds
Of the coarse sackcloth shrouding up his face,
He fell upon the earth till they should pass.
Nearer the stranger came, and bending o'er
The leper prostrate form, pronounced his name--
"Helon!" The voice was like the master-tone
Of a rich instrument--most strangely sweet;
And the dull pulses of disease awoke,
And for a moment beat beneath the hot
And leprous scales with a restoring thrill.
"Helon! arise!" and he forgot his curse,
And rose and stood before Him.

Love and awe
Mingled in the regard of Helon's eye
As he beheld the stranger. He was not
In costly raiment clad, nor on his brow
The symbol of a princely lineage wore;
No followers at His back, nor in His hand
Buckler, or sword, or spear,--yet in His mien
Command sat throned serene, and if He smiled,
A kingly condescension graced His lips,
The lion would have crouch'd to in his lair.
His garb was simple, and His sandals worn;
His stature modell'd with a perfect grace;
His countenance the impress of a God,
Touch'd with the opening innocence of a child;
His eye was blue and calm, as is the sky
In the serenest noon; His hair unshorn
Fell to His shoulders; and His curling beard
The fulness of perfected manhood bore.
He look'd on Helon earnestly awhile,
As if His heart were moved, and stooping down
He took a little water in His hand
And laid it on his brow, and said, "Be clean!"
And lo! the scales fell from him, and his blood
Coursed with delicious coolness through his veins
And his dry palms grew moist, and on his brow
The dewy softness of an infant's stole.
His leprosy was cleansed, and he fell down
Prostrate at Jesus' feet and worship'd Him.

--_N. P. Willis._

THINGS HOPED FOR.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fair vision! how thou liftest up
The drooping brow and eye;
With the calm joy of thy sure hope
Fixing our souls on high.

Thy light makes even the darkest 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.

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

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

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

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

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

--_Horatius Bonar._

THE SURE REFUGE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--_Unidentified._

UNFRUITFULNESS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--_F. W. Faber._

Some murmur when their sky is clear,
And wholly bright to view,
If one small speck of dark appear
In their great heaven of blue.
And some with thankful love are filled,
If but one streak of light,
One ray of God's good mercy, gild
The darkness of their night.

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

--_Richard Chenevix Trench._

IF THOU COULDST KNOW.

I think if thou couldst know,
O soul that will complain,
What lies concealed below
Our burden and our pain;
How just our anguish brings
Nearer those longed-for things
We seek for now in vain,--
I think thou wouldst rejoice, and not complain.

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

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

--_Adelaide Procter._

COMPENSATION.

O the compensating springs! O the balance-wheels of life,
Hidden away in the workings under the seeming strife!
Slowing the fret and the friction, weighting the whirl and the force,
Evolving the truest power from each unconscious source.

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

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

How shall we judge their present, we who have never seen
That which is past forever, and that which might have been?
Measuring by ourselves, unwise indeed are we,
Measuring what we _know_ by what we can hardly _see_.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--_Francis Ridley Havergal._

VALIANT FOR THE TRUTH.

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

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

Apollyon's arm may shower
Darts thick as hail, and hide
Heaven's face, as in the hour,
When Christ on Calvary died;
No power of darkness in the field
Can tread thee down, unless thou yield.

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

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

--_James Montgomery._

ADVENT.

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!

--_Horatius Bonar._

A BETHLEHEM HYMN.

"Mundum implens, in præsepio 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 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.

--_Horatius Bonar._

A DESIRE.

O, to have dwelt in Bethlehem
When the star of the Lord shone bright!
To have sheltered the holy wanderers
On that blessèd Christmas night;
To have kissed the tender wayworn feet
Of the mother undefiled,
And, with reverent wonder and deep delight,
To have tended the Holy Child!

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

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

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

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

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

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

--_Adelaide Procter._

It came upon the midnight clear,
That glorious song of old,
From angels bending near the earth
To touch their harps of gold:
"Peace to the earth, good-will to man,
From heaven's all-gracious King:"
The earth in solemn stillness lay,
To hear the angels sing.

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

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

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

--_Sears._

Hail to the Lord's Anointed,
Great David's greater Son;
Hail, in the time appointed,
His reign on earth begun!
He comes to break oppression,
To set the captive free,
To take away transgression,
And rule in equity.

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

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

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

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

To Him shall prayer unceasing,
And daily vows ascend;
His kingdom, still increasing,
A kingdom without end:
The tide of time shall never
His covenant remove;
His name shall stand forever;
That name to us is Love.

--_Montgomery._

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

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

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

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

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

--_Jemima Luke._

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

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

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

--_Unidentified._

How beauteous were the marks divine,
That in Thy meekness used to shine,
That lit Thy lonely pathway trod
In wondrous love, O Son of God!

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

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

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

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

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

--_A. C. Coxe._

O sacred Head, now wounded
With grief and shame weigh'd down,
Now scornfully surrounded
With thorns, thine only crown;
O sacred Head, what glory,
What bliss, till now, was thine!
Yet, though despis'd and gory,
I joy to call thee mine.

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

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

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

--_Bernard._

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

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

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

--_C. Wesley._

"BY THY CROSS AND PASSION."

"He hath given us rest by His sorrow, and life by His death."--JOHN BUNYAN.

What hast Thou done for me, O mighty Friend,
Who lovest to the end!
Reveal Thyself, that I may now behold
Thy love unknown, untold,
Bearing the curse, and made a curse for me,
That blessed and made a blessing I might be.

Oh, Thou wast crowned with thorns, that I might wear
A crown of glory fair;
"Exceeding sorrowful," that I might be
Exceeding glad in Thee;
"Rejected and despised," that I might stand
Accepted and complete on Thy right hand.

Wounded for my transgressions, stricken sore,
That I might "sin no more:"
Weak, that I might be always strong in Thee;
Bound, that I might be free;
Acquaint with grief, that I might only know
Fulness of joy in everlasting flow.

Thine was the chastisement, with no release,
That mine might be the peace;
The bruising and the cruel stripes were thine,
That healing might be mine;
Thine was the sentence and the condemnation,
Mine the acquittal and the full salvation.

For Thee revilings, and a mocking throng,
For me the angel-song;
For Thee the frown, the hiding of God's face,
For me His smile of grace;
Sorrows of hell and bitterest death for Thee,
And heaven and everlasting life for me.

Thy cross and passion, and Thy precious death,
While I have mortal breath,
Shall be my spring of love and work and praise,
The life of all my days;
Till all this mystery of love supreme
Be solved in glory--glory's endless theme!

--_Frances Ridley Havergal._

ABIDE IN HIM.

"Tecum volo vulnerari Te libenter amplexari In cruce desidero." OLD HYMN.

Cling to the Crucified!
His death is life to thee,--
Life for eternity.
His pains thy pardon seal;
His stripes thy bruises heal;
His cross proclaims thy peace,
Bids every sorrow cease.
His blood is all to thee,
It purges thee from sin;
It sets thy spirit free,
It keeps thy conscience clean.
Cling to the Crucified!

Cling to the Crucified!
His is a heart of love,
Full as the hearts above;
Its depths of sympathy
Are all awake for thee:
His countenance is light,
Even to the darkest night.
That love shall never change--
That light shall ne'er grow dim;
Charge thou thy faithless heart
To find its all in him.
Cling to the Crucified!

--_Horatius Bonar._

Rejoice, all ye believers,
And let your lights appear;
The evening is advancing,
And darker night is near;
The Bridegroom is arising,
And soon He draweth nigh:
Up! pray, and watch, and wrestle!
At midnight comes the cry.

The watchers on the mountain
Proclaim the Bridegroom near;
Go meet Him as He cometh,
With hallelujahs clear:
The marriage feast is waiting,
The gates wide-open stand;
Up, up, ye heirs of glory!
The Bridegroom is at hand.

Our hope and expectation,
O Jesus, now appear;
Arise, thou Sun so longed for
O'er this benighted sphere!
With heart and hands uplifted,
We plead, O Lord, to see
The day of earth's redemption,
That brings us unto Thee.

--_Laurenti._

JOINED TO CHRIST.

Joined to Christ in mystic union,
We Thy members, Thou our Head,
Sealed by deep and true communion,
Risen with Thee, who once were dead--
Saviour, we would humbly claim
All the power of this Thy name.

Instant sympathy to brighten
All their weakness and their woe,
Guiding grace their way to lighten,
Shall Thy loving members know;
All their sorrows Thou dost bear,
All Thy gladness they shall share.

Make Thy members every hour
For Thy blessed service meet;
Earnest tongues, and arms of power,
Skilful hands, and hastening feet,
Ever ready to fulfil
All Thy word and all Thy will.

Everlasting life Thou givest
Everlasting love to see;
They shall live because Thou livest,
And their life is hid with Thee.
Safe Thy members shall be found,
When their glorious Head is crowned!

--_Frances Ridley Havergal._

"_Till He come!_"--Oh, let the words
Linger on the trembling chords,
Let the "little while" between
In their golden light be seen:
Let us think how heaven and home
Lie beyond that, "_Till He come!_"

When the weary ones we love
Enter on that rest above,
When their words of love and cheer
Fall no longer on our ear,
Hush! be ev'ry murmur dumb,
It is only "_Till He come!_"

Clouds and darkness round us press;
Would we have one sorrow less?
All the sharpness of the cross,
All that tells the world is loss,
Death, and darkness, and the tomb,
Pain us only "_Till He come!_"

See, the feast of love is spread,
Drink the wine and eat the bread;
Sweet memorials, till the Lord
Call us round His heavenly board,
Some from earth, from glory some,
Severed only "_Till He come!_"

--_E. W. Bickersteth._

"Forever with the Lord!"
So, Jesus, let it be;
Life from the dead is in that word;
'Tis immortality.

Here, in the body pent,
Absent from thee I roam:
Yet nightly pitch my moving tent
A day's march nearer home.

My father's house on high,
Home of my soul! how near,
At times, to faith's aspiring eye,
Thy golden gates appear!

"Forever with the Lord!"
Father, if 'tis thy will,
The promise of thy gracious word
Ev'n here to me fulfill.

--_James Montgomery._

THE MEETING-PLACE.

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 moon 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 the bond is never severed;--
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 light 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
Sheds its healing splendor 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.

--_Horatius Bonar._

A LITTLE WHILE.

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 strowing
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.

--_Horatius Bonar._

ASCENSION DAY.

Soft cloud, that while the breeze of May
Chants her glad matins in the leafy arch,
Draw'st thy bright veil across the heavenly way,
Meet pavement for an angel's glorious march.

My soul is envious of mine eye,
That it should soar and glide with thee so fast
The while my groveling thoughts half buried lie,
Or lawless roam around this earthly waste.

Chains of my heart, avaunt I say--
I will arise, and in the strength of love
Pursue the bright track ere it fade away,
My Savior's pathway to His home above.

Sure, when I reach the point where earth
Melts into nothing from the uncumber'd sight,
Heaven will o'ercome th' attraction of my birth,
And I shall sink in yonder sea of light:

Till resting by th' incarnate Lord
Once bleeding, now triumphant for my sake,
I mark Him, how by seraph hosts ador'd,
He to earth's lowest cares is still awake.

The sun and every vassal star,
All space beyond the soar of angel wings,
Wait on His word: and yet He stays His car
For every sigh a contrite suppliant brings.

He listens to the silent tear
For all the anthems of the boundless sky--
And shall our dreams of music bar our ear
To His soul-piercing voice forever nigh?

Nay, gracious Saviour--but as now
Our thoughts have trac'd Thee to Thy glory-throne,
To help us evermore with Thee to bow
Where human sorrow breathes her lowly moan.

We must not stand to gaze too long,
Though on unfolding Heaven our gaze we bend,
Where lost behind the bright angelic throng
We see Christ's entering triumph slow ascend.

No fear but we shall soon behold,
Faster than now it fades, that gleam revive,
When issuing from His cloud of fiery gold
Our wasted frames feel the true sun, and live.

Then shall we see Thee as Thou art,
Forever fix'd in no unfruitful gaze,
But such as lifts the new-created heart,
Age after age, in worthier love and praise.

--_John Keble._

THE SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM.

Genesis, Chapter xxii.

Morn breaketh in the east. The purple clouds
Are putting on their gold and violet,
To look the meeter for the sun's bright coming.
Sleep is upon the waters and the wind;
And nature, from the wavy forest-leaf
To her majestic master, sleeps. As yet
There is no mist upon the deep blue sky,
And the clear dew is on the blushing bosoms
Of crimson roses in a holy rest.
How hallow'd is the hour of morning! meet--
Aye, beautifully meet--for the pure prayer.
The patriarch standeth at his tented door,
With his white locks uncover'd. 'Tis his wont
To gaze upon that gorgeous Orient;
And at that hour the awful majesty
Of man who talketh often with his God,
Is wont to come again, and clothe his brow
As at his fourscore strength. But now, he seemeth
To be forgetful of his vigorous frame,
And boweth to his staff as at the hour
Of noontide sultriness. And that bright sun--
He looketh at its pencill'd messengers,
Coming in golden raiment, as if all
Were but a graven scroll of fearfulness.
Ah, he is waiting till it herald in
The hour to sacrifice his much-loved son!

Light poureth on the world. And Sarah stands
Watching the steps of Abraham and her child
Along the dewy sides of the far hills,
And praying that her sunny boy faint not.
Would she have watch'd their path so silently,
If she had known that he was going up,
E'en in his fair-hair'd beauty, to be slain
As a white lamb for sacrifice? They trod
Together onward, patriarch and child--
The bright sun throwing back the old man's shade
In straight and fair proportions, as of one
Whose years were freshly number'd. He stood up
Tall in his vigorous strength; and, like a tree
Rooted in Lebanon, his frame bent not.
His thin white hairs had yielded to the wind,
And left his brow uncover'd; and his face,
Impress'd with the stern majesty of grief
Nerv'd to a solemn duty, now stood forth
Like a rent rock, submissive, yet sublime.
But the young boy--he of the laughing eye
And ruby lip--the pride of life was on him.
He seem'd to drink the morning. Sun and dew,
And the aroma of the spicy trees,
And all that giveth the delicious East
Its fitness for an Eden, stole like light
Into his spirit, ravishing his thoughts
With love and beauty. Every thing he met,
Buoyant, or beautiful, the lightest wing
Of bird or insect, or the palest dye
Of the fresh flowers, won him from his path;
And joyously broke forth his tiny shout,
As he flung back his silken hair, and sprung
Away to some green spot or clustering vine,
To pluck his infant trophies. Every tree
And fragrant shrub was a new hiding place;
And he would crouch till the old man came by,
Then bound before him with his childish laugh,
Stealing a look behind him playfully,
To see if he had made his father smile.
The sun rode on in heaven. The dew stole up
From the fresh daughters of the earth, and heat
Came like a sleep upon the delicate leaves,
And bent them with the blossoms to their dreams.
Still trod the patriarch on, with that same step,
Firm and unfaltering; turning not aside
To seek the olive shades, or lave their lips
In the sweet waters of the Syrian wells,
Whose gush hath so much music. Weariness
Stole on the gentle boy, and he forgot
To toss his sunny hair from off his brow,
And spring for the fresh flowers and light wings
As in the early morning; but he kept
Close by his father's side, and bent his head
Upon his bosom like a drooping bud,
Lifting it not, save now and then to steal
A look up to the face whose sternness awed
His childishness to silence.
It was noon--
And Abraham on Moriah bow'd himself,
And buried up his face, and pray'd for strength.
He could not look upon his son, and pray;
But, with his hand upon the clustering curls
Of the fair, kneeling boy, he pray'd that God
Would nerve him for that hour. Oh! man was made
For the stern conflict. In a mother's love
There is more tenderness; the thousand chords,
Woven with every fibre of her heart,
Complain, like delicate harp-strings, at a breath;
But love in man is one deep principle,
Which, like a root grown in a rifted rock,
Abides the tempest. He rose up, and laid
The wood upon the altar. All was done.
He stood a moment--and a deep, quick flush
Pass'd o'er his countenance; and then he nerv'd
His spirit with a bitter strength, and spoke--
"Isaac! my only son!"--The boy look'd up
And Abraham turn'd his face away, and wept.
"Where is the lamb, my father?"--Oh the tones,
The sweet, the thrilling music of a child!--
How it doth agonize at such an hour!--
It was the last deep struggle. Abraham held
His loved, his beautiful, his only son,
And lifted up his arm, and called on God--
And lo! God's angel stayed him--and he fell
Upon his face and wept.

--_N. P. Willis._

A SOLITARY WAY.

There is a mystery in human hearts,
And though we be encircled by a host
Of those who love us well, and are beloved,
To every one of us, from time to time,
There comes a sense of utter loneliness.
Our dearest friend is "stranger" to our joy,
And cannot realize our bitterness.
"There is not one who really understands,
Not one to enter into _all_ I feel;"
Such is the cry of each of us in turn,
We wander in a "solitary way,"
No matter what or where our lot may be;
Each heart, mysterious even to itself,
Must live its inner life in solitude.

And would you know the reason why this is?
It is because the Lord desires our love.
In every heart he wishes to be _first_.
He therefore keeps the secret key Himself,
To open _all_ its chambers, and to bless
With _perfect_ sympathy and holy peace,
Each solitary soul which comes to _Him_.
So when we feel this loneliness it is
The voice of Jesus saying, "Come to Me;"
And every time we are "not understood,"
It is a call to us to come _again_:
For Christ alone can satisfy the soul,
And those who walk with him from day to day
Can never have a "solitary way."
And when beneath some heavy cross you faint,
And say, "I cannot bear this load alone,"
You say the truth. Christ made it purposely
So heavy that you must return to Him.
The bitter grief, which "no one understands,"
Conveys a secret message from the King,
Entreating you to come to Him _again_.
The Man of Sorrows understands it well.
In _all_ points tempted He can feel with you.
You cannot come too often, or too near;
The Son of God is infinite in grace.
His presence satisfies the longing soul,
And those who walk with Him from day to day
Can never have a "solitary way."

--_Unidentified._

THE CHILD'S WELCOME INTO HEAVEN.

The golden gates were open
And heavenly seraphs smiled
And with their tuneful harpstrings
Welcomed the little child.

They shouted "high and holy,
A child hath entered in,
And safe from all temptation
A soul is sealed from sin."

They led him through the golden street
On to the King of kings,
And a glory fell upon him
From the rustling of their wings.

The Saviour smiled upon him
As none on earth had smiled,
And Heaven's great glory shone around
The little earth-born child.

On earth they missed the little one,
They sighed and wept and sighed,
And wondered if another such
As theirs, had ever died.

Oh! had they seen through those high gates,
The welcome to him given,
They never would have wished their child
Back from his home in Heaven.

--_Unidentified._

"NOW."

A night of danger on the sea,
Of sleeplessness and fear!
Wave after wave comes thundering
Against the strong stone pier;
Each with a terrible recoil,
And a grim and gathering might,
As blast on blast comes howling past,
Each wild gust wilder than the last,
All through that awful night.

Well for the ships in harbor now,
Which caught the morning tide;
With cable out and anchor sure,
How peacefully they ride!
Well for the barque that came at eve,
Though watched with breathless fear;
'Twas sheltered first ere the tempest burst,
'Tis safe inside the pier!

But see a faint and fitful light
Out in the howling sea!
A vessel seeks the harbor mouth,
As in death agony.
Though strong stone arms are open wide,
She misses the only way;
Alas! too late, the storm drives fast,
The mighty waves they sweep her past,
And against that sheltering pier they cast
Their wrecked and shattered prey.

The billows drive the barque along,
Over the deck they dash,
Where sailors five are clinging fast
To broken stump of sail-less mast,
Waiting the final crash.
Is it too late? Can succor yet
Those drowning men now reach!
Life is so near--the firm-built pier
Must be the death of each.

The daring hearts--the sturdy arms,
The swift and steady feet,
They rush into a yawning grave,
In strong recoil of mightiest wave,
Treading most awful path to save,
As they tread a homeward street.
Over the boulders 'mid foam they rush
Into the ghastly hollow;
They fling the rope to the breaking wreck;
The aim is sure, and it strikes the deck,
The shouts of quick hope follow.

Reached--not saved! there is more to do,
A trumpet note is heard;
Over the rage,--over the roar
Of thundering billows on the shore,
Rings out the guiding word.
There is one chance, and only one.
All can be saved, but how?
"The rope hold fast, but quit the mast,"
The trumpet signals "Now!"

There is a moment when the sea
Allays its furious strength;
A shuddering pause with sudden whirl,
Gathering force again to hurl
Billow on billow, whirl on whirl;
That moment comes at length:
With single shout the "Now" peals out.
The answering leap is made.
Well for the simple hearts that just
Loosing the mast with fearless trust,
The strange command obeyed!

The rope is good, the stout arms pull
Ere the storm-lull is o'er;
'Tis but a swift and blinding sweep
Through waters wild and dark and deep--
The men are safe on shore--
Safe! though the fiend-like blast pursue;
Safe! though the waves dash high;
But the ringing cheer that rises clear
Is checked with a sudden cry:--

"There are but four upon the shore,
And five were on the deck!"
And strained eyes that pierce the gloom
Still trace, swift drifting on to doom,
One man upon the wreck.
Again they chase in sternest race
The far re-coiling wave;
The rope is cast, the tossing mark
It reaches not, the windy dark
Hides him they strive to save.

They rush again, again they fail,
Again, and yet again:
The storm yells back defiance loud,
The breakers rear a rampart proud,
And roar, "In vain, in vain!"
Then a giant wave takes up the wreck
And bears it on its crest;--
One moment it hung quivering there
In horrible arrest.
The lonely man on vengeful sea
A lightning flash uplit,
Still clinging fast to broken mast
He had not dared to quit.

Then horror of great darkness fell,
While eyes flashed inward fire;
And over all the roar and dash,
Through that great blackness came a crash,
A token sure and dire.
The wave had burst upon the pier,
The wreck was scattered wide;
Another "Now" would never reach
The corpse that lay upon the beach
With the receding tide.

God's "Now" is sounding in your ears,
Oh, let it reach your heart!
Not only from your sinfulness
He bids you part;
Your righteousness as filthy rags
Must all relinquished be,
And only Jesus' precious death
Must be your plea.

_Now_ trust the one provided rope,
Now quit the broken mast,
Before the hope of safety be
Forever past.
Fear not to trust His simple word,
So sweet, so tried, so true,
And you are safe for evermore,
Yes,--even you!

--_Frances Ridley Havergal._

OCEAN TEACHINGS.

"This great and wide sea."--PSALM civ. 25.

That rising storm! It has awakened me;
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 verdue 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?
'Tis from the land of light that thou art come.

And of the time how blithely art thou telling,
When cloud and change and tempest shall take wing;
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.

--_Horatius Bonar._

INCOMPLETENESS.

Nothing resting in its own completeness
Can have worth or beauty: but alone
Because it leads and tends to further sweetness,
Fuller, higher, deeper than its own.

Spring's real glory dwells not in the meaning,
Gracious though it be, of her blue hours;
But is hidden in her tender leaning
To the Summer's richer wealth of flowers.

Dawn is fair, because the mists fade slowly
Into day, which floods the world with light;
Twilight's mystery is so sweet and holy
Just because it ends in starry Night.

Childhood's smiles unconscious graces borrow
From Strife, that in a far-off future lies;
And angel glances (veiled now by Life's sorrow)
Draw our hearts to some belovèd eyes.

Life is only bright when it proceedeth
Towards a truer, deeper Life above;
Human Love is sweetest when it leadeth
To a more divine and perfect Love.

Learn the mystery of Progression duly:
Do not call each glorious change, Decay;
But know we only hold our treasures truly,
When it seems as if they passed away.

Nor dare to blame God's gifts for incompleteness;
In that want their beauty lies: they roll
Towards some infinite depth of love and sweetness,
Bearing onward man's reluctant soul.

--_Adelaide Procter._

NOTHING TO DO.

"Nothing to do" in this world of ours,
Where weeds spring up with the fairest flowers,
Where smiles have only a fitful play,
Where hearts are breaking every day?

"Nothing to do?" thou Christian soul,
Wrapping thee round in thy selfish stole,
Off with the garments of sloth and sin;
Christ thy Lord hath a kingdom to win.

"Nothing to do?" there are prayers to lay
On the altar of incense day by day;
There are foes to meet within and without;
There is error to conquer, strong and stout.

"Nothing to do?" there are minds to teach
The simplest forms of Christian speech;
There are hearts to lure with loving wile
From the grimmest haunts of sin's defile.