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THE HYMN 
 
 "Jesus of Nazareth Passeth By' 
 
 ITS HISTORY 
 
 AND OTHER VERSES 
 
 BY 
 
 EMMA F. R. CAMPBELL 
 
 ii 
 
 M. E. MUNSON, Publisher 
 
 j j Bible House 
 
 New York 
 

 ,-i . ; 
 
 Copyright, 1909 
 By M. E. MUNSON 
 
 CI.A25K • 
 
DEDICATION 
 
 To the Memory of 
 MY MOTHER 
 
 WHOSE LOVING ASPIRATION FOR HER CHILD 
 
 WAS THE INSPIRATION OF ALL THAT IS WORTHY IN THESB 
 
 LIFE THOUGHTS 
 
THE HISTORY OF THE HYMN 
 
 "Jesus of Nazareth Passeth By" 
 
 "He who voices the thought of the Christian 
 heart in a hymn which becomes familiar in the 
 songs of the church of Christ, is sure of being 
 held in grateful memory." g g Times 
 
 "I believe that I would rather be the author 
 of one good hymn than of anything else in the 
 world, unless it be sunshine.'' 1 -g g Phelps 
 
 Very wonderful it seems to the author of the 
 simple lines entitled "Jesus of Nazareth Passeth 
 By," that such honor should have fallen so unex- 
 pectedly upon her. Written merely as a metrical 
 description of impressive scenes passing around 
 her, it was farthest from her thought or inten- 
 tion that they should ever be used as a hymn, 
 and be sung with marked effect in just such 
 gatherings as those that suggested them. "Verily 
 it is the Lord's doing and is marvelous in our 
 eyes." 
 
 The history of the hymn has often been asked 
 for and given incorrectly by compilers of hymns 
 with their origin. It is briefly this: In the 
 Spring of 1864 a remarkable religious awakening 
 
occurred in Newark, N. J. — the writer's birth- 
 place and residence at that time — in connection 
 with the services of the Rev. E. P. Hammond. 
 All classes of the community felt its power, and 
 the largest churches and halls of the city were 
 crowded day and night by eager, earnest men and 
 women, and children as well. 
 
 Among those to whom such scenes were new, 
 and who for the first time realized in her own 
 experience the irresistible power of the Holy 
 Spirit in revealing the fullness and freeness of 
 salvation through Christ, was a young Sabbath 
 School teacher whose heart was deeply moved by 
 seeing one after another in whom she was inter- 
 ested become subjects of the Spirit's influence. 
 
 At one of the services the topic was the Gospel 
 story of blind Bartimeus, who asking what the 
 noise of the multitude following Jesus meant, was 
 told, "Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." Some very 
 impressive comments on the passage were made 
 by Mr. Pardee, the well-known Sabbath School 
 worker of that day, and others, and much deep 
 feeling was manifested. Under the effect of this 
 stirring application of the Scripture instance of 
 Christ's compassion for and ready help to the 
 needy ones thronging His earthly pathway, the 
 verses beginning, "What means this eager, 
 anxious throng," were suggested and written as 
 descriptive of the similar scenes occurring in our 
 streets, with the hope that such a presentation of 
 the fact of Christ's presence in our midst, ready 
 and able to save, might reach some souls un- 
 reached by the meetings. They were sent to a 
 
 vl 
 
local paper and to the Sunday School Times, 
 and as soon as they saw the light were immedi- 
 ately taken by Mr. Hammond and added to a col- 
 lection of hymns he was about to publish called 
 "New Praises of Jesus," set to the tune of 
 "Sweet Hour of Prayer," and were so used by 
 him in subsequent meetings. Very soon, however, 
 a new tune was written for what had now be- 
 come a popular hymn by the lamented Gospel 
 singer and composer, P. P. Bliss, and published 
 in his collection of "Gospel Songs." But this 
 tune did not prove popular, and another was 
 composed by T. E. Perkins, which is the one given 
 in the Gospel Hymns and sung so effectively by 
 Mr. Sankey in Evangelistic meetings all over the 
 world. The verses were first published over the 
 signature of "Eta," a nom-de-plume chosen by 
 the writer from the Greek alphabet, which ac- 
 counts for its appearance in the earlier hymn- 
 books as by "Miss Eta Campbell." In later edi- 
 tions of the Gospel Hymns the error has been cor- 
 rected. 
 
 In reviewing the record of this simple produc- 
 tion of her pen the author of "Jesus of Nazareth 
 Passeth By" is overwhelmed with grateful sur- 
 prise that it should have been accorded by the 
 Master such an honored place among the agen- 
 cies at work for Him, and accepted by the Holy 
 Spirit as a medium of His power in awakening 
 souls and winning them to the one Saviour of 
 the world. Unquestionably it was started on its 
 mission by the impressive rendering of the soul- 
 ful Christian singer, Ira D. Sankey, and that 
 
 vii 
 
much of its usefulness is due to his appreciation 
 of its possibilities, and his intensity of desire to 
 make it effective in touching sin-burdened hearts 
 and leading them to the waiting Healer. And 
 who that has heard him sing this hymn or any 
 other can ever forget the tender, earnest tones of 
 that persuasive voice, or wonder that the words 
 should retain to all future time the echo of the 
 thrill thus imparted to them. 
 
 Very many instances have been related of the 
 wonderful effect of this hymn as sung by Mr. 
 Sankey at the great revival services of the two 
 greatest evangelists of the last century. I can 
 only mention a few. One writer, the Rev. Dun- 
 can Morrison of Canada, who has written sketches 
 of some remarkable hymns, says he can never 
 forget the scene he once beheld in Glasgow, Scot- 
 land, when a congregation of three thousand souls 
 were moved by the thrilling tones of that master 
 of sacred song as he sang: 
 
 "Too late! too late! will be the cry, 
 Jesus of Nazareth has passed by!" 
 
 "The latent wail that for the moment rose to 
 the surface, — the revelation of possible despair at 
 the gates of that strange other world to which 
 we are hastening" — was irresistible. In a book 
 by Rev. Dr. Boyd recounting the remarkable 
 career of Moody and Sankey in Great Britain, 
 many incidents are told of the use and effect of 
 this hymn in the immense gatherings in the great 
 cities. In Belfast, at an open-air meeting held 
 for the mill workers, where it was estimated from 
 
 viii 
 
ten to twenty thousand were gathered, Mr. 
 Sankey sang "Jesus of Nazareth Passeth By" in 
 his tender, touching style. "While he was sing- 
 ing I could observe in the glistening eye and the 
 deep sighs of those around me that it was even 
 so." In Dublin, after one of the crowded meet- 
 ings, an old man of seventy threw himself on his 
 knees sobbing as he said, "I was utterly careless 
 about my soul till last night, but have been so 
 unhappy since I could not sleep. I seemed to 
 hear ringing in my ears ' Jesus of Nazareth 
 Passeth By/ and if I don't get saved now, I 
 never shall." In Manchester, Eng., a band of 
 workers was organized to visit every house with 
 a card bearing on one side this hymn, and on the 
 other a short address by Mr. Moody on the text 
 "Behold I stand at the door and knock." At 
 one of the meetings in Philadelphia it is said 
 by one who was present, "As Mr. Sankey was 
 singing this hymn, his voice in the lines 'Ho! all 
 ye heavy laden come,' and afterward 'Too late! 
 too late ! will be the cry,' became so low, broken, 
 full of pity, and clear withal that dozens of 
 people half rose from their seats and bent for- 
 ward toward the stage as if by magnetic attrac- 
 tion." 
 
 The key-note of its popularity thus given by 
 Mr. Sankey, and the appropriation of it to His 
 special use by the Holy Spirit, the use and effect 
 of this hymn has not been confined to the large 
 assembly or the magnetic tones of one consecrated 
 voice. In smaller gatherings all over the world 
 and even in the home circle it has proved its 
 
 ix 
 
mission of soul awakening and hope inspiring 
 power. One instance from many that have come 
 to the knowledge of the writer is peculiarly 
 touching to her. A condemned murderer heard 
 it sung at the religious exercises held in the 
 prison, and was strongly impressed and led to 
 accept the hope of pardon through a merciful 
 Saviour. During the last days of his life he fre- 
 quently asked to have it sung; and the day be- 
 fore his execution requested that it might be 
 sung the following Sunday, saying, "Who knows 
 that I may not hear it. If not, it may touch the 
 heart of some other poor fellow as it has mine." 
 
 But perhaps nothing in the record of this hymn 
 has brought more real joy and gratitude to the 
 heart of the author than the fact that it is sung 
 by converted heathen in the far lands of India, 
 Syria and other foreign mission fields. A mis- 
 sionary friend in India wrote of having heard 
 it sung by a congregation of five or six hundred 
 natives in their own language — the Marathi — 
 with thrilling effect. She very kindly had a copy 
 of it transcribed for the writer from their hymn- 
 book by a Hindoo pundit — a reproduction of 
 which is appended to this sketch. 
 
 Such is the surprising history of this simple 
 production. It is but an illustration of God's 
 wonderful way of using the humble, obscure 
 forces of Christian life and thought to accom- 
 plish His great designs — "the weak things of the 
 world to confound the mighty." Written in an 
 hour of spiritual fervor, unconscious of any 
 special inspiration, with no attempt at poetic 
 
imagery, or a thought that it would live beyond 
 the time and occasion that suggested it, the re- 
 sult has proved that the impulse that moved the 
 heart and the pen was divine ; and therefore the 
 hymn, "Jesus of Nazareth Passeth By," belongs 
 only to Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit, to 
 whom with the Father, who giveth gifts to the 
 children of men, be all the glory. 
 
 Xi 
 
"JESUS OF NAZARETH 
 PASSETH BY" 
 
 Luke xviii : 34. 
 I 
 What means this eager, anxious throng 
 Pressing our busy streets along? 
 These wondrous gatherings day by day, 
 What means this strange commotion, pray? 
 Voices in accents hushed reply 
 "Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." 
 
 II 
 E'en children feel the potent spell 
 And haste their new-found joy to tell. 
 In crowds they to the place repair 
 Where Christians daily bow in prayer, 
 Hosannas mingle with the cry 
 "Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." 
 
 Ill 
 Who is this Jesus? Why should He 
 The city move so mightily? 
 A passing stranger, has He skill 
 To move the multitude at will? 
 Again the stirring tones reply 
 "Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." 
 
 IV 
 Jesus! 'tis He who once below 
 Man's pathway trod mid pain and woe; 
 And burdened ones where'er He came 
 Brought out their sick and deaf and lame. 
 Blind men rejoiced to hear the cry 
 "Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." 
 
 V 
 
 Again He comes — from place to place 
 His holy footprints we can trace; 
 He pauses at our threshold, nay, 
 He enters, condescends to stay! 
 Shall we not gladly raise the cry 
 "Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." 
 
 xil 
 
VI 
 Bring out your sick and blind and lame, 
 'Tis to restore them Jesus came; 
 Compassion infinite you'll find 
 With boundless power in Him combined. 
 Come quickly while salvation's nigh, 
 "Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." 
 
 VII 
 
 Ye sin-sick souls, who feel your need, 
 He comes to you, a Friend indeed; 
 Rise from your weary, wakeful couch, 
 Haste to secure His healing touch; 
 No longer sadly wait and sigh, 
 "Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." 
 
 VIII " 
 
 Ho! all ye heavy laden, come! 
 Here's pardon, comfort, rest, a home; 
 Ye wanderers from a Father's face, 
 Return, accept His proffered grace. 
 Ye tempted, there's a refuge nigh, 
 "Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." 
 
 IX 
 
 Ye who are buried in the grave 
 Of sin, His power alone can save; 
 His voice can bid your dead souls live, 
 True spirit-life and freedom give. 
 Awake! arise! for strength apply, 
 "Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." 
 
 X 
 
 But if you still this call refuse, 
 And dare such wondrous love abuse, 
 Soon will He sadly from you turn, 
 Your bitter prayer for mercy spurn. 
 Too late! too late! will be the cry, 
 "Jesus of Nazareth has passed by." 
 
 xlil 
 
TRANSLATION IN MARATHI 
 
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LATIN TRANSLATION. 
 By Rev. Duncan Morrison, M.A. 
 
 Quid sit hsec appetens turma, 
 Tarn circumfusa, anxia — 
 lstae mirabiles turbse 
 In dies viis et urbe? 
 Suppressa voce plebs spondet: 
 "Jesus Naz'renus nunc transit." 
 Quis este Jesus? Is quare 
 Ferturbat urbem tarn mire? 
 An advena possit imo 
 Volente cire earn quando? 
 Deinde vox rursum spondet: 
 "Jesus Naz'renus nunc transit." 
 Jesus! qui semel habitans 
 Nobiscum, morbos et ferens 
 Sanavit segros populi, 
 Feccatum abtulit mundi; 
 Deinde vox caeci spondet: 
 "Jesus Naz'renus nunc transit." 
 Is rursus venit! Et passim 
 Descernimus vestigium; 
 Stat ad limen; intrat immo 
 Ut habitet nobis — templo! 
 Hinc laetus populus spondet: 
 "Jesus Naz'renus nunc transit." 
 O onerati et fessi, 
 Hie domus, quies, lux cordi; 
 Errantes omnes ab Patre, 
 Infirmi omnes fugite 
 Asylum; usque vox spondet: 
 "Jesus Naz'renus nunc transit." 
 Sin ista res inutilis 
 Habetur, amor et talis; 
 Abvertet cito; turn magni 
 Plorates omnes irriti; 
 Oh nimis serum, vox erit, 
 "Jesus Naz'renus transiit." 
 
 xvl 
 
OTHER VERSES 
 
INDEX 
 
 PULSES OF INNER LIFE. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 "Not Unto Us" 3 
 
 My Need 4 
 
 The Still Small Voice 5 
 
 Consecration 6 
 
 Watching for Souls 7 
 
 The Teacher's Saturday Night Prayer ... 8 
 
 Prayer to the Spirit 9 
 
 The Call to United Prayer for Sabbath Schools . 10 
 
 My Will and Thine 11 
 
 A Lesson 11 
 
 Satisfied 13 
 
 My Heaven 14 
 
 Penitential 15 
 
 O Thou of Little Faith 16 
 
 A New Year Prayer 17 
 
 Cast Down but not Destroyed .... 18 
 
 Marah — Elim 19 
 
 Aspiration 19 
 
 ECHOES OF THE WORD. 
 
 Christmas Hymn 23 
 
 No Room for Jesus 23 
 
 Come Unto Me 24 
 
 Ye Will Not Come 25 
 
 Wilt Thou Be Made Whole? 26 
 
 The Bread of Life ....... 27 
 
 Come Rest Awhile 28 
 
 svii 
 
PAGB 
 
 On a Picture of Christ Blessing Little Children . 29 
 
 In the Storm 30 
 
 We Have Toiled All Night 31 
 
 The Night Cometh 32 
 
 No Hope 33 
 
 Him that Overcometh 34 
 
 Prove Me 85 
 
 Inasmuch 36 
 
 And it Was Night 37 
 
 The Prayer on Olivet 38 
 
 Ecce Homo 40 
 
 God's Christ 42 
 
 Eloi! Eloi! Lama Sabachthani^ .... 43 
 
 Our Easter Call 44 
 
 No More Sea 46 
 
 No More Death 47 
 
 IN THE SHADOW. 
 
 De Profundis * . .51 
 
 The National Funeral 52 
 
 Thanks and Supplication 53 
 
 "O Woman! Great is Thy Faith!" ... 55 
 
 "Why?" 56 
 
 "Not Dead, but Risen" 57 
 
 "Twilight Dell" — Greenwood 58 
 
 Sudden Transition 60 
 
 'Tis Just Across the River 61 
 
 Under the Rod 63 
 
 In Darkness 64 
 
 Lulie's First Birthday in Heaven .... 65 
 
 Suffer the Children 67 
 
 "Is it Well?" 68 
 
 xvill 
 
PAGE 
 
 On the Brink of the River 69 
 
 A Minor Strain 71 
 
 The Vanished Hand 73 
 
 A Year Ago 73 
 
 Afterward 76 
 
 A Tribute of Grateful Love 77 
 
 To One Beloved 78 
 
 TIMES AND SEASONS. 
 
 The Reawakening 81 
 
 Springtime 82 
 
 Seed-time 82 
 
 Autumn Contrasts 83 
 
 The Death of the Leaves 84 
 
 The First Frost. 85 
 
 Thanksgiving Hymn in War Time .... 86 
 
 Thanksgiving Hymn for Peace .... 87 
 
 The Closing Year 88 
 
 Farewell to the Year 90 
 
 A New Year Reverie 90 
 
 A New Year Thought 91 
 
 "Happy New Year!" 92 
 
 Birthday Verses 94 
 
 On Taking Down the Christmas Greens . . 95 
 
 Night 96 
 
 True Worship 96 
 
 OCCASIONAL. 
 
 A Hymn of Praise — Centennial .... 101 
 
 L'Envoi 103 
 
 Mizpah 104 
 
 Our Manse 105 
 
 xlx 
 
After a Sabbath School Convention 
 
 
 
 PAGB 
 
 107 
 
 Anniversary Hymn for an Orphan Asylum 
 
 
 108 
 
 Anniversary Hymn for a Sabbath School 
 
 
 100 
 
 Hymns for Children .... 
 
 
 110 
 
 Invitation .... 
 
 
 
 
 110 
 
 Praise and Consecration 
 
 
 
 
 111 
 
 Rejoicing in Jesus 
 
 
 
 
 111 
 
 Working for Jesus 
 
 
 
 
 . 112 
 
 "I'll Watch for You All." 
 
 
 
 
 119 
 
 The Invalid's Comfort 
 
 
 
 
 114 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Christmas in the Arctic Regions .... 119 
 
 The Lost Child 
 
 
 
 
 121 
 
 To the Katydid 
 
 
 
 
 122 
 
 Fort Sumter .... 
 
 
 
 
 123 
 
 Eulogy on a Turkey . 
 
 
 
 
 124 
 
 To the Wild Carrot 
 
 
 
 
 125 
 
 "Don't Worry" .... 
 
 
 
 
 126 
 
 For a May Day Celebration 
 
 
 
 
 127 
 
 The Last Sigh of the Moob 
 
 
 
 
 128 
 
 XX 
 
PULSES OF INNER LIFE 
 
"NOT UNTO US." 
 
 Suggested upon hearing that some simple lines of the 
 writer's had been found, pinned in the Bible of a dear 
 young Christian girl after her death. 
 
 Not unto me, nor mine, 
 Be praise for aught of good I may have done 
 By hand or tongue throughout these earthly days; 
 Mine be the grateful joy, Thine all the praise, 
 Giver of every gift or grace! alone 
 
 All glory shall be Thine! 
 
 If any deed of mine 
 Hath helped a brother on Life's weary way, 
 Lightened, if but a jot, his heavy load, 
 Removed one stone of stumbling from his road, 
 Father, I thank Thee! Thine the power alway, 
 
 The glory shall be Thine. 
 
 If any word of mine 
 Hath chanced to fall with helpful tenderness 
 On throbbing heart, or led one thirsty soul 
 To Elim's springs to drink and be made whole, 
 I thank Thee for the blessing thus to bless; 
 
 All glory shall be Thine. 
 
 If any thought of mine, 
 Wafted afar upon the white-winged page, 
 Hath found unsought a silent ministry 
 Of comfort or of loving sympathy, 
 Some patient suff'rer's death-pangs to assuage, 
 
 The glory shall be Thine. 
 
 If any song of mine, 
 Though but in faltering cadence sung, 
 Hath caught the ear above Earth's dreary din, 
 And cheered the wayside toiler, or hath been 
 A saving charm around some wanderer flung, 
 
 The glory, Lord, be Thine. 
 
If this poor life of mine 
 Shall in the smallest measure help to make 
 This world the better for its living, so 
 That dying, I not unremembered go, 
 Lord, through eternity my praises take, 
 
 All glory ever Thine. 
 
 MY NEED. 
 
 Lord, I have need of patience, grant it me,' 
 Patience to hear the ills I can't remove; 
 
 These vexing cares, this oft infirmity, 
 
 And tasks which for my strength too heavy prove. 
 
 Lord, I have need of meekness, grant it me; 
 
 I fain would do great things for God and man, 
 And fret because I cannot. Let me be 
 
 Content to do the little that I can. 
 
 Lord, I have need of courage, grant it me, 
 Bravely to fight though well nigh overcome. 
 
 To falter not, though dark the way may be, 
 And hedged with thorns each step that leads me home. 
 
 Lord I have need of wisdom, grant it me, 
 Wisdom to know and do Thy will aright; 
 
 To choose Thy way, when doubtful I may be 
 Which path will lead me out into the light. 
 
 Lord, 1 have need of -faith, Oh grant it me! 
 
 Faith to take hold of unseen things and rest 
 Quiet amid the storm, though fierce it be, 
 
 As trusting child upon its father's breast. 
 
 Lord, 'tis Thyself I need, then shall I be 
 Patient and meek and strong to do or bear; 
 
 Then shall I know and trust, if Thou in me 
 Abide, and I Thy faultless image wear. 
 
THE STILL SMALL VOICE. 
 
 Not with the blinding light 
 That struck the impious Saul in terror to the ground; 
 
 Nor with the voice of might 
 That called dead Lazarus forth, waked from his sleep 
 profound; 
 
 Not with the startling roll 
 Of Sinai's thunders, with their mystery and awe, 
 
 Crushing the conscious soul 
 Beneath the dread revealings of an unkept law; 
 
 But with a voice so small 
 'Twas scarcely heard amid earth's busy toil and din, 
 
 To me came Mercy's call — 
 To me, a wandering sheep, lost in the wilds of sin — 
 
 So gentle was its tone, 
 I would not list nor heed. "Sure it is naught," I said, 
 
 "Naught but my heart alone, 
 Quickened with foolish fear it beats with louder tread." 
 
 But yet it came and came — 
 Through the still chamber of my soul its whisper mild 
 
 Tenderly called my name 
 And said "Why will you die? I died for you, my child." 
 
 At length, aroused, I cried 
 "Who art Thou, Lord? and why to me so wondrous 
 kind?" 
 
 Quickly the voice replied 
 "I am the Shepherd who my straying lamb would find." 
 
 O sweetest voice of love! 
 Could stoutest heart of rock withstand Thy melting tone, 
 
 Or coldly fail to move 
 With penitence? "Dear Lord!" I cried, "behold Thine 
 own." 
 
 Now with an ear attent 
 I list with joy the still small voice within my breast, 
 
 Blest Guide and Teacher sent 
 By Love, henceforth to be my dear, abiding guest. 
 
Speak to me ever, Lord, 
 In accents low and sweet; let earth's turmoil be still. 
 
 That every tender word 
 Of Thine my spirit's inmost depths may quickly thrill. 
 
 CONSECRATION. 
 {After reading the Memorials of F. R. Havergal.) 
 
 "All for Jesus!" Oh, to know 
 Such unbounded zeal below! 
 Consecration so complete, 
 Self laid down at Jesus' feet! 
 
 All for Jesus! not a part, 
 Soul and body, brain and heart; 
 Day by day my all to bring 
 To the service of my King. 
 
 All my powers in sweet accord 
 With my Master's will and word; 
 Not a thought or wish my own, 
 My whole being His alone. 
 
 His to govern, His to guide, 
 
 His to use or cast aside; 
 
 His own messenger to be 
 
 Of His grace so rich and free — 
 
 Or, His purpose to fulfill— 
 
 His to suffer and be still. 
 
 Oh, can I this height attain 
 Over earth and self to reign? 
 Lifted on the wings of love, 
 Serve as do the saints above? 
 
 Lord, the secret power impart, 
 Kindle in this languid heart 
 This faint spark of warm desire 
 To a flame of holy fire. 
 
Grant me, Saviour, thus to know 
 All Thy will as mine below; 
 Take me, hold me, let me he 
 Wholly consecrate to Thee. 
 
 Here with Jesus sanctified, 
 There with Jesus glorified; 
 All to Jesus to belong, 
 "All for Jesus!" be my song! 
 
 WATCHING FOR SOULS. 
 
 To watch for souls! this is the Christian's task, 
 
 His life-work here below; 
 With earnest faith and an untiring zeal 
 
 His Master's love to show. 
 
 As the lone sentinel his vigil keeps 
 
 In watch-tower by the sea, 
 To save the lost and guide the storm-tossed home, 
 
 So must the Christian be. 
 
 Or as the husbandman with patient care 
 
 Scatters the early grain, 
 And watches till the springing blade and ear 
 
 Rewards his toil again. 
 
 Thus let me watch and wait while life shall last 
 
 Let me not weary be; 
 But ever sow the seed though in this world 
 
 No harvest comes to me. 
 
 Since when the final reaping-day shall come, 
 
 I may astonished find 
 Some little sheaf among the wheat, perchance, 
 
 I may have helped to bind. 
 
THE TEACHER'S SATURDAY NIGHT 
 PRAYER. 
 
 Weary of worldly thought, 
 
 Of Earth's perplexing care, 
 My longing soul this night would find 
 
 Refreshment, Lord, in prayer. 
 
 Help me to lay aside 
 
 The business of the week, 
 And with new consecration now 
 
 Thy blessing humbly seek. 
 
 Oh purify my heart 
 
 From every sinful trace; 
 And grant me in Thy love, dear Lord, 
 
 A Sabbath robe of grace. 
 
 Prepare me for my work, 
 
 That with to-morrow's light 
 I may go forth with earnest zeal 
 
 To labor in Thy might. 
 
 Oh make me wise to win 
 
 Some precious soul to Thee; 
 Teach me, that I Thy word may teach 
 
 As for Eternity. 
 
 Too oft my spirit, Lord, 
 
 Is tempted to despair 
 So little fruit from scattered seed 
 
 Rewards my toil and care. 
 
 And yet I surely know 
 
 Thy Truth can never fail. 
 Though buried long 'twill rise at last 
 
 And mightily prevail. 
 
 Inspire my heart with faith 
 
 And strength to labor on 
 Through doubt and weariness until 
 
 The victory is won. 
 
 8 
 
PRAYER TO THE SPIRIT. 
 
 How long, O Lord, must still delay 
 The coming of the harvest day? 
 In weariness we wait and pray, 
 O Holy Spirit, come! 
 
 With hope deferred our hearts are worn, 
 Faith falters watching for the morn; 
 Sin triumphs while we sit forlorn, 
 O Holy Spirit, come! 
 
 These human efforts, ah how vain! 
 How hopeless all our care and pain 
 Without Thy gracious, quickening rain, 
 O Holy Spirit, come! 
 
 For Paul may plant with wisest care, 
 Apollos all his labors share, — 
 Tis naught unless Thy power is there; 
 O Holy Spirit, come! 
 
 In various soil we sow the seed, 
 With earnest faith and patient deed; 
 Yet waiting seems our only meed. 
 O Holy Spirit, come! 
 
 We wrestle with a stronger will, 
 Work as we may, 'tis ready still 
 To crush the good with might of ill; 
 O Holy Spirit, come! 
 
 The work is Thine to change the heart 
 And to dead souls new life impart; 
 To bid the demon Sin depart; 
 O Holy Spirit, come! 
 
 Come bring at last the promised hour 
 When buried Truth shall bud and flower ;- 
 Seed sown in weakness, raised in power — 
 O Holy Spirit, come! 
 
 9 
 
THE CALL TO UNITED PRAYER FOR 
 SABBATH SCHOOLS. 
 
 October 20, 21, 1872. 
 
 From o'er the sea came the Muezzin call, — 
 A loud appeal to Christ's disciples all — 
 "To prayer! To prayer! let every heart and tongue — 
 To supplicate God's blessing on the young — 
 Join us in prayer." 
 
 From lip to lip passed on the earnest word, 
 And heart to heart in quick response was stirred; 
 With hand in hand Christians of various creed, — 
 Ever a brotherhood in such a deed — 
 Gathered for prayer. 
 
 Far in the North amid the early snow, 
 In the far South where tropic breezes blow, 
 Here where the russet leaf of Autumn shows, 
 From shore to shore, like clouds of incense, rose 
 United prayer. 
 
 The weary teacher faltering in his task 
 Looks up with hope as fellow-toilers ask 
 God's blessing on his work; and with new zest 
 Resolves with faith to labor on — refreshed, 
 Strengthened by prayer. 
 
 The careless scholar, far from God astray, 
 Pauses to hear two lands unite to pray 
 For such as he; and roused to a new sense 
 Of guilt and danger, bows in earnest penitence 
 To join the prayer. 
 
 Dear Lord! let not Thy people pray in vain, 
 Oh send us speedily a gracious rain; 
 Water the seed long sown, let it now spring 
 To life, a glorious fruitage bring, 
 Answer our prayer. 
 
 10 
 
MY WILL AND THINE. 
 
 Lord, I'd gladly do for Thee, — 
 Work with earnest heart and will, 
 
 Foremost in the ranks of those 
 Who Thine earthly vineyard till. 
 
 I would spend my utmost strength 
 Doing daily tasks for Thee; 
 
 Counting weariness and loss 
 Joy, so I Thy glory see. 
 
 But my will to do is crossed 
 
 Often by a stronger will; 
 Mid my toil, a voice divine 
 
 Bids me suffer and be still. 
 
 As a captive bird 1 pant, 
 Fret and flutter to be free; 
 
 Mourn, as round me undone tasks 
 Wait my doing hopelessly. 
 
 On my strength a hand is laid, — 
 Sinking helpless in the dust, 
 
 'Neath a weight of weakness bowed,— 
 I can only wait and trust. 
 
 Is my work so little worth? 
 
 Hast Thou, Lord, of me no need? 
 Can Thy vineyard all be tilled 
 
 With no help of mine, indeed? 
 
 Lord, then give me grace to lie 
 Passive as a child at rest; 
 
 If by suffering patiently 
 I can glorify Thee best. 
 
 A LESSON. 
 
 I learned an earnest truth to-day 
 As through the city street 
 
 I hastened with a troubled heart 
 And quick impatient feet. 
 
 11 
 
A little child, blindfolded, crossed 
 
 The crowded, slippery mart, 
 Where prancing steeds and rattling wheels 
 
 Might shake the stoutest heart. 
 
 But in that happy, careless face 
 
 There was no sign of fear, 
 For though she could not see his smile 
 
 She felt her father near. 
 
 His arm of love enfolded her, 
 
 She knew the pressure mild; 
 And knew he'd shield from every harm 
 
 His little helpless child. 
 
 And so with sweet confiding faith 
 
 She lightly tripped along 
 The dark and treach'rous road, without 
 
 A fear of going wrong. 
 
 And all the while the father bent 
 
 Upon his sightless child 
 A pitying smile, and the rough way 
 
 With tender words beguiled. 
 
 Ah! me! 1 thought, and is it thus 
 
 My Father leadeth me 
 Along the tangled maze of life 
 
 Where not a step I see? 
 
 And does His strong and loving arm 
 
 As tenderly enfold 
 His weary child who faints amid 
 
 The darkness and the cold? 
 
 O thou of little faith; why then 
 
 Thus falter and complain 
 Because thou canst not see the way 
 
 Which is to Him so plain? 
 
 12 
 
Why thus so sadly count thy woes 
 
 And think thyself alone; 
 When thy sure Comforter and Guide 
 
 Is the Almighty One? 
 
 Dear Father, help me to believe 
 
 And feel Thee ever near. 
 Oh draw me closer to Thy side 
 
 That I Thy voice may hear. 
 
 And let me calmly lean on Thee 
 When cares and crosses come; 
 
 Knowing Thine own most loving hand 
 Will safely lead me home. 
 
 SATISFIED. 
 
 O questioning soul! be still; 
 Calm these vain longings for unbounded lore 
 Which thy weak powers so weary and perplex; 
 Rest thee and wait until 
 The promised morning dawns when thou no more, 
 Linked to this heavy clay, thy faith shall vex 
 With mysteries untried — 
 Thou Shalt be satisfied. 
 
 unsolved doubts! O things 
 Hard to be understood by mortal mind! 
 
 How will your phantoms vanish in the light 
 
 Infinite morning brings! 
 The problem of my life, so strangely blind 
 To human reason — dark to mortal sight, 
 
 Then well descried, 
 
 1 shall be satisfied. 
 
 Be patient then, my soul! 
 Search meekly after truth, and be content 
 With such a measure as God gives His own; 
 Till at thy destined goal, 
 
 13 
 
The mystic veil before thy vision rent, 
 Thou shalt know all, e'en as thyself is known, 
 And like thy God abide 
 Forever satisfied! 
 
 MY HEAVEN. 
 
 Rev. vii. : 15. 
 
 'Tis not of rest from toil, however sweet 
 
 That rest will be 
 
 To one who wearily 
 Has trod life's paths, with aching head and feet. 
 
 'Tis not of careless ease, — the surgeless sea 
 
 Of unmixed bliss — 
 
 In whose calm blessedness 
 My soul can bathe to all eternity; 
 
 Nor yet in rapture lost to sit and sing 
 
 The glad new song, 
 
 Mid the angelic throng, 
 White robed, with golden harp and seraph wing; 
 
 Nor yet to wave the palm or wear the crown 
 
 Of victory complete; 
 
 E'en though at Jesus' feet 
 Twould be sweet joy to cast my trophies down. 
 
 A higher heaven I crave, dear Lord, grant me 
 
 Thyself to know, 
 
 And perfectly to do 
 Thy bidding in some blessed ministry. 
 
 Here 'tis such joy to serve Thee, but these powers, 
 
 Enshrined in clay, 
 
 Soon weary and give way 
 'Neath the stern needs of this sad world of ours. 
 
 Oh to be tireless! heart and brain and nerve 
 
 Forever free 
 
 From earth's infirmity, 
 By day and night my gracious God to serve! 
 
 14 
 
To know as I am known! Earth's questioning o'er, 
 
 With ease to clasp 
 
 Truths I here fail to grasp, 
 And God's infinity of love explore! 
 
 This is my thought of Heaven; eternally 
 
 In strength to grow, 
 
 To love, to do, to know, 
 To live with Christ in sweet activity. 
 
 PENITENTIAL. 
 
 Oh Thou that hearest prayer! 
 
 Listen to me; 
 My burdened heart its care 
 
 Would cast on Thee. 
 
 Thy promise stands secure, 
 That Thou wilt hear 
 
 Him who in spirit poor 
 Offers his prayer. 
 
 Saviour! I know my heart 
 
 Is full of sin; 
 But Thou canst grace impart 
 
 To make it clean. 
 
 No merit of my own 
 
 To Thee I bring; 
 To Thy dear cross alone, 
 
 Trembling I cling. 
 
 Thine all-atoning blood 
 
 Was shed for me; 
 Oh, precious Lamb of God! 
 
 I trust in Thee. 
 
 Low at Thy feet I wait, 
 
 Guilty and weak; 
 Now let Thy mercy great 
 
 My pardon speak. 
 
 15 
 
Then shall my future days 
 To Thee be given; 
 
 To Thee eternal praise 
 On earth, in Heaven. 
 
 O THOU OF LITTLE FAITH! 
 
 Ever some great ill expecting, 
 
 Trustless one! 
 Present good too oft neglecting, 
 
 Work undone. 
 
 Every passing cloud beholding. 
 
 Sure 'tis night! 
 E'en though morn is just unfolding 
 
 Beams of light. 
 
 At each disappointment grumbling 
 
 Day by day. 
 Every mote a rock of stumbling 
 
 In thy way. 
 
 Thankless heart! cease such repining, 
 
 Trust and wait; 
 Know God's love is on thee shining 
 
 In every strait. 
 
 In thine own dark shadow hiding, 
 
 Thou canst not see 
 God's bright promise-bow abiding 
 
 Over thee. 
 
 He who for the sparrow careth 
 
 Not in vain, 
 Sure His burdened children spareth 
 
 Needless pain. 
 
 Take to-day or joy or sorrow 
 
 At His word. 
 Leave the burden of to-morrow 
 
 With thy Lord. 
 
 16 
 
A NEW YEAR PRAYER. 
 
 Before the new year's portal 
 
 With waiting feet I stand 
 And seek, dear Lord, a blessing, 
 
 The guidance of Thy hand. 
 The path is all untrodden, 
 
 No human footfall yet 
 Has left a trace to follow, 
 
 And save our vain regret. 
 
 The way seems dark before me, 
 
 With no clear guiding light; 
 All unrevealed its dangers 
 
 To my dim mortal sight. 
 Father, I dare not venture 
 
 One single step alone, 
 Lest I in blindness stumble 
 
 Against some hidden stone. 
 
 Known to Thy higher wisdom 
 
 Is all my future way; 
 Its roughnesses and windings, 
 
 Its snares to lead astray. 
 Unguided 1 shall wander, 
 
 Lord, let me take Thy hand, 
 And hold Thou up my goings, 
 
 That I secure may stand. 
 
 I know not what awaits me 
 
 Along the coming year, 
 What cup of joy untasted, 
 
 What weariness or fear; 
 Beneath what weight of sorrow 
 
 I may be called to bow, 
 How near the dreary shadow 
 
 Falls on my pathway now. 
 
 But this I know, undoubting, 
 That not too great or strong, 
 
 Will be the cross Thou'lt give me, 
 The darkness not too long; 
 
 17 
 
For loving like a father 
 
 Thou chastenest but to bless; 
 
 And with each needed trial 
 Will give sustaining grace. 
 
 Lord, quiet these forbodings, 
 
 These human doubts remove; 
 Give me childlike assurance, 
 
 A calm, unwavering love. 
 Let me go forward bravely, 
 
 With willing, trusting feet, 
 Through Thine own strength to conquer 
 
 Each enemy I meet. 
 
 'CAST DOWN, BUT NOT DESTROYED." 
 
 Why art thou thus cast down, my soul, 
 
 Why so disquieted? 
 Hope thou in God, thou yet shall praise 
 The hand that through these devious ways 
 
 Thy stumbling feet have led. 
 
 What though fresh trouble like a cloud 
 
 Thy sky hath overcast? 
 Though disappointments mar thy lot, 
 Thy Father's love which changes not 
 
 Will make all bright at last. 
 
 This life is but a trial hour, 
 
 A pilgrimage at best; 
 It may be that the heaviest load, 
 The darkest sky, the roughest road, 
 
 End in the surest rest. 
 
 And when from Beulah's hills reviewed, 
 
 Thou thankfully shall see 
 How brighter paths but lured astray, 
 While this same crooked, thorny way 
 
 Led straight to victory. 
 
 18 
 
Oh to be patient in the fire! 
 
 God's hottest furnace blast! 
 Calmly to smile mid sternest ill, 
 And meekly bend to His sweet will, 
 
 Assured of joy at last. 
 
 MARAH— ELIM. 
 
 I know, dear Lord, Thou dost not overtask 
 The soul that in its weakness leans on Thee; 
 
 If near to falling it need only ask, 
 And underneath, the Everlasting arms shall be. 
 
 My burden was so heavy, 'neath its weight 
 My human strength gave way in mute despair. 
 
 I reached for help — a Hand clasped mine, and straight 
 My load was gone. He carried all my care. 
 
 My gracious Lord! How can I ever doubt 
 
 Again Thy present sympathy and love? 
 Let deepest darkness compass me about, 
 
 No shadow shall my confidence remove. 
 
 Thy ready touch can change the night to day, 
 
 The Marah bitterness to Elim sweet; 
 Here will I calmly rest, and trusting lay 
 
 My heaviest burden at Thy willing feet. 
 
 ASPIRATION. 
 
 Father of spirits! Thou who deignst to hear 
 The wild-notes of the forest throng, 
 
 Who mid the shadowy stillness strangely clear 
 Uplift their song. 
 
 Listen to one whose heart as strangely thrills 
 
 With melody alike divine; 
 Whose soul, unbounded by Earth's narrow hills, 
 
 Would reach to Thine. 
 
 19 
 
Whose yearning spirit pants with wild unrest 
 
 Amid life's daily, toilsome round, 
 Unsatisfied to grovel thus unblest 
 
 On mortal ground. 
 
 Thoughts of the far-off, infinite, unknown, 
 
 Crowd dimly on my busy brain, 
 Waking within a deep mysterious tone, 
 
 A voiceless strain. 
 
 Almighty Power! grant me the strength and skill 
 
 To strike aright the chord divine, 
 And utterance give the harmonies that thrill 
 
 This soul of mine. 
 
 Inspire my thought, while I essay to train 
 
 My unfledged fancy's timid flight 
 To lofty heights — nor let me soar in vain 
 
 Mid visions bright. 
 
 Give me the power a blessing to impart 
 
 To many a weary child of Earth. 
 To lift the fallen, soothe the aching heart, 
 
 Give Hope new birth. 
 
 Help me to grasp great truths, and hidden forms 
 
 Of life and beauty to reveal — 
 God's bow of promise spanning earth's dark storms 
 
 Sin's clouds conceal. 
 
 Then shall this earth-life be a hymn of praise, 
 
 With grateful love in every line; 
 Then mine the toil, the daily soul-full lays, 
 
 The glory Thine. 
 
 20 
 
ECHOES OF THE WORD 
 
CHRISTMAS HYMN. 
 
 All hail! Holy day! we welcome again 
 
 With grateful rejoicing the morn 
 Which brought the glad news to the Judean plain 
 
 Of JESUS— Immanuel— born! 
 
 O wonder of wonders! O Love condescending! 
 
 A God in a frail helpless child! 
 The Infinite One with humanity blending, 
 
 Jehovah with man reconciled. 
 
 Ah! well might the angels announce the strange story, 
 
 And herald this wonderful birth 
 Which brought hope to man, to the Father new glory, 
 
 Good will, peace and joy to the earth. 
 
 And still through the ages the glad song is ringing — 
 
 The song by the angels begun — 
 Earth echoes to heaven in harmony singing 
 
 Praise! praise to God's incarnate Son! 
 
 As shepherds and sages amazed bow before Him 
 
 And costliest offerings bring, 
 With faith long-expectant the Christ-child adoring, 
 
 Own Him their Messiah and King, 
 
 So bring we our offerings of grateful laudation, 
 
 More loving, if poor and less wise; 
 We worship our King with the heart's adoration. 
 
 A gift He will never despise. 
 
 Bring evergreen branches, let garlands of holly 
 
 Our altars and hearthstones entwine. 
 Fit emblem of joy, never-dying and holy, 
 
 Of love ever-lasting divine! 
 
 NO ROOM FOR JESUS. 
 
 O plodding life! crowded so full 
 
 Of earthly toil and care, 
 The body's daily need receives 
 The first and last concern, and leaves 
 
 No room for Jesus there, 
 
 33 
 
O busy brain! by night and day 
 
 Working with patience rare, 
 Problems of worldly loss or gain, 
 Thinking, till thought becomes a pain — 
 
 No room for Jesus there. 
 
 O throbbing heart! so quick to feel 
 
 In human woes a share! 
 Yet earthly loves thy pulses thrall, 
 And sordid treasures claim thee all — 
 
 No room for Jesus there. 
 
 O selfish soul! thus to debase 
 
 The being God doth spare; 
 Blood-bought, thou art no more thine own, 
 Heart, brain, life, all are His alone — 
 
 Make room for Jesus there. 
 
 Lest soon the bitter day will come 
 
 When vain will be thy prayer 
 To find in Jesus' heart a place — 
 Forever closed the door of grace — 
 
 No room for triflers there. 
 
 "COME UNTO ME." 
 
 Matt, xi : 28. 
 
 "All we like sheep have gone astray," far from the 
 
 sheltering fold 
 We wander wearily and lone mid darkness, want and 
 
 cold. 
 But list! our tender Shepherd's voice falls on the ear 
 
 distressed, 
 "Come unto Me, ye weary ones, and I will give you 
 
 rest." 
 
 Ho! all ye fainting, stricken ones, mid sorrow's mazes 
 
 lost, 
 Ho! every toiling, tempted one, on sin's wild billow 
 
 tossed; 
 
 24 
 
List, ye who falter by the way with guilt and fear 
 
 oppressed, 
 "Come unto Me," the Saviour says, "and I will give you 
 
 rest." 
 
 Oh sweetly sounds this gracious call as mid life's cares 
 
 we roam, 
 Oft heavy-laden, spirit worn, with no abiding home; 
 Kind Shepherd, gladly we accept, turning from earth 
 
 unblest, 
 We come to Thee in weariness and seek Thy proffered 
 
 rest. 
 
 Oh lead us to the shadowing rock where heavenly 
 
 breezes blow, 
 And to the living pastures green where the still waters 
 
 flow; 
 We know Thy voice, we'll follow Thee, assured Thy way 
 
 is best, 
 For Thou hast said, "Come unto Me and 1 will give 
 
 thee rest." 
 
 Soon shall these pilgrim days be o'er, this weary earth 
 
 toil past, 
 Then, Jesus, Shepherd, oh receive our trembling souls 
 
 at last; 
 And let us hear Thy welcome voice mid harpings of the 
 
 blest, 
 Still sweetly saying, "Come to Me and find eternal rest." 
 
 "YE WILL NOT COME." 
 
 "Ye will not come to Me that ye might have life." — 
 John v : 40. 
 
 O weary soul! long bowed beneath the load 
 Of conscious sin, and longing to be free; 
 
 Yet turning coldly from the only road 
 
 To Him who calls so gently, "Come to Me." 
 
 25 
 
Poor, feeding on the husks or earthly care, 
 A wandering prodigal, afar from home, 
 
 Why will you starve, when there is bread to spare, 
 Waiting for you, if you will only come? 
 
 Blind, groping in the dark of doubt and fear 
 
 For some brave arm to be your strength and guide, 
 
 While One, the mightiest, stands so very near, 
 With outstretched hands to draw you to His side, 
 
 Condemned, yea, dead in trespasses and sin; 
 
 Pierced, bleeding with the darts of Satan's strife; 
 Yet wilfully refusing help from Him, ' 
 
 Who can alone defend and give you life. 
 
 O wondrous love! O patience most divine! 
 
 That spares from wrath, so long, the scorning one; 
 O wretched soul! self-doomed, the fault is thine; 
 
 For they alone are lost, who will not come. 
 
 "WILT THOU BE MADE WHOLE?" 
 
 John v: 1-9. 
 
 "Wilt thou be made whole?" 
 
 Oh tender the tone 
 That falls on the ear 
 
 Of the impotent one. 
 But so long has he waited, 
 
 So vainly for years, 
 It seems only mocking 
 
 His weakness and fears. 
 
 "Wilt thou be made whole?" 
 
 "Oh yes," the reply; 
 "But no one will help me, 
 
 They all pass me by." 
 One glance at the life 
 
 In those pitying eyes, 
 He listens, believes, 
 
 As Christ bids him "Arise!" 
 
 26 
 
No waiting to question, 
 
 No staying for power, 
 He trusts and obeys 
 
 And is healed the same hour. 
 From his burden of sin 
 
 And infirmity freed, 
 He follows his Saviour, 
 
 A new man indeed. 
 
 "Wilt thou be made whole?" 
 
 The same voice to-day 
 Is tenderly asking, 
 
 Who, who will say "Nay." 
 So weary of waiting, 
 
 So longing for rest, 
 The Healer beside thee 
 
 Says, "Rise and be blest." 
 
 "Wilt thou be made whole?" 
 
 He asketh thee still, 
 With Him is the power, 
 
 Thine only to will. 
 Delay not to question, 
 
 Believe and obey, 
 And go forth in Christ Jesus 
 
 A new creature to-day. 
 
 THE BREAD OF LIFE. 
 
 "Jesus said unto them, I am the bread of life ; he that cometh 
 to Me shall never hunger." — John vi : 35. 
 
 Sweet food! from Christ the living Head, 
 
 Our soul-life to restore; 
 
 That we may die no more. 
 "Lord, evermore give us this bread." 
 
 "Shall never hunger," Jesus said; 
 
 Our famished souls would eat 
 
 The true eternal meat; 
 "Lord, evermore give us this bread." 
 
 27 
 
On earthly husks we long have fed, 
 Unsatisfied, in want, 
 Our fainting spirits pant 
 
 For heavenly, everlasting bread. 
 
 Our souls in sin and care are dead; 
 Dear Lord, in love impart 
 This Christ-life to our heart, 
 
 And evermore give us this bread. 
 
 "COME REST AWHILE." 
 
 Mark vi : 31. 
 
 "Come rest awhile," how sweet the thought- 
 The Mastef knows our weariness, 
 
 Since He His own disciples brought 
 Out from the city's din and press, 
 
 To desert place, some quiet nest, 
 
 Where He and they awhile might rest. 
 
 Day after day the patient feet, 
 The ready hand, and glowing tongue 
 
 Had ministered by lane and street 
 To eager crowds, and o'er them flung 
 
 "The banner of His love" so blest; 
 
 But now humanity must rest. 
 
 "Apart" from man and all his need, 
 Close to the Father's heart of love; 
 
 Hungry and thirsty there to feed 
 On hidden manna from above. 
 
 In soul communion find fresh life 
 
 And gain new courage for the strife. 
 
 "So tired," dear Lord, with lesser task 
 Indeed, yet weary oft and faint 
 
 With daily toil, our spirits ask 
 
 Repose, and to Thy sweet constraint 
 
 Yield hand and brain, so long oppressed, 
 
 And gladly take the proffered rest. 
 
 3tf 
 
"Come ye yourselves,'" to all, He saith, 
 Ye who like Him give strength and nerve 
 
 In battle with earth's sin and death, 
 God and your fellow man to serve; 
 
 Now let this tender call beguile, 
 
 And with your Master rest awhile. 
 
 "Apart" from man, but not from Thee, 
 Our Strength and Life with us abide 
 
 Where'er we go by restless sea, 
 Or by the shadowy mountain side; 
 
 Without Thee, vain would be our quest, 
 
 In Thee alone we find our rest. 
 
 ON A PICTURE OF CHRIST BLESSING 
 
 LITTLE CHILDREN. 
 
 Faultless beauty, heavenly grace, 
 Beam from our Redeemer's face; 
 Matchless sweetness, love divine, 
 Sorrow shading every line. 
 
 Strange, unfathomed mystery! 
 Love incarnate here we see; 
 God-like pity, human woe, 
 Blending Heaven with earth below. 
 
 Yearning mothers round Him press, 
 Fraying "Lord, our children bless"; 
 Cold disciples sternly say, 
 "Take the little ones away." 
 
 Jesus then speaks tenderly, 
 "Suffer them to come to Me"; 
 We can almost hear His tone, 
 "Such as these I fondly own." 
 
 Now they gladly seek His care, 
 Tiny hands are clasped in prayer; 
 One, sweet childish Faith, behold 
 Christ with His own robe enfold. 
 
 29 
 
Saviour, may this tender scene 
 Rend the veil of doubt between 
 Thee and us. that, trusting, we 
 May our children bring to Thee. 
 
 If Thy pictured loveliness 
 With such power our hearts impress, 
 Hope to rapture shall give place 
 When we see Thee face to face. 
 
 IN THE STORM. 
 
 Mitt, xiv: :-. 25 
 
 Toiling in the midnight storm, 
 Tossed on sorrow's surging sea, 
 
 Weary, terrified, forlorn. 
 Jesus. Saviour, come to me. 
 
 Drifting on the soundless deep. 
 
 Wave on wave rolls over me. 
 Shadows coldly round me creep; 
 
 Jesus. Saviour, come to me. 
 
 Clustering griefs becloud my way, 
 Earthly joys and comforts flee; 
 
 Oh. to be my light, my stay. 
 Jesus. Saviour, come to me. 
 
 Surely. Master. Thou dost care 
 
 Lest I perish helples- 
 Surely Thou wilt hear my prayer, 
 
 Jesus, Saviour, come to me. 
 
 Come and take the vacant helm. 
 
 Guide me o'er life's troubled sea; 
 Ere the tide my soul o'erwhelm. 
 
 Jesus, Saviour, come to me. 
 
 .1.11 feel Thee strong to save. 
 When Thy spirit-form I see 
 Walking on the yielding wave. 
 Jesus, Saviour, come to me. 
 
Let me hear Thy cheering voice, 
 E'en though it in chiding be; 
 
 Bid my fearful heart rejoice, 
 Jesus, Saviour, come to me. 
 
 Thou canst make the tempest cease; 
 
 At Thy word the shadows flee; 
 Thou alone canst give me peace; 
 
 Jesus, Saviour, come to me. 
 
 E'en upon the billow's crest 
 Sweetly tranquil 1 can be 
 
 If near Thy dear heart I rest, 
 Jesus, Saviour, come to me. 
 
 "WE HAVE TOILED ALL XIGHT AND 
 HAVE TAKEN NOTHING." 
 
 Luke v : 5. 
 
 Master, all night by dangers thick beset 
 
 We've toiled in vain; 
 
 Yet once again 
 At Thy command, we will let down the net. 
 
 Lo, what a draught rewards their feeble faith! 
 
 Their nets are filled, 
 
 All doubting stilled, 
 When they obey the word the Master saith. 
 
 Weary disciple! fainting with the pain 
 
 Of fruitless toil 
 
 In barren soil, 
 To thee the Master saith. •'Launch out again," 
 
 Yield not to weariness nor weakly say 
 
 Hopeless the task, 
 
 Nor idly ask 
 Ignoble rest, but trustfully obey. 
 
 31 
 
Where deepest seems the sea of doubt and fear, 
 
 Darkest the night 
 
 Of sin's sad blight, 
 There cast thy net believing, Christ is near. 
 
 Dread not the danger nor the darkness heed, 
 
 Bravely toil on 
 
 Till rest is won, 
 And God's own might will crown the faithful deed. 
 
 All night? Ah! toiler, but the morn is near; 
 
 Lo, the Day-star 
 
 Beaming afar 
 With hope and joy thy fainting soul to cheer. 
 
 A little longer toil, perchance success, 
 
 Abundant, sure, 
 
 Long to endure, 
 On thy next earnest effort waits to bless. 
 
 Master! with Thee the sternest toil is rest, 
 
 And truly bright 
 
 The darkest night 
 By Thine inspiring Presence sweetly blest. 
 
 Only give us to know Thy will, dear Lord, 
 
 And gladly we 
 
 Will work for Thee 
 By night or day, Thy love our sole reward. 
 
 "THE NIGHT COMETH." 
 
 John ix : 4. 
 
 The patient sun has run his daily race, 
 
 And lingers with a fitful flush of light; 
 While o'er the purple hills with stately pace 
 Cometh the night. 
 
 Darkly the shadows fall on busy hand 
 
 And toiling brain — to ease the straining sight. 
 No man can longer work, for o'er the land 
 Cometh the night. 
 
 82 
 
I lay my task aside with vain regret 
 
 That more and better is not done — day's flight 
 Is all too rapid, too soon sun's set, 
 Too fast comes night. 
 
 I fold my hands and think will thus at last 
 
 Death's darkness come and blind my mortal sight 
 Ere half my work is done — life's day be past, 
 And come the night? 
 
 Ah, rouse thee, sluggish soul, the moment's glide; 
 
 While thou art dreaming swiftly speeds the light. 
 No man can work when with resistless tide 
 Cometh the night. 
 
 Work, Christian, work while it is called to-day; 
 
 While strength and hope are thine, the heavens bright. 
 Stay not thy hand lest while you yet delay 
 Cometh the night. 
 
 An earnest task is thine — to save the lost, 
 To win the erring to the path of right. 
 The shadows lengthen, see, thy way acros't 
 Cometh the night. 
 
 The night! to faithful toiler, welcome rest! 
 
 To careless souls, regretful toil, Faith's fight 
 Well fought, ah, peacefully and blest 
 Cometh the night. 
 
 NO HOPE. 
 "Without God, and without hope in the world." — Eph. ii : 12. 
 
 Behold in yon chamber, so shadowed and still, 
 
 Where faces and tones give an ominous thrill, 
 
 A sufferer lies tossing, with fluttering breath, 
 
 In his young hopeful manhood contending with death. 
 
 Afar from his home he had sought for a time 
 To baffle disease in a sunnier clime; 
 But ah! the vain hope from his bosom is gone, 
 The Dark Angel meets him, he wrestles alone. 
 
 33 
 
The stranger friends near wipe the dew from his brow, 
 And ask for his mother's sake, "Must he die now?" 
 "Oh, is there no hope?" In a sad undertone 
 The answer is heard, "No hope for him, none." 
 
 Look out on the ocean where helpless, forlorn, 
 A fthip and its crew toils mid darkness and storm; 
 Dismantled it drifts — hark! a crashing, a shock! 
 "No hope!" is the cry, 'tis a wreck on the rock! 
 
 "No hope" — 'tis the clank of the prisoner's chain! 
 The knell of the doomed on the scaffold of pain! 
 The cry of despair as sinking, alone, 
 The drowning man ceases to struggle, is gone. 
 
 Oh words of all others most sad to be said! 
 Oh sound most heart-crushing, most dismal and dread! 
 Give the soul but a glimmer, a promising ray, 
 And nobly 'twill battle 'gainst death and decay. 
 
 But ah! there is many a one o'er whose head 
 This sentence hangs darkly, with meaning more dread, 
 Who dares, though the banner of love is unfurled, 
 To live "without God — without hope in the world." 
 
 Oh blind ones awake! ere too late to be healed; 
 
 Oh dead ones come forth! lest your sad doom be sealed; 
 
 While yet there is time to the Saviour repair, 
 
 And find hope and pardon awaiting you there. 
 
 "HIM THAT OYERCOMETH." 
 
 Rev. II and III chapters. 
 
 Do thorns beset thy path, does darkness cloud thy way, 
 And sore temptation fill thy spirit with dismay? 
 Oh fainting child of earth! list the sweet promise given, 
 For "Him that overcometh" waits a glorious rest in 
 Heaven! 
 
 34 
 
Is thy light cross a burden? Did not thy Saviour wear 
 For thee a crown of thorns, a heavier burden bear? 
 Canst thou not meekly walk where His dear feet have 
 
 trod, 
 Since "Him that overcometh" shares the Paradise of 
 
 God? 
 
 Is life a weariness, and earth a desert waste? 
 Does e'en the cup of Joy prove bitter to thy taste? 
 Is thy soul faint with longing for true, eternal meat? 
 List! "Him that overcometh" shall the hidden manna 
 eat. 
 
 "I'll give him a new name engraved on a white stone; 
 Power to rule the nations, a place upon My throne; 
 Beside the crystal river, amid celestial light, 
 The soul that overcometh sin shall walk with Me In 
 white." 
 
 Thus the Redeemer speaks, and o'er the darkling tide 
 Sweet angel echoes come from dear ones glorified. 
 Yea, "Him that overcometh," this stern life-battle o'er, 
 In the temple of my God shall stand a pillar evermore. 
 
 Be watchful then and nerve thy spirit for the fight, 
 To bravely do or bear as God shall give thee might; 
 The conflict soon will cease, and the reward is sure 
 To them that overcome this world and to the end endure. 
 
 "PROVE ME." 
 Malachi iii : 10. 
 
 "Bring the tithes into the storehouse, 
 Let there be a bounteous store; 
 
 Then I'll pour you out a blessing 
 Till ye have no room for more. 
 
 Prove Me now, ye doubting children, 
 Let your faith attest My word; 
 
 Fill your measure of the contract, 
 Leave the balance to your Lord. 
 
 35 
 
Stand no longer idly waiting; 
 
 Prayer unproved hath little power; 
 Vain your longing, without effort 
 
 To advance the promised hour. 
 
 Bring your offerings to the altar, 
 Tithes of money, work and prayef; 
 
 Yea, with earnest consecration 
 Give yourselves to service there. 
 
 Then will I, the Lord Jehovah, 
 Surely make My promise good; 
 
 Open wide the Heavenly windows, 
 Pour you out a gracious flood." 
 
 Lord, how can we ever doubt Thee 
 With such wondrous promises? 
 
 Help us now by faith and service 
 Prove Thy readiness to bless. 
 
 "INASMUCH." 
 
 Matt, xxv : 40. 
 
 Oh joy! if I at last may stand 
 
 Before the King 
 With those at His right hand, 
 
 And my poor trophies bring 
 With trembling hope! Oh, then to hear 
 The blessed "Inasmuch" fall on my ear, 
 
 The welcoming "Ye blessed, come, 
 
 Inherit now your Heavenly home; 
 Not all in vain your lowly toil, your loving ministry, 
 Ye did it to the least of these, ye did it unto Me." 
 
 Dear Lord, too oft this craving heart 
 
 Aches with the will 
 Some greater deed to do, some loftier part 
 
 In life to fill. 
 It seems so little just to give 
 The cup of water to revive 
 
 36 
 
Some thirsty soul — a little child to lead 
 
 O'er the rough path — to speak to one in need 
 
 The word of comfort, when I would 
 
 So gladly give this warm life-blood 
 My love to show, my service vow to seal 
 To Thee who didst Thy love to me so wondrously reveal. 
 
 But oh! in each of these I serve to see 
 
 Thy patient face, 
 My loving Lord! Thou Christ of Calvary, 
 
 Thy need to trace! 
 Can I desire more? A higher service seek? 
 Or more reward, to hear Thy dear voice speak 
 
 The "Inasmuch" to me, my little deed 
 
 To crown and glorify with such a meed 
 Of praise? Enough, my soul, the lowliest ministry 
 Is" great, thus sweetly blessed "Ye did it unto Me." 
 
 "AND IT WAS NIGHT." 
 
 John xiii : 30. 
 
 An "upper room," at eve, a circle sad, 
 
 Met at a mournful, parting feast 
 With Him whose voice had ever made them glad, 
 
 Whose words their sorrow now increased. 
 A traitor's hand is with them on the board! 
 A traitor's heart, with dark intentions stored, 
 Rests near to His whose love he cannot doubt! 
 The sop received, Judas went quickly out, 
 "And it was night." 
 
 And then night, black as Egypt's fearful gloom, 
 
 Without one hope-inspiring ray, 
 Fell on his soul, who from that sacred room, 
 
 Went forth his Master to betray. 
 Possessed of Satan — slave of sordid gain — 
 He sold his* God, nor could the price retain. 
 One traitorous kiss, one glance at Jesus' face, 
 Remorse awoke — he went "to his own place" 
 Where all is night! 
 
 37 
 
Oh, hour of darkness! night of sorrow drear! 
 
 To those by this dark deed bereft 
 Of Him whose presence had become so dear, 
 
 Whom absent, hope nor joy were left. 
 And He, the world's Redeemer! who can tell 
 The heavy cloud which on His spirit fell, 
 As, to His foes betrayed by trusted friend, 
 He meekly hastens to the tragic end — 
 To Him 'twas night. 
 
 Jesus! basely sold and crucified 
 By man, who by Thy death doth live, 
 
 Canst Thou, now on Thy throne all-glorified, 
 The guilty race still spare, forgive? 
 
 Oh, wondrous love! that through a night of woe 
 
 Eternal morning brings to cruel foe. 
 
 And from the shameful cross with bleeding hand 
 
 Lifts up the curtain of that blissful land 
 
 Where there's no night. 
 
 THE PRAYER OX OLIVET. 
 
 Evening had deepened into night; darkness 
 
 And stillness reigned o'er fair Judea's land. 
 
 The busy hum of active life was o'er; 
 
 For man and beast, weary with the day-tcil, 
 
 Were hushed in deep repose. Wrapped in a robe 
 
 Of shadow calmly stood Jerusalem; 
 
 Her towers and domes, no longer gilded by 
 
 The setting sun, rose stern and dark and tall, 
 
 Like the helmed visage of the Roman guard, 
 
 Who pacing to and fro. kept faithful watch 
 
 Before her ponderous gates. 
 
 In silence now 
 Behold a band of lowly ones come forth 
 And wend their way, with measured steps and slow, 
 Out from the dusty streets to Olive's mount. 
 The soldier at the gate paused as they passed 
 To cast a searching look upon the train, 
 
 38 
 
Then mingled scorn and pity curled his lip, 
 
 As he beheld the hated Nazarene. 
 
 They glided on — their hearts oppressed with grief 
 
 And a vague dread of evil yet unknown. 
 
 The declaration of their cherished Lord 
 
 To His disciples at the mournful feast — 
 
 That He should be betrayed by one of them — 
 
 Weighed on their startled spirits with a load 
 
 Of solemn sadness. Could they be so base, 
 
 So traitorous to one they loved so well? 
 
 Impossible! thought fondly each and all. 
 
 "Though all forsake and earth's great powers stand 
 
 Combined to overcome, yet will not I," 
 
 Said the impetuous Peter. Alas! 
 
 Poor human strength — how confident in self, 
 
 How weakly falling in the first temptation! 
 
 Now 
 Mid the solitude of clustering groves, 
 The midnight air is stirred by Jesus' voice 
 Whose tender accents breathing peace and love 
 Refresh and calm the sorrow-weary band. 
 Lifting His eyes to heaven He prays for them. 
 And what a prayer! 0! ye whose hearts refuse 
 To melt with penitence and grateful love 
 At the repeated story of the Cross, 
 Draw near and view the wondrous scene and hear 
 A wondrous Saviour's parting prayer! Behold 
 The Son of God! Heir of creation's wealth! 
 Surrounded by a few of earth's redeemed, 
 In a lone spot at night praying for them! 
 The gentle stars light up His lifted brow, 
 Revealing there an agony of soul 
 Unspoken yet, reserved for that strange hour 
 Of spirit-strife in sad Gethsemane; 
 While the bewildered group, awed by the mystery, 
 In attitudes of rapt devotion stand. 
 Tones of iEolian sweetness breathing words 
 More beautiful and tender than e'er fell 
 On mortal ear before that hour or since, 
 With Kedron's murmurs mingle and ascend 
 
 39 
 
In melting cadence to the Father's throne. 
 Methinks the angelic host of Heaven bent 
 From their bright home to listen and repeat 
 Each meek petition — while their golden harps 
 Were hushed that the pure echo of His voico 
 Pleading for sinful man, might fill the arch 
 Celestial with a melody divine. 
 
 Oh! what unfathomed love! Thus in an hour 
 O'ershadowed by a cloud of woe untold, 
 The world's Redeemer, self-forgetful, seeks 
 His Father's blessing on His chosen ones. 
 That prayer is o'er — but through the aisles of Time, 
 Amid the tumult of Life's rapid tide, 
 Its echoes still in holy wavelets come, 
 And man, sin-burdened, joys to hear the sound, 
 And, comforted, adds gratefully his own 
 "Amen!" 
 
 "ECCE HOMO." 
 John xix : 5. 
 
 Gabbatha — in the judgment hall 
 Of Roman might — a coward judge — a throng 
 
 Of heartless madmen — mid them all, 
 In patient sufferance of untold wrong, 
 Serene, resigned, with conscious power strong, 
 Behold the man! 
 
 The Christ! by ancient seers foretold — 
 A man with whom no mortal can compare — 
 
 The Jews' Messiah, sought of old, 
 He comes, the sins of multitudes to bear, 
 And in His people's woe and weakness share; 
 Behold the man! 
 
 "He came unto His own," but lo! 
 
 "His own received Him not"; despised He stands 
 
 The victim of their wrath; the woe 
 
 Of woes piercing His soul; life in His hands 
 Rejected; scorned by heartless, thankless bands: 
 Behold the man! 
 
 40 
 
They brought Him forth, thorn-crowned, in pain; 
 
 Attired in robes of mock regality; 
 The sign of Heavenly kingship plain 
 
 On His pale brow enstamped — the majesty 
 
 Of God blending with human agony: 
 Behold the man! 
 
 They brought Him forth, scourged, bleeding, faint, 
 Bowed 'neath the burden of a whole world's sin; 
 
 Bearing the loan" without a selfish plaint, 
 That dying souls may life immortal win, 
 And through the gates of glory enter in. 
 Behold the man! 
 
 And yet all power was His — a word 
 
 From those closed lips and angel hosts would come 
 Swift to defend their injured Lord, 
 
 And hurl His fierce opposers to their doom — 
 
 But silent, suffering in sinners' room, 
 Behold the man! 
 
 Ah! Pilate, did a gleam of truth 
 
 Flash on your secret soul in that dark day? 
 
 Else why the faltering voice forsooth, 
 The troubled brow, as you so weakly say, 
 "I find no fault in Him, take Him away!" 
 Behold the man! 
 
 And ye who in your hearts of stone 
 
 Cry "Crucify Him!" "Crucify Him!" still- 
 Bleeding for your sins to atone, 
 
 Dying to save you from unmeasured ill 
 A sinless sacrifice on Calvary's hill — 
 Behold the man! 
 
 The day will dawn — it hastens now — 
 When He before the world shall reappear; 
 
 Not 'neath the cross again to bow, 
 But as a Conqueror a crown to wear! 
 Then shall ye in dismay and abject fear 
 Behold the man! 
 
 41 
 
O Christ! all human, all divine! 
 Pattern of patience and humility! 
 
 Inspire my soul with grace like Thine, 
 That I may bear life's trials patiently, 
 And in that day of terror tranquilly 
 Behold the man! 
 
 GOD'S CHRIST. 
 
 Behold Him now, a captive bound and led 
 
 By ruffian guards, fainting and almost dead 
 
 With spirit-conflict; hurried from the place 
 
 "Where He had sought in grief His Father's face, 
 
 From angel ministry, to cruel doom 
 
 Of hate-envenomed tongues in priestly room. 
 
 Behold Him now, the Son of Man, alone, 
 
 Despised, rejected by His very own, 
 
 Scoffed at, and spit upon, struck by rough hands, 
 
 A silent victim, patiently He stands 
 
 And bears it all; His only vain defence 
 
 A lamb-like muteness and calm innocence. 
 
 Oh God! what love but Thine, so infinite, 
 Could vengeance e'er restrain at such a sight! 
 Oh mystery of grace! unsolved device! 
 To save a rebel race, at such a price! 
 
 "Art thou the Christ, the ever Blessed Son?" 
 Asked priestly malice of the silent one. 
 Placed under oath, to Jewish custom true, 
 At length the parted lips their office do: 
 The brow uplifts, a majesty divine 
 Speaks from that visage marred, in every line. 
 And oh that voice! how must its kingly tone 
 Have silenced clamor, sounding out alone 
 Above all wrath, filling each heart with dread! 
 "The Christ? yea, false one, thou hast said; 
 Amid the clouds hereafter thou shalt see 
 The Son of Man and know that I am He. 
 Sitting at God's right hand, mine then the power, 
 
 42 
 
And thine before thy righteous Judge to cower 
 
 In abject fear, remembering how this day 
 
 Thy murderous hands were lifted up to slay 
 
 Thine own Messiah-King. Ah, do thy worst, 
 
 This is thy day of might, do all thou durst, 
 
 Thou canst but crush this quivering human frame, 
 
 And free the God within it. And this same 
 
 Brief show of power is given thee to fulfill 
 
 My Father's and My Own eternal will. 
 
 Thou dost not take My life — this mortal crown — 
 
 Freely for thee and thine, I lay it down." 
 
 Oh, patience strange! that could so gently deal 
 With puny foe, and not the strength reveal 
 Of that right arm, which lifted up could call 
 Legions of angels at His feet to fall. 
 
 Our human hearts with indignation fill 
 
 At the bare thought of what abuse and ill 
 
 Were heaped on that dear head! With passion strong 
 
 We cry, O gracious Lord! how long! how long! 
 
 Ere that hereafter come when mid the clouds 
 
 Thy kingly face shall reappear; while crowds 
 
 Of seraphim and cherubim adore 
 
 The Lamb, once slain, now living evermore! 
 
 Oh, haste the day when every eye shall see, 
 
 And every tongue confess Thy majesty; 
 
 When all Thy foes shall hide their heads in shame, 
 
 And Heaven and earth shall magnify Thy name; 
 
 No more despised, rejected, disallowed, 
 
 But owned, adored by all, the Christ of God! 
 
 "ELOI! ELOI! LAMA SABACTHANI!" 
 
 Mark xv : 34. 
 
 O weight of woe! O crowning anguish! 
 
 In this last bitter cry we trace: 
 The suffering Son allowed to languish 
 
 Without the comfort of His Father's face! 
 
 43 
 
To die by earthly friends forsaken, 
 
 Were bitterness enough to bear; 
 But God has e'en His presence taken — 
 
 Surely He does not His Beloved spare! 
 
 Sinless, yet standing for the sinner, 
 
 Our Sacrifice must fully know 
 His direst doom to be the winner 
 
 For us of full salvation from all woe. 
 
 So all alone, behold Him suffer 
 
 The keenest sting of wrathful rod; 
 The guiltiest wretch could know no rougher 
 
 Fate than Thine, O patient Lamb of God! 
 
 He dies alone, that we such sorrow 
 
 May never taste, whate'er betide; 
 Friends may forsake, but death may borrow 
 
 The sweetest joy with Jesus at our side. 
 
 Thus dies, that now "I'll ne'er forsake thee" 
 
 Shall bring us comfort in our woe; 
 "In His own arms thy God shall take thee 
 
 When through the dreary shadow thou shalt go." 
 
 O Love immeasurable! eternal! 
 
 Can we thy depth e'er understand? 
 Not till amid the light supernal 
 
 We wholly saved shall clasp Thy pierced hand! 
 
 OUR EASTER CALL. 
 Written for an Easter Meeting of a Woman's Missionary 
 
 Society. 
 
 Another Easter-tide draws near — 
 
 Amid fair lilies' bloom 
 
 And violets' perfume, 
 Again the wondrous story we shall hear 
 Of the first Easter morning bright 
 
 44 
 
That broke the shadow of earth's darkest night; 
 
 And with the Marys go 
 
 Back to the sepulchre as so 
 They early went in Sorrow's true accord, 
 With spices to anoint their buried Lord. 
 
 And we shall share their glad surprise, 
 
 As through their blinding tears 
 
 The empty tomb appears! 
 The angel to their questioning replies 
 "He is not here, but risen, as He said — 
 
 Seek not the living Christ among the dead." 
 
 And then how quickly grief and fear are gone, 
 As "Mary!" greets them in the voice well known. 
 
 Oh Friendship, fathomless, divine! 
 
 The world is not too old, 
 
 Nor woman's heart grown cold, 
 Nor distance from that rock-hewn shrine — 
 "Where Love's devotion met its meed — so great, 
 
 That the fond memory still 
 
 Cannot with rapture thrill 
 His own, who for His new arising wait. 
 
 But, deaf Rabboni, speak as well 
 
 To all Thy Marys now; 
 
 Let them as surely know 
 Thy quickening voice, and in Thy words "Go tell,' 
 Hear their own high commission, and as swift 
 
 Run to obey; untiring bear 
 
 The precious message everywhere — 
 "Christ lives! Eternal life is sure!" and lift 
 The veil from souls on sin's dark sea adrift. 
 
 woman! honored, glory-crowned, 
 
 By fellowship so blest! 
 
 Canst thou supinely rest 
 Beside some tear-wet earthly mound, 
 Or in the depths of care or selfish ease? 
 
 Then weakly sigh and ask 
 
 "What is my given task? 
 Can such as J the Master find and please?" 
 
 45 
 
Arise! go forth, thy task is clear; 
 
 Thy privilege is great, 
 
 With Christ to work and wait. 
 He goes before, each dreary path to cheer. 
 Earth's needy millions call for living bread. 
 
 Thine is the given power, 
 
 This, thine appointed hour 
 To minister in thy dear Master's stead. 
 
 Then with the blessed Easter-tide 
 
 Let all who yearn to show 
 
 The heart's warm overflow 
 To Him who rose Heaven's gate to open wide, 
 With Him arise and hasten on to do 
 
 The bidding of His will — 
 
 Our sacred trust fulfill — 
 Love's best anointing is a service true. 
 
 "NO MORE SEA." 
 
 Rev. xxi : 1. 
 
 Is it not beautiful, is it not grand, 
 
 As it rolls in its blue infinity, 
 And tosses its surges from land to land? 
 
 Why then is it written "There was no more sea?" 
 
 'Tis so pleasant to watch the crested waves 
 As they playfully chase each other on shore, 
 
 And to hear the tones from its musical caves, 
 Why should it be written "There was sea no more?' 
 
 Would it not add to the beauty of Heaven, 
 
 If the sea poured its flood 'round the Jasper wall? 
 
 Its waters at rest, by storms never riven, 
 Would mirror the glory that on it should fall. 
 
 Ah, treacherous sea! the angel knew well, 
 To many thou art a terror and gloom; 
 
 The roar of thy waves a dreary death knell, 
 Thy crystalline depths a dark dismal tomb. 
 
 46 
 
Thy beauty is cold, thy grandeur is grave, 
 
 Thy billows the type of a wild unrest; 
 And parting too oft the loving and brave, 
 
 Would mar the sweet peace of the Home of the blest. 
 
 Thy place is on earth, thou endest with time, 
 Then roll in thy might, dash on full and free! 
 
 'Tis but for to-day, in yon tranquil clime, 
 The angel hath written "There was no more sea." 
 
 No more buried hopes, no quenched household gleams, 
 
 No parting, no sorrow, no mystery; 
 Mid fields ever green flow clear crystal streams 
 
 And fountains of water, but "There's no more sea." 
 
 "NO MORE DEATH." 
 
 Rev. xxi : 4. 
 O world! so full of darkened homes, 
 Of funeral trains and opening tombs, 
 Light in the darkness! the promise comes 
 "There shall be no more death." 
 
 curse of sin! there comes a day 
 When earth, freed from thy tyrant sway, 
 With joy shall hear the Conqueror say 
 "There shall be no more death." 
 
 The Voice that spoke to Bethany's twain— 
 "Thy brother dead shall live again" — 
 Once more proclaims o'er land and main 
 "There shall be no more death." 
 
 "Come forth!" the call omnipotent 
 Is heard; each long sealed tomb is rent, 
 And all earth's sleepers wake attent 
 To hear "There's no more death!" 
 
 No death, no tears, no deep-drawn sighs, 
 No broken hearts, no riven ties; 
 Beyond this shadowy vale there lies 
 A land with "no more death." 
 
 47 
 
IN THE SHADOW 
 
DE PROFUNDIS. 
 On the death of President Lincoln — April lJfth, 1S65. 
 
 Out of the depths, O Lord, out of the depths, 
 
 A smitten nation cries to Thee! 
 
 Bowed by the awful mystery 
 Of Death — sitting in sackcloth thickly spread, 
 Mourning, uncomforted, its honored dead. 
 
 Alas! alas! we're weak to-day; 
 
 A Prince has fallen — our country's stay! 
 
 Our chosen Chief, loved of the Ia~nd, 
 
 Falls in his might by murderous hand! 
 Oh God! for such unknown, unfathomed grief, 
 Thou, only Thou, canst bring us sure relief. 
 
 The nation's heart so late with victory glad, 
 Lies bleeding, 'neath a ponderous cross; 
 Crushed, broken by its mighty loss. 
 Oh Lord, our Strength! to Thee we turn — for though 
 Satanic vengeance aimed the dreadful blow, 
 Thy wisdom did permit the deed, 
 In it Thy sovereign will we read. 
 Thou hast afflicted, Thou must heal, 
 Thou sendest grief, Thy love reveal. 
 Oh calm our spirits, quench the wrathful thought — 
 "We would be still and trust Thee as we ought. 
 
 Man dies — the highest — but the Eternal lives; 
 
 Thou, Chief supreme, our Ruler still, 
 
 Our destiny will hold, fulfill. 
 Though treason's factions 'gainst us madly rage, 
 Thou canst their wrath restrain, our fears' assuage. 
 
 The powers of sin Thy mandate know, 
 
 Thus far, no farther can they go. 
 
 In Thee oh let the nation trust; 
 
 And now from martyred Mercy's dust 
 Rise to a loftier faith, a courage strong, 
 To battle firmly 'gainst our country's wrong. 
 
 51 
 
Nerve Thou each heart, guide Thou each faltering will, 
 
 Without Thee chaos will prevail; 
 
 With Thee our cause will never fail. 
 God of the Right! oh heal our stricken land; 
 Vengeance is Thine, we leave it in Thy hand. 
 
 No martyr's blood is shed in vain, 
 
 May ours wipe out foul treason's stain, 
 
 And our dear land to peace restore, 
 
 To know disunion never more. 
 Grant this, O Lord, and we will meekly bow 
 And kiss the rod that smites so sorely now. 
 
 THE NATIONAL FUNERAL. 
 "Sic semper tyrannise — April, 1865. 
 
 O pageant of grandeur! O climax of fame! 
 No greater e'er honored earth's kingliest name; 
 Fit tribute to royalty truest, the best — 
 A Patriot martyr thus goes to his rest. 
 
 A nation of mourners with sorrow's keen pain, 
 
 In tears watch the slow-moving funeral train 
 
 Which bears from their midst to a far Western tomb, 
 
 Their Chieftain whose death wraps a country in gloom. 
 
 From hillside and valley they hasten to show 
 Some token of love mid the drapings of woe; 
 And on that dear casket in silence to gaze, 
 With a kiss or a tear or a whisper of praise. 
 
 With flowers the rarest, the sweetest, they crown 
 The mortal of him whom immortal renown 
 Will wreath evermore — while the slow tolling bell 
 And requiems chanted the tale of grief tell. 
 
 Through reverent crowds, mid the perfume of flowers, 
 And strains of soft music, 'neath evergreen bowers, 
 Like a Hero in triumph they bear him along. 
 Do such loving honors to tyrants belong? 
 
 52 
 
Yet this was the man who thus falsely was styled 
 By traitors who basely his goodness reviled; 
 Whose words, now immortal, we fondly recall, 
 "With malice toward none, hut with mercy to all." 
 
 "Sic semper tyrannis?" yes, thus let it be 
 To one who ruled only with Love's tyranny. 
 Who held out the sceptre of pardon to foes. 
 Too ready to lighten their self-given woes. 
 
 'Sic semper 1 tyrannis!" 'twas Mercy's death knell! 
 With the victim of treason her sway darkly fell. 
 Now Justice beholding unsheaths her sharp sword, 
 Henceforth Retribution stern acts shall record. 
 
 All praise to the Leader whose wise, steady sway 
 Has brought us from darkness to hail a new day; 
 Whose love for the Right, whose good will to mankind 
 And firm faith in God scarce an equal can find. 
 
 But bury him calmly, no more vainly weep, 
 His life work is done, let him peacefully sleep. 
 For Freedom he died when her victory was nigh. 
 His record's with God and the angels on high. 
 
 Side by side through the ages two names shall go down, 
 Two patriot lives equal glory shall crown. 
 With WASHINGTON, loved as our country's brave sire, 
 Stands LINCOLN, her savior — souls tried as by fire! 
 
 THANKS AND SUPPLICATION. 
 
 For President Garfield's Life. July 2, 1881. 
 
 Great God of nations! hear 
 A grateful people's prayer — 
 
 Their hymn of praise; 
 As low on bended knee 
 With trembling ecstasy 
 Of hope and joy, to Thee 
 
 Our hearts we raise. 
 
 53 
 
When o'er 1 our sunlit land 
 A mad assassin's hand 
 
 Spread death's dark pall, 
 Above their prostrate chief 
 Millions are bowed in grief, 
 And for Thy quick relief 
 
 United call. 
 
 And not in vain they cry, 
 Thou didst not let him die, 
 
 But graciously 
 Withheld the fatal blow, 
 Stayed the red life-blood's flow, 
 Gave length of days below, 
 
 So wondrously. 
 
 Thanks that Thy watchful eye 
 And loving hand was nigh 
 
 That fateful hour, 
 To guide the deadly dart 
 Aimed at a noble heart, 
 So not one vital part 
 
 Felt its dread power. 
 
 Thanks for his courage true, 
 The dauntless soul that knew 
 
 No craven fear. 
 But calmly bore the ill 
 With iron nerve and will, 
 Sustained and cheerful still, 
 
 With death so near. 
 
 Thanks for the Nation's love, 
 All party feuds above, 
 
 Now freshly shown. 
 One heart from sea to sea, 
 One throb of sympathy, 
 One thrill of loyalty, 
 
 For him — their own. 
 
 54 
 
God bless our fallen head! 
 Raise him as from the dead 
 
 To life again. 
 Long may his gentle sway 
 All fear of strife allay; 
 United as to-day 
 
 Our land remain! 
 
 Borne on the Sabbath air 
 Let universal prayer 
 
 With praises blend. 
 Praise for the mercy sent, 
 Prayer with faith's deep intent; 
 God save our President! 
 
 The Nation's friend! 
 
 "O WOMAN, GREAT IS THY FAITH!" 
 
 O gentle woman, strong and true! 
 
 When stouter hearts let hope expire, 
 The Nation's gloom is cheered by you, 
 
 Your faith relights our flickering fire. 
 
 "He will not die!"* Whence that sure trust? 
 
 Is it not borne of holy faith? 
 That He who holds the fleeting breath 
 
 Hath said, "Faith's prayer shall save from death. 
 
 Thine is the central shrine around 
 Whose unquenched flame a million more 
 
 Cluster and burn with hope profound, 
 And ceaseless supplications pour. 
 
 List! and the gracious answer hear, 
 
 The words the blessed Healer saith; 
 "O woman! put away thy fear, 
 
 It shall be even as thy faith." 
 
 • Mrs. Garfield's words soon after the assassination. 
 
 55 
 
"WHY?" 
 
 "O why am I made to suffer this cruel wrong?" 
 Mrs. Garfield, after the President's death, Sept. 19, 1881. 
 
 Out of the darkness of that night of gloom, 
 Out of the stillness of that shadowed room, 
 From a crushed heart is wrung the questioning cry 
 That "Why, oh Why?" 
 
 Dreaded so long, yet a surprise at last. 
 Quenched in a moment, prayer and hope are past. 
 Ah! can we wonder at the bitter cry, 
 The "Why, oh Why?" 
 
 The Nation's heart as well, throbbing with woe, 
 Pierced with a stroke few nations ever know, 
 In one deep monotone echoes the cry, 
 The questioning "Why?" 
 
 We have so truly prayed, so built our faith 
 Upon the words our great Physician saith, 
 "Prayer will avail to save," yet death was nigh; 
 Oh Father, "Why?" 
 
 So long we've stood that suffering bed beside 
 Watching with hope or fear the wavering tide; 
 It is so hard at last to have him die; 
 Forgive the "Why?" 
 
 He seemed to be so needed — calm and strong, 
 A Christian Ruler, wise to right the wrong, 
 Brave to endure — and yet so soon to lie 
 Martyred! Oh "Why?" 
 
 O strangest mystery! that this fair land 
 Again should be despoiled by murderous hand; 
 Above two martyr-graves should weep and sigh 
 And question "Why?" 
 
 Thou knowest why — in vain does puny man 
 Essay Thy hidden purposes to scan; 
 Thou wouldst be less a God could human eye 
 Discern the "Why?" 
 
 56 
 
Of all Thy ways. The father oft conceals 
 From his weak child the reason why he deals 
 So sternly with him — then let us trust and try 
 Not to ask "Why?" 
 
 Oh could we hut God's fatherhood receive, 
 His word "I chasten whom I love," believe, 
 Should we so murmur, seek so to descry 
 The reason "Why?" 
 
 Let us be still — the Hand that smites will heal; 
 Will some day lift the clouds that now conceal 
 His ways, and in the Eternal By and By 
 We shall know "Why?" 
 
 NOT DEAD, BUT RISEN. 
 
 President McKinley — another Patriot Martyr. 
 Sept. U, 1901. 
 
 Not dead — the noble all-embracing soul, 
 Not dead, the wise, strong master-mind, 
 Not dead, the heart, loving, sincere and kind, 
 
 These live and find immortal strength their goal. 
 
 He lives, for such a life can never die — 
 So purposeful in every word and deed, 
 Far reaching in its power, 'twill be the seed 
 
 Of growing worth and inspiration high. 
 
 The stately form built on God's perfect plan, 
 The thoughtful brow, the ever genial face — 
 So winning in its gentleness and grace — 
 
 Were but the semblance of the deathless man. 
 
 The visible is gone, but in a higher sphere 
 
 He lives a nobler service to fulfill. 
 
 God called, he calmly yielded his own will, 
 And passed beyond all limitations here. 
 
 57 
 
Mourn the sad passing of our honored head; 
 
 Heap rarest blossoms o'er his sacred clay; 
 
 Let the whole world its truest homage pay — 
 A Christian hero crowned! he is not dead. 
 
 His presence in our councils has not fled; 
 
 His voice in echoes clear will still abide; 
 
 His wisdom, rare, the Nation still will guide. 
 McKinley lives! Let no one call him dead. 
 
 "TWILIGHT DELL"— GREENWOOD. 
 In Memoriam H. B. 
 
 How calm thy rest — great city of the dead! 
 
 My thoughts grow tender as I softly tread 
 
 Thy silent aisles. A holy charm pervades 
 
 The stillness of thy consecrated shades; 
 
 For here fond Memory holds a sacred trust, 
 
 Deep buried from my sight beneath its kindred dust. 
 
 On this May morn how bright the vernal bloom, 
 Which mantles hill and vale, dispelling gloom 
 And kindling quiet joy! Pure blossoms spread 
 In snowy wreaths above the sleeping dead 
 Invest thee with a saintliness as fair 
 As the celestial robes of white the angels wear. 
 
 Here Art and Nature their best skill combine 
 
 To beautify Affection's hallowed shrine; 
 
 But sculptured stone or rich parterre are nought, 
 
 One lowly spot engages all my thought. 
 
 One dear secluded vale, ah! can I tell 
 
 How much of life to me lies in this "Twilight Dell?" 
 
 Here let me pause, while tenderly I bend 
 
 O'er the low mound that hides a loving friend. 
 
 Such love, so pure, I ne'er may know again 
 
 While I a pilgrim on this earth remain. 
 
 But, selfish heart, why hopelessly repine? 
 
 Enough for thee to know that once such love was thine. 
 
 58 
 
My soul her image holds, yet I essay 
 
 Vainly with words, its beauty to portray; 
 
 Mind, heart, form, feature all alike so fair, 
 
 A blended loveliness, on earth too rare. 
 
 "The good die first" — ah ne'er a truer thought 
 
 Fell from a poet's lips with inspiration fraught! 
 
 "The good die first" — cast in a mould refined, 
 
 Too fragile to endure, they seem by God designed 
 
 To give to coarser souls who darkly stray 
 
 A glimpse of Heaven then lead themselves the way: 
 
 By an embodiment of Heavenly grace 
 
 To fit us to behold His own all-glorious face. 
 
 Such was her life whose early flight from earth 
 
 We deeply mourn — a life of rarest worth, 
 
 A fount of good, a ministry of love 
 
 Lifting our earth-born souls to heights above; 
 
 A life of active faith and earnest zeal, 
 
 Eternity alone its influence can reveal. 
 
 Bright is the record Memory keeps, engraved 
 On living tablets, thus securely saved 
 From Time's defilement and the tomb's decay. 
 Though the dear form may moulder 'neath the clay, 
 The hearts that loved her best they only know 
 How true and beautiful was that brief life below. 
 
 But is she dead? Can Goodness ever die? 
 
 Shadow of Him who lives eternally! 
 
 Does spirit-beauty perish with the breath? 
 
 Is Love extinguished at the touch of Death? 
 
 No! stars may pale, all finite glory fade, 
 
 Germs of the Life immortal, these live undecayed! 
 
 They are not lost, the beautiful, the true! 
 
 A mystic veil but hides them from our view. 
 
 Their presence still is with us, loving, bright, 
 
 Though undiscerned by our dull mortal sight. 
 
 They wear this fading robe of clay no more, 
 
 In fadeless grace, soul-free, they walk the Eternal shore. 
 
 59 
 
Beloved! shall we grieve that thou art free? 
 Free from the cross so early laid on thee? 
 "Perfect through suffering," no more years of pain 
 Nor weariness nor care to thee remain; 
 Rest, Peace, unchanging hliss forever thine! 
 Death was to thee the archway to a Life divine. 
 
 A life without the shadow of a cloud; 
 A spirit-heing with new powers endowed; 
 Expanding as its untold cycles move, 
 Growing in knowledge, holiness and love. 
 Mysteries in truth and grace, unfathomed here, 
 To thine enraptured vision now unfolded clear. 
 
 And not alone art thou in yonder sphere; 
 
 Kindred and friends, beloved and cherished here, 
 
 Are with thee glorified; and dearer still 
 
 One whom thy soul adored through good or ill. 
 
 Courage, my heart! a few more years of strife 
 
 Will bring thee to the dawn of the same blessed Life. 
 
 Then wherefore be dismayed, why sadly weep, 
 When Christ to thy beloved giveth sleep? 
 The parting will be brief, in patience wait 
 The sure reunion at the Pearly Gate. 
 Oh blissful hope! these murmuring thoughts dispel! 
 Farewell unhallowed grief! farewell dear "Twilight 
 Dell." 
 
 SUDDEN TRANSITION. 
 
 "There is but a step between me and death." 
 
 A step! no more, a fluttering breath, 
 A mortal chill parts life and death. 
 
 A farewell glance, a quick adieu! 
 Earth fades, Eternity's in view. 
 
 One day in health's fresh roseate bloom, 
 The next, pale, waiting for the tomb. 
 
At morn erect in manhood's day, 
 At night, prostrate in death's decay. 
 
 But to the Christian, oh how sweet! 
 That step transports the weary feet 
 
 From thorny paths and tiresome ways, 
 To golden streets and restful days. 
 
 A moment shivering on the verge, 
 The next beyond the river's surge. 
 
 A moment in the valley's shade, 
 Then to the Eternal hills conveyed. 
 
 To-day worn with the world's vain quest, 
 To-morrow, calm, supernal rest. 
 
 One step from Satan's tempting charms, 
 To safe repose in Jesus' arms. 
 
 Only one step from sin's sad load, 
 To spotless holiness and God! 
 
 O blest transition! glorious change! 
 This human shrinking passing strange! 
 
 Why should we choose the lingering pain, 
 The weary waste of heart and brain, 
 
 Why cling to earth and mortal fear, 
 When Life immortal is so near? 
 
 Lord, let me always ready be 
 Quick to depart and go to Thee. 
 
 Ready to take the one step more 
 
 Which parts me from the Heavenly shore. 
 
 'TIS JUST ACROSS THE RIVER. 
 
 The Land that holds our treasures, 
 Where sin nor death can mar, 
 
 The land of lasting pleasures 
 Is not so very far; 
 
 'Tis only so in seeming, 
 
 61 
 
And in our human fear, 
 For often in our dreaming 
 
 That land is very near — 
 The land where friends ne'er sever, 
 'Tis just across the River. 
 
 'Tis but a moment's journey, 
 
 A closing of the eye — 
 A fluttering breath, a turning 
 
 From earth all wearily; 
 A flight through regions airy, 
 
 Swift as a flashing beam — 
 A sail with boatmen wary 
 
 Over a narrow stream. 
 Bright land of the forever! 
 'Tis just across the River! 
 
 And when Faith's sunlight lingers 
 
 Upon the mystic tide, 
 Clouds, touched by angel fingers, 
 
 No more its glories hide. 
 Lost kindred, loved and loving, 
 
 So near us seem to stand, 
 That while mid earth scenes moving, 
 
 We clasp them hand to hand. 
 Fair land where love dies never! 
 'Tis just across the River! 
 
 Then wherefore this repining 
 
 For dear ones gone before? 
 Since Faith reveals them shining 
 
 Safe on the other shore. 
 Though lost to mortal vision, 
 
 They're never far away; 
 And soon to their Elysian 
 
 Our weary feet may stray. 
 Home of the soul forever! 
 'Tis just across the River! 
 
 62 
 
UNDER THE ROD. 
 
 "In faithfulness hast Thou afflicted me." 
 
 A shadow on our pathway, cold and drear! 
 Life's day seemed wondrous bright, 
 We dreamed not that so dark a night 
 
 Of woe could be to us so very near. 
 
 We sported with the pleasant things of earth 
 
 And thought, "Ah, it is well 
 
 With us, our joy we cannot tell." 
 And inly sighed that ill should e'er have birth. 
 
 Then came the stroke — joy turned to grief, 
 
 And light to darkness grim. 
 
 Sweet, to a bitter cup, the brim 
 Pressed to our lips. Earth brought us no relief. 
 
 The firstling of our flock! "Dear Lord," we cried. 
 "Take any other, spare 
 This best beloved, so young and fair!" 
 In vain — the Spoiler touched, she drooped and died. 
 
 In her fresh maidenhood, when every day 
 
 Added new grace; when life 
 
 Was joy, and coming years all rife 
 With promise, from our sight she passed away. 
 
 Our clinging love was riven; in dumb despair 
 We loosed our tender hold, 
 Pressed the dear lips so pale and cold, 
 
 Laid her beneath the snow and left her there. 
 
 Ah, must it be! do we so need the rod, 
 Dear Lord? Have we so strayed 
 From Thee and duty? As we prayed 
 
 We heard, "Be still and know that I am God." 
 
 "Thy God and Father; can I be unkind, 
 
 Or needlessly chastise 
 
 The child I love? Am I not wise 
 And pitiful, to mercy most inclined? 
 
 63 
 
This trial is a blessing, trust Me now — 
 
 Though thy weak sense can see 
 
 Only a painful mystery, 
 Believe 'tis best — hereafter thou shalt know. 
 
 Thy treasure is not lost, 'tis safe with Me; 
 
 Lifted above thy reach 
 
 Till learned the lesson I would teach 
 Of upward looking, then restored to thee." 
 
 Father, 'tis right. O throbbing heart be still! 
 
 O human blindness! trust 
 
 The hand that lays thee in the dust 
 But to uplift thee, mingling good with ill. 
 
 Too long we've lived for Earth, and worshiped Self; 
 
 Dear Lord, forgive our sin; 
 
 Unbar our hearts and enter in, 
 Take what Thou wilt, only leave there Thyself. 
 
 IN DARKNESS. 
 
 "The light of mine eyes is gone from me." 
 
 Written for a widowed mother on the death oj her 
 only child. 
 
 Alone and desolate but for Thy presence, Lord; 
 
 O come and lift me from this vale of grief! 
 Thy hand hath smitten me, and only in Thy word, 
 
 Thy loving promise can I find relief. 
 
 No sorrow seems like mine, so helpless, heavy, deep; 
 
 My life, my joy, my earthly comfort gone! 
 Gone from my sight, can I do else but weep? 
 
 Pity and pardon me if it is wrong. 
 
 I know Thy cross was heavier, and keener still 
 The agony that weighed Thy spirit down, 
 
 As mid the shadows of Gethsemane Thy will 
 Bowed to the Father's, meekly bore His frown. 
 
 64 
 
But oh this mortal weakness! when I try to say 
 
 "Thy will, not mine, be done," my heart grows faint 
 
 And questions wildly, "Was there not some other way 
 I could be chastened and esteemed a saint?" 
 
 Jesus, forsake me not, remember Thine own woe, 
 And then forgive Thy sinning, sorrowing child; 
 
 Weakly I lean on Thee, Thy grace and strength bestow, 
 Calm with Thy peace grief's billows dark and wild. 
 
 I would be patient, would in trustful quiet rest 
 
 Upon Thy love along my lonely way, 
 And wait, believing all Thou dost is surely best, 
 
 Till the unfolding of a brighter day. 
 
 LULIE'S FIRST BIRTHDAY IN HEAVEN. 
 
 March 10, 1867. 
 
 Thirteen to-day! Child of our love, how bright 
 Would be thy smile upon this natal morn 
 If thou wert here! 
 How joyously our hearts have hailed the light 
 Of the glad day when thou wert born, 
 Year after year! 
 
 And how would we delight our love to show 
 By bringing gifts to gladden thy young heart 
 Again to-day. 
 But ah! a shadow hides our sunshine now; 
 We seek thee vainly, for alas! thou art 
 Far, far away. 
 
 So far, and yet I seem to feel thee near, 
 E'en at my side, as now with saddened thought 
 I think of thee, 
 Thy kiss is on my cheek as once so dear, 
 Thy loving words and ways are freshly brought 
 All back to me. 
 
 65 
 
Ah! little did we dream a year ago — 
 And thou so full of life and joy to greet 
 Thy birthday dawn — 
 When next it came we should be mourning so, 
 And walking 'neath a cloud with weary feet, 
 Thy presence gone. 
 
 We held thee then as but a child — our own — 
 Nor dreamed how soon thy girlhood would expand 
 With wondrous grace 
 To angel womanhood, all wisdom known, 
 All beauty thine, as with the seraph band 
 Thou hast a place. 
 
 Lifted so far above us, we no more 
 
 Can teach thee, but ourselves might humbly learn 
 Lessons refined 
 From thee to-day, vast depths of heavenly lore, 
 Could we such spirit mysteries discern 
 With mortal mind. 
 
 Only thirteen! so early done with life 
 
 Below, its tiresome tasks and teachers dull; 
 Wearied no more 
 With study, nor with hindering pain at strife, 
 But happy freedom, knowledge ripe and full 
 Thine evermore! 
 
 And yet our hearts with selfish yearning long 
 To clasp thee, darling, in our arms again; 
 Feel thy warm breath 
 Mingling with ours, to hear thy gleeful song 
 Ring through these silent halls where only reign 
 Echoes of death. 
 
 But we repress the wish, the murmur quell; 
 Stay with the angels, it is better so: 
 Folded above 
 In the Good Shepherd's arms. Ah! it is well; 
 This world is wearisome, and mixed with woe 
 All finite love. 
 
 66 
 
Perhaps thou art the centre of our band 
 Of gathered ones to-day, to each endeared; 
 And while we weep 
 They praise, a cherub sister holds thy hand, 
 
 And he whose dreary age thy sunshine cheered, 
 With some unknown till now, in that fair land, 
 Thy birthday keep. 
 
 Let it be so, and as this day returns 
 With sacred mem'ry, 'twill be joy to think 
 How year by year 
 The happy hour for which our spirit yearns, 
 The blest Reunion at the River's brink, 
 Is drawing near. 
 
 "SUFFER THE LITTLE CHILDREN TO 
 COME UNTO ME." 
 
 Mark x : 14. 
 
 We listen, charmed with Jesus' sweet command, 
 
 And long to place beneath His loving hand 
 
 Our little ones, that they may early be 
 
 Folded in His kind arms so tenderly. 
 
 But soon He sends his angel Death to some, 
 
 And calls more clearly, "Let the children come." 
 
 And then we start and wildly cry, "Lord, nay, 
 
 Oh make them Thine, but let them with us stay; 
 
 This world will be so dark, so sadly still 
 
 Without their glee the dreary void to fill." 
 
 "Forbid them not" — the Voice thrills through our 
 
 home — 
 "Suffer the children unto Me to come." 
 
 "Cut loose those clinging tendrils though they bleed; 
 Unclasp thine arms and let the spirit freed 
 Wing its glad flight to brighter spheres above, 
 To know My better care, My deeper love. 
 Safe in My fold, they nevermore shall roam. 
 Suffer the children unto Me to come." 
 
 67 
 
"Thy prayer is heard, though you may call them dead, 
 With Me they live, and on each angel head 
 My hand in blessing rests, My arms enfold 
 Each infant form; here they shall ne'er grow old, 
 Nor want nor sorrow know in this blest Home; 
 Suffer the children unto Me to come." 
 
 Dear Lord! we know, we feel that this is so. 
 
 Oh, give us strength to let our dear ones go 
 
 At Thy command, to strive more earnestly 
 
 To train the living for eternity — 
 
 That they may share the same unshadowed Home 
 
 With Thee who said, "Let the dear children come." 
 
 "IS IT WELL WITH THE CHILD?" 
 
 II Kings iv : 26. 
 
 Yes, it is well, though fast the tears are falling, 
 And sobs of anguish rend the breast. 
 
 We know it was the Saviour gently calling 
 "Come to My bosom, little one, and rest." 
 So it is well. 
 
 'Twas hard to see our little darling wrestling 
 With the Death angel's fearful power, 
 
 And know how soon she would asleep be nestling 
 In his cold arms to wake on earth no more. 
 Yet it is well. 
 
 And when she seemed so peacefully reposing 
 
 In her sweet infant loveliness, 
 'Twas hard to see the dark grave o'er her closing 
 
 And hiding the dear form from our caress, 
 Still it is well. 
 
 Too frail for earth, our little fragile flower, 
 Saved from the chilling frosts of life, 
 
 Transplanted early to a heavenly bower, 
 Will ever bloom, untouched by care or strife, 
 So it is well. 
 
 68 
 
God loved our child and took her deathless spirit 
 
 Up to His own all-glorious Home, 
 To dwell with angels and their bliss inherit, 
 
 For Jesus said, "Let little children come." 
 Then it is well. 
 
 His love is stronger than our weak affection 
 
 However well we think we love, 
 And better far than ours, His sure protection, 
 
 Fairer than mansions here, His House above. 
 Yes, it is well. 
 
 In that safe fold, no pain or want molesting, 
 Secure from childhood's wild alarms, 
 
 Forever blest, our precious lamb is resting 
 Sweetly in the Good Shepherd's loving arms. 
 Ah yes, 'tis well. 
 
 Those little feet would here be often weary 
 
 And led to stray in paths of sin; 
 Shadowed too oft by clouds and tempests dreary, 
 
 Might fail at last the victor's crown to win; 
 'Tis well, 'tis well. 
 
 Now early saved from Life's stern care and duty, 
 From Time's assoil and Death's dark fear, 
 
 Our darling lives to grow in angel beauty, 
 And taste fresh joy with every added year; 
 Yes, yes, 'tis well! 
 
 Father! be pitiful, grant resignation; 
 
 In this weak hour be Thou our stay. 
 Forgive our human grief, send consolation, 
 
 And give us strength and courage still to say 
 Lord, it is well. 
 
 ON THE BRINK OF THE RIVER. 
 May 13, 1867. 
 By the brink of the shaded River" 
 God called me to walk one day. 
 Oh! the chilliness made me shiver, 
 And I tried to turn away. 
 
 69 
 
But my hand was clasped in another, 
 
 A hand that had held me fast 
 All my life. Ah! who like a mother 
 
 So fondly clings to the last? 
 
 Together we pressed near and nearer, 
 
 Till we touched the waters wild. 
 I started, her calm look said clearer 
 
 Than words, "I'm going, my child." 
 "Going far over the River 
 
 Where our dear ones wait for me. 
 The angels will take me safe over, 
 
 And shortly will come for thee." 
 
 Then wildly I sought to detain her 
 
 With a fond clinging caress; 
 Praying, "Father! oh let me retain her 
 
 This dreary life yet to bless." 
 But while I thus cried out for pity, 
 
 She saw, what I could not see, 
 The gates of the wonderful City 
 
 Wide open across the sea. 
 
 And all my entreaties unheeding, 
 
 Away on the darkling tide 
 Her spirit too swiftly receding, 
 
 Left me alone on this side; 
 Alone on the brink of the River 
 
 Bewildered with darkness and woe, 
 In my heart a terrible quiver, 
 
 In my ear the sad waves flow. 
 
 But while with eye fixed and breath bated, 
 
 Longing vainly for one sight more 
 Of my vanishing joy, I waited, 
 
 A wave from the farther shore 
 Brought ripples of heavenly music, 
 
 A welcoming choral sound, 
 And flashes of wonderful glory 
 
 Illumined the clouds around. 
 
 70 
 
Then I seemed with the spirit's assistance 
 
 Brought nearer the far-off land, 
 Where faces I knew in the distance 
 
 Shone bright mid the white-robed band, 
 And I heard through the tuneful humming 
 
 A child's voice say to its mate, 
 "Look, Grandpa, dear Grandma is coming! 
 
 Let us meet her at the Gate." 
 
 And over the pavement golden, 
 
 On through the beautiful street, 
 With others more steady and olden 
 
 Tripped lightly the little feet. 
 And oh! what a rapturous greeting, 
 
 What folding in love's embrace, 
 My lost one received at the meeting 
 
 Of kindred in that bright place. 
 
 Then slowly the glittering portal 
 
 Closed on my wondering sight; 
 And back to the shades of the mortal, 
 
 Alone in the stillness of night, 
 I stood on the brink of the River, 
 
 Parted from Love evermore, 
 Till its waves my soul shall deliver 
 
 From earth to yonder fair shore. 
 
 And back to Life's pilgrimage dreary, 
 
 Back to my sorrow and tears, 
 I turned heavy-hearted and weary, 
 
 To tread out the coming years. 
 But a light from the shore Elysian 
 
 Oft glimmers across the sea; 
 And the thought of my Heavenly vision 
 
 Brings comfort and strength to me. 
 
 A MINOR STRAIN. 
 
 Gladness and beauty everywhere! 
 The earth and sky, birds of the air 
 And creeping things, rejoice to give 
 Praises to Him who bids them live. 
 
 71 
 
All Nature thrills beneath a touch divine; 
 Then why so sadly still, O heart of mine! 
 
 Sweet Summer, beautiful and bright, 
 Scatters its charms of sound and sight, 
 Sunshine and song, fragrance and bloom, 
 Leaving for selfish grief no room. 
 But Summer grace nor melody can start 
 One note responsive in this silent heart. 
 
 So out of tune with Nature! sad, 
 
 When all Creation seems most glad! 
 
 Oh thankless heart, thus to repine 
 
 Because God's purpose crosses thine! 
 So like a wilful child to chafe and fret, 
 And all thy Father's lovingness forget. 
 
 What though the heart is still that loved thee best; 
 
 The hands for thee so busy ever, rest. 
 
 Eyes that have met thine own with Love's fond ray, 
 
 Will gladden nevermore Life's weary way; 
 The voice, unequalled in its power to bless, 
 Is hushed? Yet does God love thee less? 
 
 Not less, but more; this chastening proves 
 
 His Fatherhood, how much He loves. 
 
 How He would draw His wandering child 
 
 Close to Himself from dangers wild; 
 He lifts the rod, but in one hand the while 
 Holds out the cup of comfort with a smile. 
 
 The smile of God! how lovingly 
 
 It rests on all His works! Then be 
 
 Assured, O smitten heart! and wake 
 
 Your harp to praise, its silence break. 
 Join in the spheral harmony again, 
 E'en though it must be in a minor strain, 
 
 72 
 
THE VANISHED HAND. 
 
 Oh, "the touch of a vanished hand!" 
 
 It comes to me o'er and o'er, 
 As I wander in dreams mid the golden sand 
 
 And drifts on Mem'ry's shore. 
 
 Through the portals of my sleep 
 
 Bright visions flit to and fro; 
 Like a child I laugh, and again 1 weep, 
 
 As I did in the long ago. 
 
 And anear me I see a face 
 
 Bent as in loving caress, 
 With a smile I know in its silent grace 
 
 And its old-time tenderness. 
 
 And with it that "vanished hand," 
 
 Those fingers so deft and fair, 
 So oft uplifted in gentle command, 
 
 Or laid on my rumpled hair, 
 
 Again is as tenderly pressed 
 
 On my wishful, throbbing brow, 
 And the touch transfigures the fading Fast 
 
 Into a glorified Now. 
 
 Oh the vanished things of earth 
 
 Are never so far away, 
 But stillness and shadow can give them birth 
 
 With the strength of eternal day! 
 
 A YEAR AGO. 
 May 13, 1868. 
 
 How near, and yet how far off seems 
 That point of time — the dreary day 
 
 That quenched in night its brighest gleams — 
 As cold and silent our beloved lay 
 
 So beautiful in her last sleep, 
 
 Smiling, while we in anguish weep. 
 
 day of woe! One year ago! 
 
 73 
 
A year ago! 
 And yet it seems but yesterday 
 We tasted of the cup of grief, 
 So long its bitterness doth stay, 
 
 So little has Time brought relief; 
 And Memory so freshly rolls 
 The tide of sorrow o'er our souls; 
 
 Yet 'twas, we know, a year ago. 
 
 Only a year? 
 Rather an age of weary years! 
 
 Uncounted cycles dim and vast! 
 So bridgeless the dark gulf appears 
 
 Between the Present and the Past. 
 So far off seems the happy day 
 When the dear presence cheered our way; 
 Though it was so one year ago. 
 
 Ah what is life? 
 When the dear mother-love that blessed 
 
 And made it life is once withdrawn, 
 And the heart vainly seeks the rest 
 Unfailing since its being's dawn? 
 'Tis a long night without a star — 
 A waiting for some joy afar — 
 
 God taught us so, a year ago. 
 
 And dost thou know, 
 Dear one, how thy poor orphaned child, 
 Homesick and lone, yearns after thee? 
 How Earth seems but a dreary wild 
 
 Since thy fond smile was hid from me? 
 Hast thou been near my grief to quell 
 With silent love, since on us fell 
 
 That cloud of woe, a year ago? 
 
 I see thee still 
 In peaceful visions of the night, 
 Beside thee, I forget my pain, 
 As round me plays the dear home light 
 
 74 
 
Without a shadow once again. 
 But while I gaze on thy bright face, 
 Waking, thou'rt gone from my embrace, 
 As thou didst go a year ago. 
 
 From childhood's hour 
 I've thought 'twould surely break my heart 
 
 To see thee die, and have to bear 
 Life's burdens on from thee apart. 
 
 And yet I live, and sometimes wear 
 A smile — as if there were no ache 
 Within — as though I did not wake 
 To miss thee so, a year ago! 
 
 Ah, is it true 
 That thy freed spirit lingers near 
 
 With ministrations sweet to give 
 The strength to check the starting tear, 
 
 Courage and patience yet to live? 
 Then, wondering heart, the reason see 
 Thou didst not break in agony 
 
 When smitten so, a year ago. 
 
 Thank God, my soul, 
 That Heaven is not so far away 
 
 But that our loved ones, lost to sight, 
 Beside us yet may ever stay 
 
 To make our darkest moments light. 
 And still the mother-love, so sweet, 
 May watch and guide my stumbling feet, 
 Though lost below, a year ago. 
 
 A year ago! 
 What an eternity of joy 
 
 And peace, beloved, has been thine, 
 Of blessedness without alloy! 
 
 Then why should sighs and tears be mine? 
 Why should a murmur cross my breast 
 That thou didst enter into rest 
 
 Amid our woe, a year ago? 
 
 75 
 
"AFTERWARD." 
 
 Not while the surging billows roll 
 And overwhelm the struggling soul, 
 While darkness black as Egypt's night 
 Shuts out all gleams of Heaven's light; 
 Not then the blessing comes to show 
 The fruits that from affliction grow, 
 But "afterward." 
 
 Not while the bleeding, breaking heart 
 Aches 'neath the chastening's keenest smart, 
 And counting o'er its woes again 
 Can only throb with bitter pain; 
 Not then the wounded soul can know 
 The fruits that from such anguish grow, 
 But "afterward." 
 
 Not while with quivering lip and eye 
 We watch our dear ones fade and die, 
 Or gaze into the open grave, 
 Feeling our impotence to save, 
 Then, only grievous seems the case — 
 The peaceful fruits of righteousness 
 Come "afterward." 
 
 When the first tempest gust is o'er, 
 Calmed by a Voice unheard before, 
 When God's own hand the clouds uplift, 
 And stars beam brightly through the rift, 
 Tis then the heart begins to know 
 What fruit from sorest grief below 
 Comes "afterward." 
 
 When Heavenly grace so pure and calm, 
 Pours o'er the wound its healing balm; 
 While the sweet Comforter is near 
 To whisper words of holy cheer; 
 The troubled spirit then may know 
 What blessedness from pain can flow 
 Long "afterward." 
 
 76 
 
When some bright flower, till then unknown, 
 Springs, with a beauty all its own, 
 Beside the path so drear before, 
 And lives a blessing evermore; 
 The lonely heart then learns to smile, 
 Counting its treasures less the while, 
 But "afterward." 
 
 But ah! not yet may we discern 
 One half the blessedness, nor learn 
 The hidden good that lurks within 
 Each stroke of painful discipline. 
 Only in Heaven can we know 
 All the rich fruit which earthly woe 
 Yields "afterward." 
 
 A TRIBUTE OF GRATEFUL LOVE. 
 
 E. J. S. 
 
 Gone from our sight, yet truly present still, 
 
 And living in the lives and hearts 
 Her forceful soul did early touch and thrill 
 
 With the diviner life such power imparts. 
 
 In many a home the impress of her thought 
 
 And culture may be clearly shown, 
 As her sweet graciousness is daily taught 
 
 By mother-love in word and tone. 
 
 O'er many a path oft rugged and forlorn, 
 
 There shines through memory's lengthened aisle- 
 
 And clouds uplift, new hope and strength are born- 
 The light of her benignant smile. 
 
 Hers was a subtle charm — we could not tell — 
 
 Was it the stately form, the face 
 So fair, the love-lit eye, the words that fell 
 
 In gentle tones, the winning grace 
 
 77 
 
Of sympathy, that wove the wondrous spell 
 Around young hearts? Yea, all combined 
 
 And more — the selfless soul which bore so well 
 The image of the Christ it shrined. 
 
 She cannot die; a life so strong, so pure, 
 
 So beautiful can never cease; 
 Breathed into other lives 'twill still endure, 
 
 And grow in blessing as the years increase. 
 
 Beside her native hills, beneath the flowers 
 She loved, the mortal is at rest; 
 
 But the sweet spirit-life will still be ours, 
 An inspiration ever blest. 
 
 TO ONE BELOVED. 
 
 Friend of my life! how can 1 let thee go 
 Behind the veil, beyond my sight 
 And touch, and lose the light 
 
 Of those dear eyes, so long my joy below? 
 
 How can 1 give thee up, and know no more 
 The sweet refreshment of thy love — 
 To me all earthly springs above — 
 
 Through lonely desert paths that lie before? 
 
 How can I live and know each passing day 
 Widens the space from the dear Past, 
 "When days were bright from first to last, 
 
 For thy fond smile made sunshine all the way? 
 
 Only one star, beloved, can illume 
 The shadow by thine absence cast; 
 The thought that each dark night once past 
 
 Brings nearer the glad dawn beyond the tomb 
 
 When we shall meet again, and I shall know 
 Such love as thine can never end; 
 And for the gift of such a friend 
 
 Praise to the Giver evermore bestow. 
 
 T8 
 
TIMES AND SEASONS 
 
THE REAWAKENING. 
 
 Behold again the dreary earth awaking 
 
 From Winter's lengthened slumber! 
 Flushed with new life, a rohe of freshness taking, 
 
 Spring's brighter' days to number. 
 
 Nature, so late in deathlike gloom enshrouded, 
 
 Rises in vernal beauty; 
 Each buried germ wakes from its tomb unclouded 
 
 And springs to joyful duty. 
 
 A viewless power is everywhere performing 
 
 A daily resurrection; 
 Bleak wastes, dead trees and barren fields transforming 
 
 To blossoming perfection. 
 
 May the same Power our lifeless souls inherit, 
 
 And our dead faith enliven; 
 Come with Thy quickening breath, Creator Spirit, 
 
 And help us live for Heaven. 
 
 At this glad season when Thy might is thrilling 
 
 The pulses of Creation, 
 Revive our sluggish powers, our spirits filling 
 
 With holy inspiration. 
 
 Then shall each hidden germ of grace unfolding 
 
 In living strength and beauty, 
 With bud and fruitage bloom*, no more withholding 
 
 Its true and thankful duty. 
 
 So when shall end for us this earthly dreaming — 
 
 Time's wintry hours hasting — 
 Our ransomed souls shall rise, with glory beaming, 
 
 To Springtime everlasting. 
 
 81 
 
SPRINGTIME. 
 
 The Lord is walking with a stately tread 
 
 Amid earth's gardens, and behold! the dead, 
 At His revivifying breath, 
 Spring from the icy grasp of death! 
 Gladly a quick obedience give 
 To His command, "Arise, and live." 
 
 His hand is on creation's heart, so still; 
 
 The life-tide flows, the pulses throb and thrill 
 With conscious being, and a rosy hue 
 Her pale and rigid features clothes anew. 
 
 Gently His fingers touch the silent loom 
 
 Of nature, and its wheels begin to move, 
 
 And swiftly weave the Springtide's robe of bloom 
 
 So noiselessly; its motive power, love. 
 
 O wonder-working will! 
 
 Sublime, supernal skill! 
 
 A touch, a word, a breath 
 
 Revives, reclaims from death, 
 Spreads waving verdure over hillsides bare, 
 Awakens life and beauty everywhere. 
 
 O Lord, Thy people, with attentive ear, 
 Thy tread in Zion's gardens wait to hear; 
 Shrouded in more than wintry gloom, 
 We watch and sigh for vernal bloom. 
 Thy Spirit's quickening breath alone 
 Can kindle life in hearts of stone, 
 Reanimate dead souls, fresh vigor give, 
 Bid the asleep in sin, awake and live. 
 
 Come, source of Life and Light and Spring, 
 To Thine own vineyard fruitage bring. 
 
 SEED-TIME. 
 
 The promise does not fail, seed-time again 
 Returns, and Earth with hope, delayed, revives. 
 
 The genial sunshine and the gentle rain 
 Begin their work and Springtime beauty lives. 
 
 82 
 
Again the hills resound with notes of Spring, 
 The ploughman's whistle, and the sower's song; 
 
 The iron share cutting with cheery ring 
 The hardened turf untilled by man so long. 
 
 With patient toil we tread the furrows deep, 
 
 And scatter seed with an unsparing hand; 
 Then wait and watch, assured that we shall reap 
 
 When promised harvests wave o'er all the land. 
 Thus should we sow with patient trustful care 
 
 In better fields the Gospel's precious seed; 
 Then watch and wait with humble faithful prayer 
 
 Till God's own time shall bring our promised meed. 
 
 Dear Lord, so long we've sowed in hope and tears, 
 
 In mellow soil and by the wayside some; 
 But little fruit of all our toil appears; 
 
 'Tis seed-time yet— when will the harvest come? 
 We know Thy promise standeth just as sure 
 
 In moral as in natural husbandry; 
 Then give us faith and courage to endure, 
 
 E'en though we reap not till Eternity. 
 
 AUTUMN CONTRASTS. 
 
 How wondrously bright are these Autumn days, 
 
 This sunset time of the year! 
 When the forests are tinged with crimson rays, 
 
 And the skies in golden appear. 
 
 'Tis now God gives in His fullness of love 
 
 To Nature, His favorite child, 
 A robe many-tinted of beauty inwove 
 
 With a royalty undefiled. 
 
 A rainbow-like halo each eve enwreathes 
 
 Its glory o'er hilltop and vale; 
 But sad to my ear is the rustle of leaves, 
 
 And the echoing wind's low wail. 
 
 83 
 
It tells of a summer of gladness gone, 
 
 Of death to the lily and rose; 
 Of pleasures departed and harvesting done — 
 
 A year hastening on to its close. 
 
 It wakens a sigh for the loved and the lost 
 
 Who sleep in the churchyard alone; 
 Where the leaflets fade with the earliest frost, 
 
 And the breeze has a dirge-like tone. 
 
 Yet mid all these tokens of earthly decay 
 The promise of God standeth sure — 
 
 That death bringeth life, and Winter's dark day 
 Spring heralds, while Time shall endure. 
 
 Thus ever Earth's blessings compounded we meet, 
 
 Thus mingles October with May; 
 Tis sunshine and shadow, the bitter and sweet, 
 
 The grave undertoning the gay. 
 
 But Faith whispers sweetly of blessings to come, 
 
 Unmingled with sorrow or strife; 
 A Springtime eternal, an unfading Home, 
 
 A deathless, unchangeable Life! 
 
 THE DEATH OF THE LEAVES. 
 
 I walk my garden with a heavy tread; 
 
 A grief I cannot tell 
 
 Steals o'er me as I see 
 
 The things I love so well, 
 The bright young leaves fall round me withered, dead. 
 
 Of late so beautiful, they glorified 
 
 Our earth with emerald crown; 
 
 Now low they lie and meekly die, 
 
 In death-robes russet brown, 
 Fluttering in air, or in dark hollows hide. 
 
 84 
 
Heaps upon heaps they lie unburied yet, 
 
 Waiting till snow-flakes spread 
 A saintly pall over them all, 
 
 And cover up the dead, 
 While wintry winds chant dirges of regret. 
 
 A short, sweet life was theirs, yet not in vain; 
 
 Through the long Summer day, 
 
 A welcome shade their arches made 
 
 From the sun's scorching ray, 
 Where weary man and beast might rest again. 
 
 Not shall they die in vain; freely they give 
 
 Their beauty to decay, 
 
 And in their death impart new breath 
 
 To germs that Spring's bright day 
 Shall bid arise in beauteous forms to live. 
 
 O gentle leaves! I have a lesson read 
 
 In this brief hour of thought: 
 May my life be a ministry, 
 
 Like yours, with good so fraught 
 That one at least may mourn when I am dead. 
 
 THE FIRST FROST. 
 
 A blight upon our fair Creation rests! 
 
 The face of Nature, yesterday so bright, 
 
 Downcast and sorrowful appears to-day. 
 
 The lingering Summer bloom is gone, for lo! 
 
 In the still night, while men unconscious slept, 
 
 A spirit stern and cold with noiseless tread 
 
 Walked o'er the earth, and ruin marks his track. 
 
 He breathed upon the flowers, and they died; 
 
 He laid his chilling hand upon the leaves, 
 
 And they hang limp and lifeless from their stems. 
 
 He pressed his foot on Nature's tender heart, 
 
 And sent through every nerve a thrill of pain. 
 
 Quickly the bounding pulse of growth is stopped, 
 
 And in the place of living beauty lie 
 
 Only still, blackened corpses in decay. 
 
 85 
 
So we have seen the hope of some young life, 
 The opening buds of childhood's love and truth, 
 Ruthlessly nipped in all their summer bloom, 
 By biting word of blame or cruel scorn. 
 Unkindness, like the frost, withers the heart 
 And checks the growth of loving thoughts and deeds; 
 It turns the tide of generous feeling back 
 Into itself, which else would gush and flow 
 In living streams of good to all around. 
 And though the morning sun with fondling beams 
 Strives to undo the ill, and warm to life 
 Again the beauteous dead, 'tis all in vain — 
 The fount of life is dried to flow no more 
 Till the eternal resurrection day. 
 
 Oh wound not then the spirit of a child! 
 Deal gently with the tender chords that thrill 
 By e'en so slight a touch with joy or pain. 
 A careless word or act may blight for aye 
 The germ of a true life designed to bless 
 The world; and all the sunny afterglow 
 Of love and care will unavailing be 
 To nurse that frosted bud into a flower 1 . 
 
 THANKSGIVING HYMN. 
 In War Time, 1863. 
 
 Once more returns the hallowed day of praise, 
 Wh?n Pilgrim faith uplifted grateful lays, 
 Thus bend we now at sacred shrines and raise 
 Our thanks to Thee, O God! 
 
 For bounteous blessings, health and harvests rare, 
 New springs of good o'erflowing everywhere, 
 For gifts of grace, a loving Father's care, 
 We thank Thee, O our God! 
 
 Though traitor's schemes have brought us woes untold, 
 O'er our fair land War's direful streams have rolled, 
 Still for the light we through the clouds behold, 
 We thank Thee, O our God! 
 
 86 
 
Though shadows deep on many hearthstones rest, 
 Where Sorrow sits, an uninvited guest, 
 And thoughts of vanished ones fill every hreast, 
 We thank Thee still, O God! 
 
 For loyalty supreme, for patriots brave, 
 True, dauntless souls who peril life to save 
 Our heritage from an ignoble grave, 
 
 We thank Thee, O our God! 
 
 For vic'tries to our arms, to Truth and Right, 
 For universal Freedom's dawning light, 
 For growing Righteousness, a nation's might, 
 We thank Thee, O our God! 
 
 For Thine own Self revealed, a sovereign Will 
 Guiding all worlds Thy purpose to fulfill, 
 Our Father's Refuge, our strong Fortress still! 
 We thank Thee, O our God! 
 
 Oh hear our prayer and by Thy might restore 
 Union and Peace to our dear land once more. 
 Then grateful hearts shall praise Thee evermore, 
 And thank Thee, O our God! 
 
 THANKSGIVING HYMN. 
 For Peace, November, 1865. 
 
 Great God! again we sing 
 
 Our yearly hymn of praise; 
 Once more our tribute bring 
 In glad thanksgiving lays. 
 Thy bounteous hand, 
 
 With boundless love 
 Has blessed our land 
 All lands above. 
 
 Thy kind parental care 
 
 Has kept from want and woe, 
 Commanded harvests rare 
 
 For future need to grow'. 
 
 87 
 
For daily food 
 
 And gifts of grace, 
 
 Oh Lord, our God! 
 Thy name we praise. 
 
 A blessing greater still 
 
 Has crowned the passing year; 
 Mid conflict's direful ill, 
 Sweet Peace again draws near. 
 The dismal sound 
 Of strife is o'er, 
 And brothers found 
 Learn war no more. 
 
 Author of Peace! receive 
 
 A nation's thankful song; 
 The vict'ries we achieve 
 To Thine own arm belong. 
 United hearts 
 
 In this glad hour 
 To Thee ascribe 
 All praise and power. 
 
 THE CLOSING YEAR. 
 
 Hark! what a solemn sound falls on the ear! 
 
 Floating on midnight air 
 
 Like a saint's dying prayer; 
 It is the knell of the departing year! 
 
 Dirge-like and low its tone, then swells again 
 
 Like the wild surges' moan, 
 
 Or the deep thunder's groan; 
 Now, like the windharp's sadly plaintive strain. 
 
 Softly its lingering echoes seem to say, 
 
 Clear as the tolling bell, 
 
 "Mortals, a long farewell; 
 Man, Earth and Time are passing swift away." 
 
 88 
 
Farewell, Old Year! thy sands are ebbing fast; 
 
 Burdened with hopes and fears, 
 
 Softened with sorrow's tears, 
 Go to thy grave in the oblivious Past. 
 
 There in the stillness of that shadowy dome, 
 
 Where buried Ages sleep, 
 
 In slumber, dreamless, deep, 
 Mid tombstones of thy sires thou'll find a home. 
 
 Nor shalt thou e'er to us again return; 
 
 Thy priceless moments given 
 
 To fit the soul for Heaven 
 Are gone, though long the vital spark may burn. 
 
 Faded are many glowing dreams of Youth, 
 
 Which at thy joyous birth 
 
 Were bright with hopes of earth; 
 Now all unrealized they yield to Truth. 
 
 And many visions, too, of riper years, 
 
 Gay pleasures of a day, 
 
 With thee will pass away, 
 And hearts, once crowned with smiles, will bow in tears. 
 
 Sad memories cluster round thy fleeting form, 
 
 For snowflakes lightly rest 
 
 On many a loving breast, 
 Which when thy course began with life was warm. 
 
 Now the last echo of the parting chime 
 
 Is lost upon the breeze 
 
 Which sighs through forest trees 
 A mournful requiem for the passing Time. 
 
 Up the recording Angel wings his flight 
 
 To the great Court above, 
 
 Where Justice throned with Love 
 Receives his record writ in words of light. 
 
 "Another year has flown! its blessings spurned, 
 
 Man will review with grief; 
 
 And now, another leaf 
 In the great book of human life is turned."' 
 
FAREWELL TO THE YEAR. 
 
 The year is dying, slowly dying; 
 
 Gather softly round his bed, 
 Wearily behold him lying, 
 While Earth's many voices, sighing 
 
 Chant a requiem for the dead. 
 
 Breathe a loving prayer of blessing 
 
 In the aged pilgrim's ear; 
 Our misdeeds to him confessing, 
 Thanks for every good expressing, 
 
 Strive his dying hour to cheer. 
 
 Faithfully his servant willing 
 
 His appointed race has run; 
 God's own purposes fulfilling, 
 Human destiny revealing 
 
 Patiently from sun to sun. 
 
 Now his earthly record's ended, 
 Nothing more remains to tell. 
 
 Let the hero die, attended 
 
 By Hope and Love and Sorrow blended, 
 While we say, "Old year, farewell!" 
 
 A NEW YEAR REVERIE. 
 
 Another year with hope and promise bright 
 
 Is dawning on mankind. Upon the arch 
 
 Of time spanning the narrow gulf which parts 
 
 The Old and New we stand with solemn thought 
 
 And view at once the swift receding wave 
 
 Of the past year and the unruffled stream 
 
 Of that to come. Soon we shall launch our bark 
 
 Upon the onward tide to meet its toil 
 
 And danger, calm or storm, unknown as yet, 
 
 And leave upon its shores a witness true 
 
 That we have passed that way. 
 
 90 
 
The rushing "breeze 
 Brings to our ears a murmur from the past, 
 A minor undertone of human woe: 
 Lost hopes, departed joys and buried loves 
 Gone with the year! By many a home there rests 
 Death's dreary shadow, and the festive board 
 Lacks the full joy of an unbroken band. 
 And yet all is not sad. Blessings from God, 
 Like Israel's daily manna, fresh and free, 
 Have fallen on our path. So thankfully 
 We cast aside our sorrow as we close 
 The record of the dying year. 
 
 Behold 
 Before us like a field of spotless snow, 
 Pure and untrodden, lies the fresh new year; 
 Untracked by man, unstained by aught of sin 
 Or grief. We pause ere yet our footstep makes 
 Its mark thereon and seek for strength above 
 That we may plant it wisely, nobly, well. 
 The past is gone, the future is our own 
 To dim or brighten by deeds good or ill. 
 Let us go bravely forth, trusting in God, 
 And fearing naught but sin, to earnest work 
 For Christ and man, that we may leave the print 
 Of only lofty thoughts and words and deeds, 
 Which to some wandering soul that follows on 
 May make the coming year the road to Heaven. 
 
 A NEW YEAR THOUGHT. 
 
 Once more I stand beside an open door — ■ 
 The New Year's portal — and., as oft before, 
 I pause upon the threshold, almost fear 
 To enter the unknown domain; to hear 
 The echo of my footsteps, as they break 
 The silence of the yet unpeopled way; 
 To meet the waiting changes, and to take 
 My part in life's new drama, day by day. 
 
 01 
 
And yet, I cannot linger; swiftly glide 
 The moments, and the door swings open wide. 
 I am within, and cannot backward trace 
 One single step; but patiently must face 
 What e'er may come, assured that good or ill, 
 One who knows all the way will lead me still. 
 
 The Old Year brought me sorrow, shall the New 
 
 Bring only joy? Shall he my pathway strew 
 
 With flowers, or thorns? I cannot tell; in vain 
 
 I peer into the shadow dim to gain 
 
 One glimpse of the beyond. I can but pray 
 
 "Lead Thou me on," in faith's unquestioning way. 
 
 Let the crushed roses of the past exhale 
 
 Their fragrance through the New Year's dubious vale. 
 
 "Lead Thou me on." Let this year see attained 
 Some truer good, some loftier summit gained 
 In spirit life; some higher steps in grace 
 Lead Thou my wavering feet to trace. 
 To better service, a more steadfast zeal 
 Guide me and make Thy guiding real; 
 With my weak hand in Thine, O, Master dear, 
 I would begin and end this fresh New Year. 
 
 "HAPPY NEW YEAR P 
 
 Why this doleful wail of sadness, 
 
 Every year? 
 Undertoning all our gladness, 
 
 Every year? 
 Why at fleeting years so fretful, 
 Of the dead Past so regretful, 
 Of the living Now forgetful, 
 
 Every year? 
 
 Is not God in wisdom guiding 
 
 Every year? 
 Though to us His purpose hiding, 
 
 Every year? 
 
 92 
 
Joy there is for every sorrow, 
 For each night a bright to-morrow, 
 From the Past fresh strength we borrow, 
 Every year? 
 
 Faith and Hope are growing stronger, 
 
 Every year; 
 As the trodden way grows longer, 
 
 Every year. 
 Left behind the paths most dreary, 
 Passed the doubts that vex and weary, 
 Brighter gleams the sunshine cheery, 
 
 Every year. 
 
 Fewer cares and lighter burdens, 
 
 Every year. 
 Brighter hopes and truer guerdons, 
 
 Every year. 
 Earthly joys may fade forever, 
 Earthly ties to friends may sever, 
 One there is more dear than ever, 
 
 Every year. 
 
 And the Father's house is dearer, 
 
 Every year; 
 And our lost ones coming nearer, 
 
 Every year; 
 Less is there below to charm us, 
 Less in "growing old" to harm us, 
 Less does the unknown alarm us 
 
 Every year. 
 
 Let us then cease such repining, 
 
 Every year, 
 And believe the Love o'ershining, 
 
 Every year. 
 Things that are behind forgetting, 
 Onward press without regretting, 
 To the morn that knows no setting, 
 
 Blest New Year! 
 
 93 
 
BIRTHDAY VERSES. 
 
 What shall I ask for thee, my child, 
 
 What shall I ask for thee? 
 A birthday gift of gold most rare, 
 Some costly treasure, rich and fair, 
 
 To fill thy heart with glee? 
 
 What shall I ask for thee, my child, 
 
 What shall I ask for thee? 
 Shall I ask that beauty's charms be thine, 
 So mid the gay thou'lt gayly shine, 
 
 The brightest star to be? 
 
 What shall I ask for thee, my child, 
 
 What shall I ask for thee? 
 That fortune may her gifts bestow, 
 That thou no want or care may know, 
 
 No earthly sorrow see? 
 
 Not these I ask for thee, my child, 
 
 Not these I ask for thee; 
 A better birthday wish is mine — 
 'Tis that the best of gifts be thine, 
 
 A heart from sin made free. 
 
 A heart of love to Him who died 
 
 On Calvary's cruel tree; 
 A clean white robe of grace to wear, 
 The Saviour's lovely image bear; 
 
 'Tis this I ask for thee. 
 
 Yes, this I ask for thee, my child, 
 
 This good I ask for thee: 
 The pearl of greatest price to own, 
 A child of Jesus to be known, 
 
 And Heaven thy home to be. 
 
 94 
 
ON TAKING DOWN THE CHRISTMAS 
 GREENS. 
 
 Take down the faded wreaths, 
 
 Untwine the garlands gay, 
 Though the glad time we hung them up 
 
 Seems but as yesterday. 
 And from their crumbling leaves 
 
 We still can almost hear 
 The echoes of the Carols sweet 
 
 And Greetings of New Year. 
 
 But ah! full well we know 
 
 The festive season's o'er; 
 And treading in life's dusty ways 
 
 We find ourselves once more. 
 Swifter than wheels of steam 
 
 The golden hours have rolled; 
 And while we dreamed the year was young, 
 
 We wake to find it old. 
 
 Now clear above the din 
 
 Of daily toil and care, 
 We hear again in solemn tones 
 
 The Lenten call to prayer; 
 Bidding us turn from pleasure's round, 
 
 A higher joy to find 
 In fellowship with Him whose death 
 
 Gave life to all mankind. 
 
 Thus do the years go on, 
 
 And times and seasons glide, 
 Till soon the story of our life 
 
 Is closed and laid aside. 
 Ah! Life's a mystic page! 
 
 In vain we strive to scan 
 The hidden thought between the lines — 
 
 God's purposes to man. 
 
 95 
 
NIGHT. 
 
 Thank God for night! I say, 
 As weary with the toils of day 
 
 And turmoils of the light, 
 I draw the curtains of my bed, 
 And pillowing my aching head, 
 
 Thank God for night. 
 
 Night! Time of rest so rare, 
 
 From earth's perplexing thought and care. 
 
 Respite from sound and sight; 
 As deepening shadows softly fall, 
 A holy silence broods o'er all, 
 
 And it is night. 
 
 The strife of tongues, the city's din, 
 The sight of toiling, tired men, 
 
 Go with the glaring light; 
 And quiet comes mid softer gleams, 
 Wooing the soul to peaceful dreams — 
 
 Thank God for night! 
 
 So when Life's cares are past, 
 
 And Death's deep shade is on us cast, 
 
 May we in calm delight 
 Look up with cheerful faith and say, 
 "Farewell to Earth's long, dreary day, 
 
 Thank God for night!" 
 
 TRUE WORSHIP. 
 A Bummer Reverie. 
 
 Not in cathedral dim nor temple grand, 
 
 Where gay-robed throngs with seeming rev'rence meet, 
 
 And studied eloquence in silver tones 
 
 Proclaims the truth that Christ so simply spake, 
 
 Is truest worship found; for here, alas! 
 
 Is outward show and circumstance, and thought 
 
 Of man, and the poor heart, diverted, seeks 
 
Some other shrine, and bows too oft to gods 
 Of earthly mould. The words of Gospel grace 
 Fall on the ear like echoes from afar, 
 Which give no certain sound, hut idly die. 
 
 God is a Spirit, and His worshipers 
 Must in the spirit bend and give Him all 
 Their thought — rising aloft on wings of prayer 
 Till Earth with its vain show of human pride 
 Seems but a speck of glittering dust below. 
 Let him who thus would worship seek alone 
 The forest shade where living arches ring 
 With purest song, and every sight and sound 
 Whispers of God. Or mid the "templed hills" 
 Go forth when Summer crowns them all 
 With touches visible of the dear Hand 
 You fain would clasp. Or on a cloudless night 
 Gaze upward to the star-gemmed depths of blue, 
 And think how worlds on worlds are piled, and each 
 Its order keeps, until the mind, absorbed, 
 Forgets itself, outborne and overborne 
 Upon Infinity, whose name is God. 
 
 Oh! it is when the longing soul lies close 
 To Nature, heart to heart, throwing aside 
 Enwrapping care and toil, as tired child 
 Its cumb'ring robes at night, feeling the throb 
 Of fair Creation's pulse, so full of life 
 From the eternal Fount, and listening catch 
 Her praiseful intonations, sweeter far 
 Than organ's swell or voice of cultured choir, 
 It worships best. Then self is out of sight, 
 And sense in holy adoration lost, 
 The spirit, only, lives and moves and loves 
 In the most loving, ever living One! 
 God in His handiwork is near — so near 1 
 You feel His Presence, almost think you hear 
 His footfall close beside you, and His voice, 
 So grand, yet tender, saying, "Child, be still 
 And rest, for rest is worshipful, and trust 
 Is praise!" 
 
 97 
 
Ah! this is most like Heaven — most like 
 Angelic worship! One such silent hour 
 Of soul-communion mid the groves and hills 
 Is worth a thousand spent in utterance vain 
 Of wordy praise with crowds in stately courts, 
 Where famished souls too often inly sigh 
 And seek for God, yet empty turn away. 
 
 98 
 
OCCASIONAL 
 
A HYMN OF PRAISE. 
 
 Written for the Centennial of the First Presbyterian 
 Church of Morristown, N. J., Oct. 14, 1891. 
 
 [To be read, rather than sung.] 
 
 God of the ages! Thou whose thought 
 
 The universe from chaos brought, 
 To whose supreme, unbounded view 
 There's nothing old, there's nothing new; 
 We, creatures of a day, would raise 
 Our humble tribute to Thy praise. 
 
 "We praise Thee for the wondrous grace 
 
 That gives to man the highest place — 
 As "sons of God" on earth to be, 
 Joined in a glorious family; 
 Above, below, Thy church is one, 
 In fellowship with Christ the Son. 
 
 For special providential care — 
 A Century of blessings rare — 
 To this vine of Thy planting willed; 
 A bow of promises fulfilled, 
 
 Spanning from past to present days, 
 God of our fathers! Thee we praise! 
 
 We thank Thee for the patriot sires 
 
 Who through a Revolution's fires 
 Stood firm on Truth and Freedom's side, 
 And ere war's smouldering embers died, 
 With self-denying zeal and thought, 
 This goodly temple planned and wrought. 
 
 Thanks that its sturdy frame's withstood 
 
 A Century of storm and flood; 
 And year by year the patient bell 
 Has pealed its Sabbath message well. 
 God grant that church and bell may still 
 Their sacred mission long fulfill! 
 
Thanks for the saintly men of yore, 
 
 Who meekly the church burdens bore; 
 Whose voices oft have thrilled this air 
 In tuneful song and fervent prayer. 
 In courts above we see them bend, 
 Their purer praise with ours to blend. 
 
 Thanks for the saintly women, too, 
 
 Who graced as well each ancient pew; 
 In work and worship glad to share, 
 Joining in song, if not in prayer. 
 The mothers of the past! whose lives 
 In children's children still survive. 
 
 We thank Thee, here no doubtful word 
 
 Of faith or doctrine ere was heard; 
 This pulpit has from first to last 
 To God's inspired word held fast; 
 Loyal to church and creed, unmoved 
 By critic's strife o'er faults unproved. 
 
 We thank Thee, Lord, for showers of grace 
 
 That have so often filled this place, 
 When by the Spirit's power led 
 Souls have by scores to Jesus fled, 
 And at His table Him confessed, 
 Ent'ring with joy, His service blest. 
 
 We thank Thee for the record bright 
 That this has been no hidden light; 
 But far and near its saving glow, 
 
 Has helped the nations Christ to know; 
 One with their Head, this people's care, 
 His cross to lift, His cause to share. 
 
 For covenant blessings manifold, 
 
 For precious memories yet untold, 
 For peace on earth and hope of heaven, 
 That through the years Thy love has given 
 To generations past and now, — 
 With praise before Thy throne we bow. 
 
 102 
 
Let all who in this Zion dwell, 
 
 In grateful strains the chorus swell; 
 Young men and maidens, fair and strong, 
 Old men and children join the song. 
 In this Centennial praise unite, 
 To God, our God, of love and might. 
 
 L'ENVOI. 
 
 A Farewell to a dear young friend about to sail for 
 India, as a Missionary. 
 
 Forth from the sheltering cote the carrier dove — 
 Guided by wondrous inner light — 
 To lands afar wings its brave flight, 
 
 Bearing its messages of peace and love. 
 
 So from the dear home nest where fondest love 
 Hath nurtured well to strength of wing — 
 Moved by an inward whispering — 
 
 Full fledged now speeds away our gentle dove. 
 
 The King's command not all in vain is* heard — 
 "Go teach all nations in My name, 
 My matchless grace to man, proclaim" — 
 
 With quick response her willing soul is stirred. 
 
 And far away to "India's coral strand," 
 Where hungry millions watch and wait 
 The Bread of Life which comes so late, 
 
 She hastes to bear Christ's message to that land. 
 
 With but one longing, lingering look behind 
 On what is left — her loved, her own — 
 To work untried, to fields unknown, 
 
 She takes her flight, joy in a cross to find. 
 
 And we — regretful — while our hearts still swell 
 With grateful joy that one so dear 
 Has heard the Master's voice so clear, 
 
 And yielded sweet assent, must say Farewell! 
 
 103 
 
Yet we shall go with her, our prayers shall be 
 
 A loving presence all the way, 
 
 A glow by night, a shade by day, 
 For sure defence and guide o'er land and sea. 
 
 God bless our carrier dove so true and brave! 
 
 May Angel wings sustain her flight. 
 
 Ruler of all! by Thine own might 
 Hold back the stormy wind, calm the rough wave., 
 
 That only prospering breeze and gentle swell 
 May safely speed o'er ocean's crest, 
 To the far shore — the new home-nest — 
 
 Earth, air and sea, O guard our treasure well! 
 
 And when before her chosen work at length 
 
 She stands o'erwhelmed with fear 
 
 Of failure, Lord, be ever near; 
 Let "I am with thee alway," be her strength. 
 
 Give nerve and courage tasks to undertake, 
 
 And untold misery to face — ■ 
 
 Faith to present God's equal grace 
 For every need — and all for Christ's dear sake. 
 
 And grant, Lord! the promised "hundredfold' 
 
 Of joy and blessing in this life 
 
 To her and her's, as mid the strife 
 Of good with ill Thy Cross they shall uphold. 
 
 Then when the way grows weary, and above 
 All toil is heard the call to rest, 
 Safe to the shelter of her 1 early nest, 
 
 To waiting hearts bring back our carrier dove. 
 
 "MIZPAH." 
 
 At sea. 
 
 The farewell word at last is spoken; 
 Dear home-links one by one are broken; 
 The best loved shore from sight is fading 
 With dimness tearful faces shading. 
 
 104 
 
Over the hounding wave we go 
 Out of the reach of ice and snow; 
 Yet never warmer hearts to find 
 Than those so sadly left behind; 
 They on the land, I on the sea, 
 "Watch, Lord, between them all and me. 
 
 Kindred and friends! to you still clinging, 
 Backward my soul its flight is winging; 
 Ah! can these rolling billows sever 
 Hearts linked in Love's bright circlet? Neve; 
 Though far away awhile to dwell, 
 Oft shall I speed to scenes loved well. 
 Many a saddening change may come, 
 Ere I shall hear the "Welcome home"; 
 But I can only trust in Thee, 
 Watch, Lord, between my friends and me. 
 
 The church we love, Lord, I commend it 
 To Thy rich grace; from ill defend it; 
 And the dear flock, our Sabbath treasure, 
 Care for them all in Thy good pleasure. 
 Keep the little ones in the fold, 
 Shelter them safe from want and cold; 
 Let them from week to week be fed 
 With crumbs of everlasting bread. 
 While I am absent on land or sea, 
 Watch, Lord, between my class and me. 
 
 OUR MANSE. 
 
 It stands in finished beauty; broad and firm 
 
 Are its foundations, strong its stately walls — 
 
 As fitted to endure through coming years 
 
 A monument of Christian faith and zeal. 
 
 Within, the tinted light falls cheerily 
 
 O'er graceful arch and polished floor, and through 
 
 The well appointed rooms like rainbow hues 
 
 105 
 
Of promise, betokening peace and joy — 
 A fitting home of rest for him who serves 
 This ancient church of God. 
 
 But ah! to us 
 Who hopefully have watched its rise and end, 
 Above it rests a cloud — bright edged, 'tis true, — 
 For all God's hidden ways are just and kind — 
 But dark with disappointment and surcharged 
 With bitter grief. The gentle presence which 
 We fondly hoped would grace the finished home 
 Is missing there — the heart of home is gone — 
 Gone to a better dwelling, this we know, 
 A mansion far more fair; 'tis not for her 
 We mourn, 'tis for ourselves alone. And now 
 The shadow deepens as again the wing 
 Of the death-angel broods this time above 
 The cradle of the home — the household shrine 
 Where stricken hearts find hope and comfort sweet 
 In loving homage. Soon the baby-tones 
 Are hushed — the shrine is broken and fond arms 
 Are empty as the happy little soul 
 Leaps to the new-found mother's clinging clasp, 
 And the sweet waxen form is laid to sleep 
 Among the summer flowers. 
 
 Once more alone 
 The smitten one gives meekly back to God 
 The precious legacy of love and cheer, 
 And mutely bows beneath the added stroke. 
 Oh mystery supreme! We vainly ask 
 What does it mean? Then make reply "God knows.' 
 
 Thus has our beauteous Manse been sanctified. 
 'Twill ever be a consecrated place, 
 Hallowed by tender memories, baptized 
 In sacred tears, and linked in holiest thought 
 With Heaven and white-robed angel-hood above. 
 
 106 
 
AFTER A SABBATH-SCHOOL CONVEN- 
 TION. 
 
 Echoes float around us, 
 
 Waves of mingled sound; 
 Holy deep vibrations 
 
 In our hearts abound 
 Strains of earnest music, 
 
 Words of Christian cheer, 
 Thoughts that nerve to action 
 
 Linger in our ear. 
 
 Thanks to the "sweet Singer," 
 
 For his feast of song — 
 Pure harmonic gospel, 
 
 Truth to treasure long — 
 Still the stirring carol 
 
 Trembles on the air, 
 "If you want a mission 
 
 Find it anywhere." 
 
 And we sit and listen, 
 
 Dreading lest the spell 
 Shall be rudely broken 
 
 By stern Duty's bell 
 Calling us, reluctant, 
 
 From the mount away 
 To lowly paths of labor, 
 
 To toil and watch and pray. 
 
 Not in vain we listen 
 
 The repeating strain; 
 Faith and Hope grow brighter, 
 
 Taking heart again, 
 We will lift our burden 
 
 With a stronger hand, 
 Looking unto Jesus, 
 
 Following His command. 
 
 107 
 
Oh, the joy of living 
 
 In this world of sin 
 With so high a mission 
 
 Precious souls to win! 
 With a full salvation 
 
 Meeting every need, 
 And such a loving Master, 
 
 Oh 'tis joy indeed! 
 
 What a blissful union 
 
 Kindred spirits know, 
 As in sweet communion 
 
 Thought and feeling flow; 
 One in Jesus ever, 
 
 One in doing good, 
 In faith and deed forever 
 
 A Christian brotherhood! 
 
 ANNIVERSARY HYMN FOR AN ORPHAN 
 
 ASYLUM. 
 
 Once more old Time with swift and steady flight 
 Has brought around our Anniversary night; 
 In health and happiness again we meet, 
 And all our friends and patrons gladly greet. 
 
 Thanks to "Our Father" in our hearts abound — 
 For countless blessings the past year have crowned — 
 He who the sparrow feeds has ne'er forgot 
 The lonely orphan in his hapless lot. 
 
 No more in want or 1 weariness we roam; 
 Through His rich bounty we have found a home. 
 From Summer's sultry heat and Winter's cold 
 We're safely sheltered in our pleasant fold. 
 
 The harvest's past, the reaper's work is done, 
 The flowers are withered and the birds are gone; 
 Still Spring is ours, e'en mid the tempest's strife, 
 For sympathy is sunshine, love is life. 
 
 108 
 
We come to-night to tell you if we may 
 What we have learned since our last festive day: 
 No tones of eloquence, we strive to reach, 
 But simple strains of music and of speech. 
 
 We ask you then to lend a listening ear 
 And overlook all faults that may appear. 
 May Heaven's benediction on us fall — 
 God bless our orphan-band, and bless you all. 
 
 ANNIVERSARY HYMN FOR A SABBATH 
 SCHOOL. 
 
 Spared once more to meet together 1 
 
 On this annual festive day, 
 Let us come with hearts of gladness 
 
 And a thankful lay. 
 
 While the earth is crowned with beauty, — 
 Treading on bright Autumn leaves, — 
 
 We will haste from vale and hillside, 
 Bringing in our sheaves. 
 
 Through the year that's past we've labored 
 
 For the needy as we could; 
 And have learned we're ne'er so happy 
 
 As when doing good. 
 
 Thankfully we bring our offering 
 Treasured from our humble store, 
 
 Gladly send it on its mission, 
 Wishing it were more. 
 
 Mindful of the greater blessing 
 
 Our dear Saviour's love has given — 
 
 Teachers and the blessed Bible 
 Pointing us to Heaven. 
 
 109 
 
CHILDREN'S HYMNS. 
 
 Written for the Rev. E. P. H. during a season of 
 religious interest, — the same which suggested the hymn, 
 "Jesus of Nazareth." 
 
 INVITATION. 
 
 Oh happy day, blest day of grace! 
 When Jesus shows His smiling face, 
 And bids the weary wanderer come 
 And find in Him sweet rest, a home. 
 The Cross, uplifted, draws us near, 
 The Spirit whispers words of cheer, 
 And waits repenting souls to bless 
 In this glad day, this day of grace! 
 
 Then hasten all who feel your need, 
 From sin's dread burden to be freed; 
 To Calvary's Victim look and live, 
 He only can salvation give. 
 Long have you pleasure sought in vain, 
 And found but weariness and pain; 
 Oh come, your sinful steps retrace, 
 Improve this blessed day of grace. 
 
 Now listen to the Gospel's sound, 
 Seek Jesus while He may be found; 
 In Him the Father, reconciled, 
 Will own and bless you as His child. 
 Oh, will you longer slight His love, 
 And grieve away the Heavenly Dove? 
 Refuse the Saviour to embrace, 
 And perish in this day of grace? 
 
 Forbid it Lord! Thy power display 
 And draw these lingering souls to-day; 
 Convince of sin, Thy grace impart 
 To cleanse and sanctify che heart. 
 May many hear Thy gracious voice, 
 And in Thy pardoning love rejoice, 
 Who in eternity shall praise 
 Thee for this blessed day of grace. 
 
 110 
 
PRAISE AND CONSECRATION. 
 
 Come ye children, sweetly sing 
 Praises to your Saviour King. 
 Hearts and voices gladly bring 
 To praise His name. 
 
 Jesus is the children's Friend, 
 Loving, faithful to the end. 
 Richest gifts from Him descend — 
 Joy and peace. 
 
 Once from Heaven to earth He came, 
 Suffered pain, contempt and blame, 
 Died upon a Cross of shame 
 Crowned with thorns. 
 
 'Twas our sinful souls to save, 
 Thus His precious life He gave; 
 Ransomed now from sin's dark grave, 
 We may sing. 
 
 Blessed Jesus, loving, kind, 
 Thee we'd early seek and find, 
 And our souls in cov'nant bind 
 Thine to be. 
 
 For our sins we deeply grieve, 
 But Thy promise we believe — 
 "Him that cometh I receive," 
 Lord we come. 
 
 REJOICING IN JESUS. 
 
 I have found a precious Saviour, 
 He has washed my sins away; 
 
 Now rejoicing in His favor, 
 1 am happy all the day. 
 
 Sweetest joy my heart is swelling- 
 Joy the world can never give — 
 
 While in simple strains I'm telling 
 How He made my spirit live. 
 
 Ill 
 
Lost in sin I wandered weary, 
 Far from Jesus, far from Home, 
 
 Till He came In love to cheer me, 
 Gently calling "Wanderer, come." 
 
 Pardon full and free He offered, 
 
 Showed His bleeding hands and side; 
 
 Told me how for me He suffered, 
 For my sin was crucified. 
 
 Then my heart with thanks o'erfiowing 
 Yielded to His gracious call — 
 
 At His feet in sorrow bowing, 
 Gave to Him my life, my all. 
 
 Now I'm His, yes His forever! 
 
 Safe within His peaceful Fold. 
 Jesus' lambs can perish never, 
 
 Love like His can ne'er grow cold. 
 
 WORKING FOR JESUS. 
 Tune — "Speaking for Jesus:' (I want to oe an Angel.) 
 
 We all must work for Jesus, 
 
 Who died our souls to save, 
 Who by His blood redeems us 
 
 From sin's eternal grave. 
 Bought with a price so precious, 
 
 A debt we ne'er can pay, 
 Shall we with buried talents, 
 
 Stand idle all the day? 
 
 No, we must work for Jesus, 
 
 With thankful, loving hearts; 
 Though hard the toil, He aids us, 
 
 And needful grace imparts. 
 His cause is ours, and gives us 
 
 A work for every one; 
 The oldest and the youngest 
 
 May help its glory on. 
 
 112 
 
We all must work for JesuS, 
 
 Oh! list His earnest call, 
 "Go forth into My vineyard 
 
 And labor one and all. 
 The field is wide, the harvest 
 
 White with the ripening grain, 
 But waits the faithful reaper, 
 
 Who shall not toil in vain." 
 
 Then let us work for Jesus, 
 
 Nor think of resting here, 
 Though ofttimes weak and weary, 
 
 Toil on, with faith and prayer. 
 Work for the poor and friendless, 
 
 The sad, the erring one, 
 And at the last with joy we'll hear 
 
 Our Saviour say, "Well done!" 
 
 "FIX WATCH FOR YOU ALL." 
 
 (The dying words of a little CJiristian boy.) 
 
 "Don't grieve for me, dear mother, 
 Let not a tear fall, 
 Dear father, sister, brother, 
 I'll watch for you all. 
 
 "To a better home I'm hasting; 
 
 There at the pearly gate, 
 Mid pleasures everlasting, 
 
 Most lovingly I'll wait, 
 Till through the open portal 
 
 You one by one shall come, 
 To share in joys immortal 
 
 In our eternal Home. 
 
 "I'm not afraid, dear mother, 
 To tread the valley dim; 
 Jesus, my elder brother, 
 Will keep me close to Him. 
 
 113 
 
I've sought His grace and favor, 
 He heard my early vow, 
 
 And I am sure my Saviour 
 Will not desert me now. 
 
 'I see the angels coming! 
 
 They're coming now for me — 
 I hear their voices humming 
 
 Sweet strains of melody. 
 Farewell! they're coming nearer — 
 
 Yes take me, take me home. 
 Dear loved ones, never dearer, 
 
 Farewell — Jesus, I come! 
 
 'Don't grieve for me, dear mother, 
 
 Let not a tear fall, 
 Dear father, sister, brother, 
 
 I'll watch for you all." 
 
 THE INVALID'S COMFORT. 
 (Dedicated to Chloe Lankton.) 
 
 How wondrous, Lord, how deep, how high 
 
 Must he Thy love to me! 
 Since whom Thou lovest best is sure 
 
 Most chast'ning here to see. 
 
 From youth to age my life has been 
 
 A painful mystery: 
 The joys that others hold so dear 
 
 Thou hast denied to me. 
 
 From morn till night, from night to morn, 
 
 Helpless, alone I lie; 
 In hopeless suff'ring count the hours, 
 
 And see the years go by. 
 
 One after one, my heart's best friends 
 
 Have vanished from my sight, 
 Until Thy presence only, Lord, 
 
 Is left to make earth bright. 
 
 114 
 
My mortal vision cannot read 
 
 This lifelong mystery; 
 But when Heaven's sunlight dawns I shall 
 
 Its hidden meaning see. 
 
 Doubtless Thou art my Father, though 
 
 To all the world unknown; 
 Thine ear attends my softest sigh, 
 
 And hears my faintest moan. 
 
 In the night watches oft I wake 
 
 While all around me sleep; 
 Then oh, how sweet to know Thine eye 
 
 A loving guard doth keep. 
 
 Thou art my Father! precious thought! 
 
 My Saviour, Helper, Friend! 
 And having loved Thine own thus far, 
 
 Wilt love me to the end. 
 
 The end! oh why so long delayed — 
 
 The end of pain and strife? 
 When will Thine angels come, dear Lord, 
 
 To bring me unto life? 
 
 These weary, waiting days of pain 
 
 Can scarce existence give; 
 But when immortal strength is mine, 
 
 I shall begin to live. 
 
 blissful hour! when loosed these bonds 
 Of long infirmity, 
 
 1 shall in Christ's own likeness walk 
 To all eternity! 
 
 115 
 
MISCELLANEOUS 
 
CHRISTMAS IN THE ARCTIC REGIONS. 
 "Kane's Arctic Explorations." Vol. 1, p. ^Ifi. 
 
 Twas Christmas morn, but no sun's ray- 
 Dawned with its gladsome light; 
 
 For while in Summer lands 'twas day, 
 Here it was dismal night — 
 
 A night whose banner long unfurled 
 
 Wrapped in its sombre folds this Arctic world. 
 
 The stars their gentle radiance gave, 
 
 The moon its pallid beams, 
 To sparkle o'er the frosted wave 
 
 With cheering silver gleams; 
 While Alps on Alps of crystal cliffs, 
 Like jeweled sentinels, their heads uplift. 
 
 The scene was fairy-like and grand — 
 
 But ah! too strangely still; 
 Too cold to lure the mystic band 
 
 From flowery vale and hill. 
 For here the Ice King holds his sway, 
 And spirits weird his tyrant will obey. 
 
 A worn, dismantled vessel lay 
 
 Upon the frozen strand — 
 The drear abode by night and day 
 
 Of a heroic band 
 Self-exiled from their homes to save 
 A long-lost wanderer from an icy grave. 
 
 No holly branch, no ivy wreath 
 
 Adorns their dreary cell, 
 No ruddy fires with kindly breath 
 
 Of homelike comforts tell; 
 No joyous "Merry Christmas" chime 
 Recalls the well-remembered olden time. 
 
 119 
 
No dainty viands grace their board, 
 
 No happy voices greet; 
 With joy to share their scanty hoard 
 
 No circling loved ones meet — 
 Mid stillness, solitude and dearth 
 They hail the day that brought good news to earth. 
 
 But oh! the power of human will 
 
 To conquer human care — 
 The mind immortal rises still 
 
 Buoyant amid despair — 
 Nor cold, nor want, nor darkness drear 
 Can make these dauntless spirits yield to fear. 
 
 In merriment and pleasant jest 
 
 They pass the festal day; 
 While tender thoughts filled every breast 
 
 Of home scenes far away; 
 Where loving hearts their absence mourn, 
 And prayers for their return are heavenward borne. 
 
 We welcome back from Polar snows 
 
 These brave, heroic men, 
 To friendship sweet, to Christian joys 
 
 And social life again. 
 Now gathered in home circles dear 
 May they enjoy the "Merry Christmas" cheer. 
 
 Give to the Hero of the North 
 
 A niche in Glory's fane; 
 Let poets celebrate the worth 
 
 Of our own noble Kane! 
 And history record his name 
 Crowned with undying wreaths of Fame. 
 
 120 
 
"LOST CHILD." 
 
 "Lost! lost! lost!" 
 
 List to the bellman's chime; 
 As it thrills on the ear with a startling sound, 
 
 Just at the evening time. 
 
 "A little fair-haired child, 
 
 And only four years old," 
 Has wandered afar in its childish glee, 
 
 Away from the parent fold. 
 
 Who can the anguish tell, 
 
 The mingled hope and fear, 
 As the mother waits in the desolate home 
 
 Her darling's voice to hear? 
 
 Sad, sad, sad, 
 
 The sound of the hellman's chime, 
 As it rings through the husy, crowded street 
 
 Just at the evening time. 
 
 But sadder, sadder still 
 
 The cry of deeper woe 
 Which comes from so many childish hearts 
 
 That no earthly comfort know. 
 
 'Tis heard in the crowded street, 
 
 Mid the city's strife and din, 
 Where little ones wander with weary feet, 
 
 Lost in the ways of sin; 
 
 Lost to the voice of love, 
 
 To virtue's lessons dear; 
 Lost to the hope of a home above, 
 
 Shadowed by want and fear. 
 
 Joy! joy! joy! 
 
 That some of the lost are found 
 And gathered in homes where love's sweet spell 
 Their hapless lives surround. 
 But oh, for the many more 
 Who stumble in darkness still, 
 
 121 
 
Whose "daily bread" is the pitiful crust 
 
 Of charity's fitful will. 
 
 Jesus, whose pitying eyes 
 
 These wandering lamhs behold, 
 Oh gather them all in their childhood's day 
 
 Into Thine own sweet fold. 
 
 TO THE KATYDID. 
 
 Where are you, little Katydid? 
 
 I hear your funny song: 
 So safe among the bushes hid, 
 
 Do you sing all night long? 
 
 I wonder if you're never tired 
 
 Of chirping nothing new. 
 If I were you, I'd try for once 
 
 To change a note or two. 
 
 They say you are a prophet-bird; 
 
 Your voice must not be lost, 
 Since your first note foretells the fact, 
 
 In six weeks we'll have frost. 
 
 But, Katy, it does seem to me 
 
 You rather loudly sing; 
 You surely make too great a noise 
 
 For such a little thing: 
 
 For don't you know big people say, 
 And we must mind their word, 
 
 That young folks should, like you and me, 
 Be seen, not often heard? 
 
 Now "Katy did," then "Katy didn't"— 
 
 'Tis very sad to see 
 That children of one family 
 
 Will sometimes disagree. 
 
 122 
 
Don't quarrel, Katy; try to sing 
 
 A little gentler song, 
 For mother tells me, Katy, dear, 
 
 To contradict is wrong. 
 
 But then I don't suppose you mean 
 
 To be unkind a bit; 
 I know you're never rude or cross, 
 
 It only sounds like it. 
 
 God made you, Katy, thus to sing, 
 He knows the reason why; 
 
 The little while He lets you live, 
 You work, then humbly die. 
 
 So ought 1 to fulfill my part, 
 
 What I am made to do; 
 Through all the life God gives me, be 
 
 An earnest worker too. 
 
 "FORT SUMTER." 
 
 Ring loud the merry bells, let pealing cannon 
 Sound o'er Columbia's land from sea to sea! 
 
 Fling out the Stars and Stripes, our glorious banner, 
 With a united shout of victory! 
 
 Sumter is ours! our flag again is waving 
 „ In triumph o'er its battered battlements, 
 The very flag which traitors, madly scorning, 
 Sought to deface with treason's shameful rents. 
 
 Through years of direful strife and bitter mourning, 
 Since Sumter's hero pined within its gate, 
 
 The nation's heart has throbbed with restless yearning, 
 Insulted honor here to vindicate. 
 
 To-day, as patriot hearts are met recalling, 
 With grateful memories, our country's sire, 
 
 The joyful news from East to West is flashing, 
 The nation's faith and courage to inspire. 
 
 123 
 
With Sumter's fall, we trust we see the dawning 
 Of brighter skies o'er our beclouded land — 
 
 When States cemented, brotherhood reclaiming, 
 In Peace and Freedom shall united stand. 
 
 Then let the shout of victory ascending 
 Shake the wide vault of heaven with its might! 
 
 While with our joy, deep notes of praise are blending 
 To Him who nerved the heart and led the fight. 
 
 Praise to our fathers' God — the Just and Righteous! 
 
 Whose arm omnipotent has been our stay 
 Through conflicts stern, amid doubt's dreary shadows, 
 
 Praise undivided be to Him alway! 
 
 February 22, 1865. 
 
 EULOGY ON A TURKEY. 
 
 Slain for the Soldiers' Thanksgiving Dinner, 
 November 24, I864. 
 
 High honor rests upon thy senseless head, 
 
 Thou poor unfeathered fowl! 
 No common cause has laid thee with the dead 
 
 And hushed thy dismal howl. 
 
 Slain for thy country! Classic page has said 
 
 'Tis pleasant thus to die. 
 Few of thy kind have e'er so nobly bled 
 
 For Truth and Liberty! 
 
 Couldst thou have understood the mighty cause 
 
 That brought thee to thy death, 
 Meekly wouldst thou have crossed thy struggling claws 
 
 And yielded up thy breath. 
 
 Thy well-fed form, fresh from the corn-stocked farm 
 
 Shall yield meat rich and tender 
 To feed the wasted strength and nerve the arm 
 
 Of some brave home-defender. 
 
 124 
 
Our Soldier boys! long have they nobly fought 
 
 That Right might be the winner. 
 And well do they deserve, with loving thought, 
 
 A good Thanksgiving dinner. 
 
 Our Nation's hope and pride, God bless them all! 
 
 In Hospital or trenches. 
 Give them that courage true, whate'er befall, 
 
 Nor pain nor danger quenches. 
 
 Yes, senseless brute, a glorious death is thine! 
 
 A nobler destiny 
 Than many a man's who claims a soul divine, 
 
 Yet dies in infamy. 
 
 Let traitor-cowards meanly "bite the dust," — 
 
 Scorning fair Glory's charter — 
 But let me nobly fall, if fall 1 must, 
 
 Like thee a blessed martyr! 
 
 TO THE WILD CARROT. 
 (Queen Anne's Lace.) 
 
 They call you only a worthless weed, 
 And grudge you a place to grow — 
 
 They plough up the meadow with cruel greed, 
 And ruthlessly lay you low. 
 
 Such beauty as yours is far too rare 
 
 For common eyes to see; 
 For search through the gardens everywhere, 
 
 Your equal can scarcely be. 
 
 Tis only the souls with cultured sight 
 
 That own your delicate grace, 
 And freely accord your royal right 
 
 To the name "Queen Anne's Lace." 
 
 So in many a lowly human flower 
 
 God's hidden graces wait 
 The touch of Love to reveal its dower 
 
 And lift to its kingly state. 
 
 125 
 
"DON'T WORRY !" 
 Written for a "Don't Worry'' Club. 
 
 A new Philosophy of late 
 Is stirring thought and wide debate; 
 With what result, we wait to see. 
 This is the wise philosophy — 
 Whatever comes from morn till night 
 Of disappointment, pain or fright, 
 "Don't Worry." 
 
 What if your best laid schemes go wrong- 
 The end you've striven for so long 
 Eludes your grasp — the hope so bright 
 Sinks into deepest, darkest night — 
 Or pain and weakness rack your frame 
 Till Life's a sigh — yet all the same 
 "Don't Worry." 
 
 Women by household cares perplexed, 
 By daily failures, daily vexed — 
 The dinner's spoiled — the cook don't care- 
 The children fret, and guests are there. 
 Unfinished tasks pile mountain high 
 Till courage fails, despair is nigh — 
 "Don't Worry." 
 
 And, brother man, when stocks go down 
 Or rise and you are not in town — 
 A moment late — the train is lost, 
 Which may for you some thousands cost; 
 Or sudden flame or flood destroy 
 The gain of years, your manhood's joy, 
 "Don't Worry." 
 
 "What can't be cured must be endured" — 
 By trial man becomes inured — 
 This Life's a battle, at the best; 
 We stand or fall, fight on or rest. 
 A cycle hence 'twill matter not 
 If gain or loss is here our lot, 
 "Don't Worry." 
 
 126 
 
Ah! 'tis an easy thing to preach — 
 But human nature's hard to teach. 
 The sting is there beneath the smile, 
 And aching hearts will groan erewhile. 
 Ah! stolid must that being be 
 "Who through a mere philosophy, 
 "Don't Worry." 
 
 Not reason, but a simple trust 
 In the All-Father, loving, just; — 
 Who for His children cares, and knows 
 Their need, so good or ill bestows, — 
 Will lift the soul to heights serene, 
 Where Faith can calmly view the scene 
 Of earthly wrecks — while in the ear 
 A voice divine is whispering clear 
 "Don't Worry." 
 
 FOR A MAY DAY CELEBRATION. 
 
 Opening Piece. 
 
 Dear friends, we gather here to-day 
 
 To crown with blossoms rarest 
 One we have chosen Queen of May — 
 
 Our gentlest and our fairest. 
 
 No grand cathedral's mystic walls 
 
 Cast shadows dim before us; 
 Our Minster is fair Nature's halls, 
 
 With Heaven's blue arches o'er us. 
 
 No glittering diadem is ours 
 
 Our youthful Queen to offer, 
 Only a chaplet of fresh flowers 
 
 Woven by hearts that love her. 
 
 Our sceptre is no jeweled staff — 
 
 Symbol of kingly power — 
 Plucked from the wood where sunbeams laugh, 
 
 'Tis gemmed with many a flower. 
 
 127 
 
Emblem of her whose gentle sway 
 Knows only love's emotion — 
 
 Then come and crown our Queen of May, 
 And yield your heart's devotion. 
 
 "THE LAST SIGH OF THE MOOR." 
 
 [At the conquest of Granada by Ferdinand and Isa- 
 bella in 1492, the Moorish prince Abdallah was banished 
 from the kingdom, and with the royal family passed 
 out of the city as the conquerors were taking possession 
 of it. Reaching a rocky eminence he paused and cast a 
 backward glance over the land of his pride and glory, 
 when his grief overcame his courage and he burst into 
 tears. The scene of this event is still pointed out to 
 the tourist by the people of the district, and the rocky 
 height from which the conquered chief took his sad 
 farewell of the princely abodes of his ancestors is com- 
 memorated by the poetical name of "El Ultimo Sospiro 
 del Moro." — Prescott's History of Ferdinand and Isabella, 
 Vol. II., p. 99.] 
 
 'Twas the hour of sunset and Day's parting ray 
 Lingered faintly but fondly o'er mountain and bay; 
 The clouds gathered darkly in Heaven's blue dome, 
 And shadows fell fast on the Saracen's home. 
 The star of Mahomet which so proudly had shone 
 In radiant glory, undimmed and alone, 
 Was setting in darkness no more to arise 
 On the land of Granada to gladden her skies. 
 
 The Christian in triumph his standard unfurled, 
 And with shouts of delight from each minaret hurled 
 The Moslem's loved crescent to glisten no more 
 In the sunlight of Spain as for ages before. 
 The silver cross gleams from Alhambra's high tower, 
 The grateful "Te Deum" is chanted with power; 
 The victors rejoice in their coveted prize, 
 And glad Alleluias ascend to the skies, 
 
 128 
 
And now from the city a sorrowful band 
 
 Of exiles go forth from their dearly loved land; 
 
 And silently seek for some desolate spot 
 
 Where unseen they may weep o'er their unhappy lot. 
 
 They pause at the top of a far rocky height 
 
 And turn with hearts bursting to take a last sight 
 
 Of Granada's fair palace, their ancestor's" throne, 
 
 Her temples and mosques, now no longer their own. 
 
 Overcome with sad thoughts the proud Chieftain is 
 
 bowed, 
 And weeping, gives vent to his sorrow aloud; 
 "O beautiful city! in glory renowned, 
 For centuries past with magnificence crowned! 
 O how art thou fallen! Thy sons all in vain 
 Have striven to save thee — our fathers' domain — 
 But the Christian has conquered — 'twas Allah's decree — 
 We bow to his will, while we sorrow for thee. 
 
 "No more through thy halls shall resound the glad song. 
 
 No more shall thy streets to our children belong; 
 
 No more the Muezzin shall call us to prayer, 
 
 But music, unsanctified, ever be there. 
 
 E'en now in the twilight we see the vile cross 
 
 Rise proudly in triumph to mock at our loss; 
 
 And borne on the breeze the faint chime of the bells 
 
 To the listening ear of our misery tells. 
 
 "0 son of Mahomet! have woes like to thine 
 E'er fallen on mortals from destiny's shrine? 
 Oh dark is the future, poor exiles we roam, 
 And the fate of the captive may yet be our doom. 
 Farewell loved Granada! no more the brave Moor 
 In the mosque of his fathers shall Allah adore. 
 But where'er he may wander thy name shall be dear 
 And sacredly cherished till Death shall appear. 
 
 "Oh fondly we hoped when life's struggle was past — 
 Its conflicts and victories won to the last — 
 That thy hallowed soil, where we first drew our breath, 
 Might cover our ashes when silent in death. 
 
 129 
 
But alas! the vain hope now in darkness expires; 
 Far, far from this spot, from the graves of our sires, 
 From the home of our childhood and all we love hest, 
 Broken-hearted and weary we'll lie down to rest." 
 
 The shadows of evening were deepening apace, 
 And silence reigned over that desolate place. 
 The stars one by one from their ocean of blue 
 In sympathy twinkled their parting adieu. 
 While faintly was heard the Chieftain's low tone, 
 The pitying wind answering back with a moan; 
 The hill-tops around caught the sound to endure 
 And echo for aye, the last Sigh of the Moor. 
 
 130 
 
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