IKM' 
 ^i|P 
 
V 
 
SONGS 
 
 THE HOUSE OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 ELLEN BANKS. 
 
 BOSTON, U. S. A. : 
 PUBLISHED BY HENRY WARK, 
 
 459 WASHINGTON STREET, 
 
COPYRIGHT, iss ? . 
 
SONGS IN THE HOUSE OF MY PILGRIMAGE, 
 
 THOUGHTS BY THE SEASHORE. 
 
 Thou art sure a teacher, 
 
 Majestic Sea ! 
 
 Deep thoughts in me raising, 
 As I stand here gazing 
 On immensity. 
 
 Though to human vision 
 
 1 am all alone, 
 There's a Presence near me 
 Who doth see and hear me, 
 
 Unseen, not unknown. 
 
 'Tis His Mighty Spirit 
 
 Speaking to my soul 
 Thrilling words of wonder 
 Through the deep, loud thunder 
 
 Of thy ceaseless roll. 
 
 Tides of strong affection 
 
 Through my being flow, 
 Which, in secret treasured, 
 None hath ever measured, 
 None will ever know. 
 
 939868 
 
SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 But the ocean fulness 
 
 Of the love divine 
 Oh ! that love infinite 
 Takes the soul within it ; 
 And that love is mine ! 
 
 What a golden prospect 
 
 Lieth on before ! 
 All that love's deep yearning 
 I shall still be learning 
 
 Through the evermore. 
 
 All this unmet longing 
 Then forever stilled. 
 
 Bright anticipations, 
 
 Highest aspirations, 
 
 Gloriously fulfilled. 
 
 How my soul imprisoned 
 Beats against the bars ! 
 
 All for the attaining 
 
 Of the rest remaining, 
 
 Home beyond the stars. 
 
 Past yon sky cerulean 
 
 How I long to soar ! 
 For I'll read the history 
 Of life's tangled mystery 
 
 When I reach that shore. 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 There's a sea of Wisdom 
 Like the sea of Love ; 
 
 But I cannot view it, 
 
 Cannot reach unto it, 
 'Tis so far above. 
 
 Yet, as through the ages 
 
 Of eternity 
 
 All its depths I ponder, 
 In the glory yonder 
 
 More and more I'll see. 
 
 All life's wondrous lessons, 
 Now so strangely dim, 
 
 Christ will be revealing, 
 
 Page by page unsealing 
 As I walk with Him. 
 
 Patiently He'll lead me, 
 
 Make me understand 
 Why earth-hopes were blighted, 
 Why I seemed benighted 
 In the desert land. 
 
 And as He unfoldeth 
 
 All His wondrous ways, 
 Praise-notes will be sounding, 
 For His grace abounding 
 
 Through my pilgrim days. 
 
SOJVGS IN THE', HOUSE 
 
 When earth, sky and ocean 
 
 All have passed from view, 
 Blank annihilation 
 Swept this Old Creation 
 And all things are new, 
 
 Then, 'mid seas of glory 
 
 Swelling round the Throne, 
 Glory ever brightening, 
 All the soul enlightening, 
 
 Knowing as I'm known. 
 Orkney, September, 1881. 
 
 WHAT THE MOON BEHOLDS. 
 
 Tell me, O thou beauteous orb of night, 
 
 What dost thou see from thy far home of light ? 
 
 This earth's to thee an ever open book 
 
 Whereon thou night by night dost calmly look. 
 
 Thou surely hast a long, long story read 
 
 Since thy first ray upon its page was shed. 
 
 Thou hast lived on through many a night and morrow 
 
 And witnessed much of mankind's sin and sorrow. 
 
 Ah, thou art silent ; but I know full well 
 What language would thee suit, if thou could'st tell 
 The long, sad tale of all that thou hast seen 
 Since man has on the earth a dweller been ! 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE '. q 
 
 If thou could'st sing, thy music, sure, would be 
 Upon a low and plaintive minor key : 
 Sad notes of lamentation thou would'st borrow ; 
 The burden of thy song be sorrow, sorrow. 
 
 From earliest ages to the present time, 
 Thy peaceful light has cheered each land and clime ; 
 'Mid piercing frost, or balmy summer air, 
 Thy silvery beams are welcomed everywhere. 
 Thou lookest on the wastes of Arctic snow, 
 And Tropic fields with richest flowers aglow ; 
 And still, in every land, each night and morrow, 
 Wherever man is found, dwells sin and sorrow. 
 
 In the deep darkness of the midnight time, 
 Thou seest some go forth to haunts of crime, 
 Their vile debaucheries to revel in, 
 And earn the deadly wages due to sin, 
 An awful treasury of wrath to heap ; 
 For as men sow, they shall most surely reap ; 
 They shall awake to find a bitter morrow ; 
 Eternity will not exhaust their sorrow. 
 
 On wild, tempestuous nights, when thou dost ride 
 Amid the drifting clouds, which often hide 
 Thy needed light from the poor sailor's view, 
 Thou hast seen many a brave and gallant crew 
 Go down and down into the dark abyss, 
 While thy faint, struggling beams came forth to kiss 
 Those anguished faces, which from them did borrow 
 A passing gleam to show their parting sorrow. 
 
6 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 And thou hast seen the sailor's widow stand 
 For long, long hours upon the cold, wet sand, 
 Straining her heavy eyes which did appear 
 As though they had exhausted their last tear. 
 With hope deferred still smouldering in her breast, 
 She gazes round her, north, south, east and west ; 
 Until her reeling brain at last doth borrow 
 A phantom of the ship that caused her sorrow. 
 
 Thou hast looked down into the silent room, 
 Where sat the toiling, gifted one for whom 
 The world might wreathe her laurels by-and-by. 
 His present meed was but to starve and die ; 
 His thoughtful brow was waning deadly pale ; 
 He knew that soon his sinking strength must fail ; 
 And they who found him dead upon the morrow 
 Would write the record of his life-long sorrow. 
 
 Thou hast beheld the lonely chamber where 
 The agonized mother knelt in prayer 
 Beside the cradle of her babe first-born, 
 Fearing he would die ere dawn of morn. 
 " God spare my only darling ! " was her cry, 
 " Or if thou take him, let me also die ! " 
 But he was gone ere rose another morrow, 
 And she was left to bear her load of sorrow. 
 
 Thou hast smiled fair at eve upon a bride, 
 Arrayed in glowing youth and beauty's pride ; 
 Hast seen that night Death's shadow o'er her thrown, 
 And listened to her wailing, piteous moan, 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 When told that she must leave her life, her love 
 And the bright future that her fancy wove ; 
 Exchange her gay robes for a shroud ere morrow, 
 And leave her lonely bridegroom with his sorrow. 
 
 But oh, perhaps, the saddest sight of all, 
 The darkest fate that mortal can befall 
 Thy light has glimmered on the flowing tide, 
 While to his grave went down the suicide ! 
 Unbidden, rushing to a dark unknown, 
 Ah, who can tell what he had undergone 
 Ere he had sought this mad release to borrow, 
 The last resource for overwhelming sorrow ? 
 
 One awful night, 'twas long, long years ago, 
 Thou did'st behold a scene of matchless woe ; 
 When Christ the spotless One, who knew no stain, 
 Was sounding the extremest depths of pain, 
 Beneath the shadow of the olive trees 
 That moaned full sadly in the passing breeze, 
 The Lamb of God, our substitute, did borrow 
 From human guilt His crushing load of sorrow. 
 
 The cup He was foretasting on that night, 
 He drank next day on Calvary's woeful height ; 
 The bitter dregs of suffering He did drain, 
 To purchase our release from endless pain. 
 
8 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 The cup of blessing He for us did fill, 
 And now He holds it out to all who will 
 But drink and live : for them shall rise a morrow, 
 When they shall bid farewell to sin and sorrow. 
 Orkney, January, 1881. 
 
 WAITING. 
 
 One Autumn night, while fair moonlight 
 Was calmly o'er us streaming ; 
 
 Low rustling leaves soft music made, 
 And stars above were gleaming. 
 
 We two did wait, with hope elate 
 
 Within our bosoms burning, 
 For one we loved was absent there, 
 
 And long he seemed returning. 
 
 We scarce had eyes for starlit skies 
 Or beauties spread around us. 
 
 One living object for the time 
 Like potent spell had bound us. 
 
 And still anon as night drew on 
 Our hearts more anxious growing ; 
 
 We started at each passing sound, 
 New expectation glowing. 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 At last, at last, when hope waned fast 
 (For midnight now was nearing), 
 
 One moment changed our fear to joy, 
 The joy of his appearing. 
 
 We did not hear him drawing near, 
 Though long we'd been attending ; 
 
 To catch his footfall on the walk 
 Our ears incessant bending. 
 
 While then and there we knelt in prayer 
 Praise in each heart was swelling 
 
 For God's preserving, guiding care, 
 And love beyond all telling. 
 
 In the same hour, with wondrous power 
 
 The lesson I was learning, 
 What 'tis to wait for Christ the Lord 
 
 With true and heartfelt yearning. 
 
 And just as then, some moment when 
 Our hearts are almost failing, 
 
 They shall expand with sudden joy 
 His longed-for presence hailing. 
 
 Lord, even so, give us to know 
 
 The eager aspiration, 
 The girded loins, the burning lamps, 
 
 The high anticipation. 
 
10 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 All else but loss and worthless dross 
 
 Forever to be deeming, 
 And Him, the precious Christ of God 
 
 Our only joy esteeming. 
 
 So, when at last the trumpet's blast 
 Shall burst upon our hearing, 
 
 We shall, with unmixed joy, arise 
 
 To hail His bright appearing. 
 Somerville, August, 1884. 
 
 USES OF AFFLICTION. 
 
 It breaks the earthen pitchers filled at the muddy 
 
 stream, 
 That we might seek the fountain where living waters 
 
 gleam. 
 
 It lifts the veil from things sublime ; 
 And, in the light of yon fair clime, 
 Perishing things of earth and time 
 All vain and worthless seem. 
 
 Apples of Sodom alluring our foolish, wandering 
 
 sight, 
 It robs them of their specious bloom that flaunted 
 
 in the light. 
 
 Lust of the flesh and lust of the eye 
 Temptingly round our pathway lie ; 
 All unseeing we pass them by 
 In sorrow's darksome night. 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. II 
 
 Butterfly pleasures in summer we chase through 
 
 sunny glade ; 
 The fluttering things evanish when falls the winter 
 
 shade. 
 
 Gossamer threads whereon we hung, 
 Sanguine hopes away are flung ; 
 Illusive dreams to which we clung 
 Before our vision fade. 
 
 Soft, silken chains of human love that held in bond- 
 age sweet, 
 
 It looseth, and the soul goes free to reach the Mas- 
 ter's feet. 
 
 Ah, better to lie bleeding there 
 Than earthly pomp and triumph share. 
 His healing touch, His tender care, 
 Our fondest wishes meet. 
 
 And when we reach our fatherland, beyond the 
 
 ocean foam, 
 We'll thank Him for restraining grace, that would 
 
 not let us roam ; 
 
 We'll praise Him for the chastening rod 
 As well as for the cleansing blood ; 
 For raging storm and roaring flood 
 That bore us to our home. 
 
12 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 THE BRIDEGROOM COMETH. 
 
 All alone while I sat thinking, draughts of grief my 
 
 soul was drinking ; 
 Melancholy thoughts stole o'er me, like the visions 
 
 of a dream ; 
 Sombre pictures passed before me, casting dismal 
 
 shadows o'er me ; 
 And the more I meditated, sadder, darker did they 
 
 seem. 
 Woful was my waking dream. 
 
 Yes, I saw the church in ruin, wreck of souls her 
 
 path bestrewing, 
 None to lift a warning voice and none to lend a 
 
 helping hand ; 
 Careless saints all steeped in slumber; faithful ones, 
 
 how few their number ! 
 While the signs of coming judgment gathered fast 
 
 throughout the land. 
 Few there were who, brave and fearless, dared for 
 
 God and truth to stand, 
 But a small and feeble band. 
 
 And those few, I saw them weeping, as, their long, 
 dark vigil keeping, 
 
 Strained they sore their heavy eyes to see the 
 Morning-Star appear ; 
 
 But the time was slowly dragging, and His chariot- 
 wheels seemed lagging ; 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 13 
 
 And methought, " They'll sleep for sorrow if they 
 
 stay much longer here." 
 But, hark ! what is that strange, glad sound that 
 
 bursteth on my ear, 
 Thrilling sound, so loud and clear ? 
 
 Joy ! it is the archangel's voice. Arise ye saints ! 
 
 Rejoice ! rejoice ! 
 
 Oh, the bliss ! in one bright moment, in the twink- 
 ling of an eye, 
 We, into the air ascending, view that countenance 
 
 transcending 
 Yon bright sun in all his splendor, shining in the 
 
 noonday sky. 
 Farewell Grief ! we'll weep no more ; and farewell 
 
 Death ! we'll never die. 
 We are with Him in the sky. 
 
 Pass we through the pearly portals. Sing, oh sing, 
 
 ye blest immortals ! 
 Take these golden harps He gives us, tune them to 
 
 sublimest tone. 
 Follow Him o'er gold streets gleaming, on to where 
 
 yon light is streaming ; 
 There, amid the central glory, hail the God-man on 
 
 His throne ! 
 He who on the hill of Calvary for our sins did once 
 
 atone, 
 He is worthy, He alone ! 
 
14 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 See the many crowns all shining, grace and majesty 
 
 combining, 
 On that brow so marred with sorrow when He trod 
 
 this desert wide, 
 Brow that at His crucifixion bore the thorny-crown 
 
 infliction, 
 Would not shrink from rude hands smiting, not from 
 
 shame and spitting hide. 
 All the shame, the pain, and sorrow He did bear to 
 
 win His bride. 
 Now He sees her at His side. 
 
 'Tis indeed a noble mansion, with its halls of wide 
 
 expansion, 
 Into which our worthy Bridegroom now has brought 
 
 us by His grace ; 
 But these walls of jasper glowing, those pellucid 
 
 fountains flowing, 
 Emerald, amethyst, sardonyx, gem-foundations of 
 
 the place ; 
 All these would avail us nothing, if we did not see 
 
 His face, 
 And His matchless glory trace. 
 
 Everlastingly to wander through those boundless 
 scenes of grandeur 
 
 Wanting Him would but be exile for the blood- 
 bought, loving soul. 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 15 
 
 Still to feast in heavenly bowers, 'mong the amaran- 
 thine flowers, 
 
 Would be joyless in the absence of the One our 
 hearts extol. 
 
 Me He loved ! for me He died ! Turn we as nee- 
 dle to the pole : 
 Only Christ attracts the soul. 
 
 LINES SUGGESTED BY A BEAUTIFUL 
 SEAWEED. 
 
 Tell me, thou ocean plant, 
 
 Who fashioned thee so fair, 
 In garden of the deep 
 O'er which the proud waves sweep ? 
 Who formed each tiny leaf with such minute, inge- 
 nious care ? 
 
 Down in that dark abyss, 
 
 Who was it sowed the seed, 
 And caused thee there to spring, 
 A fair but fragile thing ? 
 I'd like to learn thy history, thou exquisite seaweed ! 
 
 Tell me what power it was 
 
 That from thy root thee tore, 
 And, 'mid wild ocean's rage, 
 Sent thee on pilgrimage ; 
 
 Then laid thee to repose at last upon this peaceful 
 shore. 
 
1 6 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 Here, lying on the sand, 
 
 Thy beauty is revealed ; 
 Each tender, changeful hue 
 The sunlight brings to view, 
 
 Which, painted in thy ocean bed, had there lain all 
 concealed. 
 
 I'm glad the friendly waves 
 Did at my feet thee fling. 
 No longer thou shalt roam 
 Amid the surging foam. 
 
 I'll take thee home and keep thee safe, thou precious 
 little thing. 
 
 For, sure, I know it now, 
 
 I know who fashioned thee 
 After His own good plan, 
 Far from the eye of man, 
 And sent thee to this very spot, a messenger to me ! 
 
 'Twas'the same sovereign Lord 
 
 Of nature and of grace 
 Who sowed a seed divine 
 In this dark soul of mine, 
 
 And watched its slow and tender growth in such un- 
 likely place. 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. \ J 
 
 He tore me from the abyss 
 
 Of worldliness and sin, 
 And launched me the tide 
 Of a new life to ride 
 Until, past every stormy wave, I shall the haven win. 
 
 And when I'm landed safe 
 
 Upon the heavenly strand, 
 In the pure, cloudless light, 
 All that is fair and bright 
 
 In me shall there be found at last, the work of His 
 own hand. 
 
 Then all of self and sin 
 
 Consumed by fire divine, 
 By His own verdict meet, 
 Passed at the judgment-seat, 
 
 Presented faultless in the light, I'll to his glory 
 shine. 
 
 Now, O my Father God, 
 
 I render thanks to Thee 
 That, knowing all my need, 
 Thou by this humble weed 
 Hast breathed into my listening ear a message from 
 
 the sea ! 
 Orkney, June, 1881. 
 
1 8 SOJVGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 HOME LONGINGS. 
 
 This stranger land 
 Is fair and grand, 
 And lovely things there be 
 That pilgrim ears may listen to 
 And pilgrim eyes may see. 
 
 Yet, we march along 
 With yearning strong 
 For the home so far away, 
 For sweeter sounds and grander sights, 
 And joys that ne'er decay. 
 
 There are sweet flowers 
 In earthly bowers ; 
 But thistles are also found. 
 The rose and thorn are closely twined, 
 For cursed is the ground. 
 
 So we pant and sigh 
 
 For the land on high, 
 Where the tree of life is seen ; 
 Where amaranthine flowers bloom. 
 And never curse has been. 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 We look to the hills 
 And the lone heart fills 
 With yearning fond and deep 
 To stand upon the Holy Mount, 
 Where Christ His flock doth keep. 
 
 The sea rolls on 
 
 With a ceaseless moan ; 
 As it foams in surging might 
 We long for yon calm crystal sea, 
 Reflecting His own light. 
 
 When many a star 
 
 Shines out afar, 
 And the calm moon doth glide 
 'Mong clouds, they seem to beckon us 
 To reach their brighter side. 
 
 Dear friends we meet, 
 And passing sweet 
 Are the hours with them we spend ; 
 When soul meets soul in rapt embrace 
 And thoughts and feelings blend. 
 
 But ah, how swift 
 These moments drift ! 
 They pass like morning dew. 
 With parting clasp and sad farewell, 
 Our loved one goes from view. 
 
20 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 Then the soul upsprings 
 
 On aspiring wings 
 To the meeting on before, 
 The long communion of the saints 
 On the bright, golden shore. 
 
 We see the Lord 
 
 In His holy word 
 As in a mirror fair ; 
 And graciously He draweth nigh 
 Whene'er we kneel in prayer. 
 
 But who can tell 
 
 How the heart doth swell 
 
 With ardent, strong desire, 
 To see His beauty face to face, 
 
 And join the white-robed choir ? 
 
 Orkney, December 25, 1882. 
 
 HE KNOWETH THE WAY THAT I TAKE. 
 
 Job xxiii. 10. 
 
 Yes, sure I am, Thou knowest all, my God, 
 
 The long, dull, aching pain, 
 
 Sore pressing heart and brain, 
 The footsteps trammelled by an unseen load. 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 21 
 
 The emptiness, the failure of my life 
 
 In many a hope and aim ; 
 
 The self-reproach and blame 
 That fill my lonely hours with mental strife ; 
 
 The haunting shadows of what might have been, 
 Yet is not, will not be, 
 Dark thoughts I fain would flee, 
 
 And sore temptations, Lord, Thine eye hath seen. 
 
 And so I cast me at Thy feet to-night, 
 
 And, looking in Thy face, 
 
 Would crave new store of grace 
 And strength and wisdom and Thy guiding light, 
 
 To show me, Lord, what Thou wouldst have me do ; 
 
 Whether to sit and wait 
 
 In still, submissive state, 
 Or rise and shake myself, and strive anew 
 
 To make my life worth living, to obtain 
 
 Some useful sphere wherein 
 
 I may at last begin 
 From earnest labor some results to gain. 
 
 And while my heart's requests to Thee I raise, 
 
 And all my sins confess, 
 
 I still would praise and bless 
 Thy name for mercies that have crowned my days. 
 
22 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 For food, for shelter, for kind earthly friends ; 
 For the sure hope of heaven 
 Which Thou in love hast given, 
 
 And many a ray which oftentimes descends 
 
 Upon my wintry way, like sunlight gleam 
 That breaks through cloudy skies 
 Till every trouble flies, 
 
 And for a space myself I happier deem 
 
 Than all my fellow-mortals ; yea I taste 
 A rapture sweetly grand, 
 Which makes my soul expand 
 
 With ardent longing to arise in haste, 
 
 As Mary did of old, when word was brought 
 That Christ was drawing near. 
 I pant His voice to hear, 
 
 And see the glory which His blood hath bought. 
 
 And though my broken, worthless life hath been 
 
 A mystery unsolved, 
 
 It sometimes hath evolved 
 A fitful light whereby more clearly seen 
 
 Hath been a fellow-pilgrim's troubled way. 
 I thank Thee, Lord, for this 
 Deep, heartfelt, thrilling bliss ! 
 
 And fain I'd hope that on the eventful day 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 23 
 
 When Thou shall sit upon Thy judgment seat 
 
 And all Thy saints be crowned, 
 
 Even then there may be found 
 Some little service which Thy smile shall meet. 
 
 Somerville, March 10, 1884. 
 
 MARY'S CHOICE. 
 
 Luke x. 38-42. 
 
 'Twas a festive day 
 
 In Bethany, 
 
 A wondrous guest was there ; 
 And Martha strove to show her love 
 By hospitable care. 
 
 But a lowly seat 
 
 At the stranger's feet 
 
 Was Mary's chosen place ; 
 There leaving all, she hung upon 
 
 His words of truth and grace. 
 
 She could well afford, 
 At the feet of her Lord, 
 To be misunderstood 
 By one who had not learned to know 
 Her soul's supremest good. 
 
24 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 11 1 serve alone," 
 With grating tone 
 These words broke on the scene ; 
 Yet could not ruffle Mary's peace, 
 For Jesus stepped between. 
 
 What pains He took, 
 With mild rebuke, 
 
 And searching words, yet true, 
 To speak to Martha's inmost need, 
 
 For well that need he knew. 
 
 " O troubled heart, 
 
 Thou careful art 
 
 About these many things ; 
 
 But Mary's choice, the better part, 
 
 Eternal gladness brings." 
 
 My soul, give heed, 
 
 Thy lesson read. 
 How often, occupied 
 With self and service, I forget 
 That best He's gratified 
 
 By sitting still, 
 With bended will 
 And earnest listening ear, 
 To learn the wishes of His heart 
 From His own word most clear. 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 25 
 
 Then, only then, 
 
 With tongue or pen 
 I can His message bear ; 
 Can tell poor sinners of His love, 
 Saints of His beauties rare. 
 
 John xi. 1-45. 
 
 There came a day 
 In Bethany 
 
 When sorrow's wing was spread 
 Above the happy household there, 
 For Lazarus was dead. 
 
 Then Jesus came, 
 
 And still the same, 
 Was Mary's refuge now ; 
 She hastened to His sacred feet, 
 There in her grief to bow. 
 
 And not in vain ; 
 
 For all her pain 
 She found a solace meet. 
 The Man of Sorrows wept with her 
 In sympathy most sweet. 
 
 Yea, not alone 
 In tear and groan 
 His sympathy did flow ; 
 
26 SONGS IN THE HOUSE ' 
 
 From out his loathsome tomb He bade 
 Her loved one forth to go. 
 
 So may I flee, 
 My Lord, to Thee 
 In sorrow's darksome hour, 
 To feel Thy tenderness, and learn 
 Thy resurrection-power. 
 
 John xii. 1-8. 
 
 Again a day, 
 
 In Bethany, 
 
 When gladness did betide. 
 Christ and the resurrection-man 
 Were seated side by side. 
 
 And Martha still 
 
 Her place did fill, 
 To serve was still her care ; 
 For Christ she loved to spread her board 
 With all Tier choicest fare. 
 
 And she was near, 
 And very dear 
 Unto His loving heart ; 
 Yet He required a service now 
 Wherein she had no part. 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 27 
 
 Upon His feet 
 The ointment sweet 
 Was poured by Mary's hand ; 
 The secret of that precious act 
 None else could understand. 
 
 In fleshly haste, 
 
 They blamed her waste ; 
 But, ah ! she heeded not. 
 Her eye was on the Lord alone, 
 All others were forgot. 
 
 And oh, what thrill 
 
 Of joy would fill 
 Her tender heart and true, 
 When He approved her sacred act, 
 And told its meaning, too ! 
 
 Now, Lord, I pray, 
 
 That from this day, 
 Her choice may still be mine, 
 To linger at Thy blessed feet, 
 And pour the royal wine 
 
 Of worship true ; 
 
 And though but few 
 May understand my ways, 
 Thrice blessed shall my portion be 
 In living to Thy praise. 
 
28 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 At judgment-seat, 
 When Thee I meet, 
 
 O Blessed Lord, I would 
 That then of me it may be said 
 
 " She hath done what she could ! " 
 
 WORDS OF CHEER. 
 
 Saint of God, say, art thou weary ? 
 Grows thy path each day more dreary ? 
 Stretches out this howling desert, 
 Rugged, cheerless, dry, and bare ? 
 Canst thou find no green oasis, 
 Where the noble palm-tree raises 
 Shady leaves and fruitful branches, 
 Food and shelter to prepare, 
 And the bubbling waters woo thee, 
 To lay down thy load of care, 
 Quench thy thirst, and rest thee there ? 
 
 Ah ! I hear thee sadly wailing, 
 For thy toil-worn limbs are failing, 
 And thy blistered feet are leaving 
 Blood-marks in the burning sand. 
 Fiery sun-blaze on thee glaring, 
 Hour by hour thy strength is wearing, 
 Yet thy tear-dimmed eye is lifted 
 Upward to the far-off land 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE, 29 
 
 Where, upon the sea of crystal, 
 Thou shalt one day surely stand, 
 Singing with the heavenly band. 
 
 Yes, thou child of tribulation, 
 
 Know the God of thy salvation, 
 
 Though His ways seem oft mysterious, 
 
 Deals with thee in perfect love ; 
 
 All thy pain His heart is feeling, 
 
 He will send thee strength and healing. 
 
 When their purpose is accomplished, 
 
 He thy burdens will remove. 
 
 Eyes divine, steadfast, and tender 
 
 Like the eyes of gentle dove, 
 
 Watch thy footsteps from above. 
 
 Hast thou seen the eagle rising, 
 
 And this misty earth despising, 
 
 Roam through boundless fields of light, 
 
 Soaring on triumphant wing ? 
 
 Thou, too, from the earth upspringirig, 
 
 Shall thy eagle-flight be winging 
 
 From the mists of care and sorrow 
 
 To the presence of the King, 
 
 Where celestial choirs rejoicing 
 
 Make the jasper city ring 
 
 With the songs of praise they sing. 
 
 There no more the sun-blaze beating 
 Shall thy fevered brow be heating. 
 
30 SOATGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 In the grand, eternal city 
 
 Sun and moon they need no more ; 
 
 For the light that emanateth 
 
 From the Lamb each soul elateth, 
 
 Light that sheds soft, hallowed radiance 
 
 On bright walls and golden floor; 
 
 Faces of the saved reflecting 
 
 That same light forevermore, 
 
 Shed from Him their hearts adore v 
 
 With what lowly adoration, 
 Blent'with holy exultation, 
 Thou shalt thank Him for the patience 
 That did guide thee all the way ; 
 Bore thy sullen, dark repining 
 While thy dross He was refining ; 
 Crowned thee with loving kindness, 
 Even when he seemed to slay ; 
 Though thy evil heart mistrusted, 
 Still remained thy strength and stay ; 
 Helped and blessed thee every day. 
 
 On and on through endless ages, 
 While His love thy heart engages, 
 Thou with grateful admiration 
 Shall thy desert steps retrace. 
 Every fiery trial sent thee, 
 And each kind deliverance lent thee, 
 To thy rapt view still disclosing 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 31 
 
 More and more His mighty grace, 
 Thou shalt cast thy crown before Him 
 And his pierced feet embrace, 
 There within the heavenly place. 
 
 JOHN IN PATMOS. 
 
 The manly form is bending fast, 
 
 The step is feebler now, 
 And time has set a silvery crown 
 
 Upon his furrowed brow ; 
 
 For he has witnessed many a scene, 
 Some joyful and some sad, 
 
 Since from his fishing-net was called 
 The Gallilean lad 
 
 To follow Him, the Stranger Man, 
 Whose presence on that day 
 
 Came o'er him like a mighty spell, 
 And drew him all the way. 
 
 He followed Him amid the crowd, 
 
 And to the desert lone, 
 And stood upon the Tabor Mount 
 
 While His bright glory shone. 
 
32 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 He sailed with Him upon the lake, 
 And saw Him still the wave, 
 
 And went to hallowed Bethany 
 To weep at Lazarus' grave. 
 
 He saw Him cast the devils out ; 
 
 The fever-stricken one 
 Rise at His bidding from her couch, 
 
 With all her sickne*ss gone. 
 
 He saw Him sit, that sultry day, 
 
 Upon the ancient well, 
 In hunger and in weariness, 
 
 Where He did sweetly tell 
 
 About the living water free 
 To one whose need was sore, 
 
 Inviting every thirsty soul 
 To drink and thirst no more. 
 
 That great Passover night he leaned 
 
 Upon His bosom, too, 
 And passed^with Him o'er Kedron's brook, 
 
 His agony to view. 
 
 He saw Him, with His bleeding brow, 
 
 Grow faint beneath the load, 
 While carrying His heavy cross 
 
 Along the dismal road 
 
OF MY PIL GRIMA GE. 33 
 
 That led up to Golgotha's Hill, 
 
 Where he was doomed to die. 
 He saw Him there, in all His pain, 
 
 And heard His anguished cry. 
 
 He watched the look of tenderness 
 
 Flit o'er the dying face, 
 While speaking to the widowed one, 
 
 Who wept at that dread place. 
 
 He saw Him yield His spirit up, 
 
 Amid the awful gloom, 
 And ran a race with Peter 
 
 To behold His empty tomb. 
 
 He stood upon Mount Olivet, 
 
 And saw Him pass away 
 Into the golden cloud that caught 
 
 Him from their sight that day. 
 
 At Pentecost, He did behold 
 
 The cloven tongues of flame, 
 And felt the power within his soul, 
 
 And spoke in the Great Name 
 
 By whose subduing might at once 
 Three thousand souls were born ; 
 
 And he has wandered long and far 
 Since that eventful morn. 
 
SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 And suffered for that blessed Name 
 
 Privations great and sore, 
 Now, banished to this lonely isle, 
 
 It seems that all is o'er. 
 
 That nothing now remains for him 
 
 But just to watch and wait, 
 Until his Lord shall come, or death 
 
 Shall open wide the gate, 
 
 And let him pass into the light, 
 
 To see again in peace 
 The One whom he had loved so long. 
 
 Then shall his trials cease. 
 
 He knoweth not what wondrous sights 
 
 His eyes shall yet behold, 
 Before his pilgrim feet shall stand 
 
 Upon the streets of gold. 
 
 That his shall be the task to tell 
 
 About yon city grand, 
 The palace of the universe, 
 
 Wherein the saved shall stand. 
 
 The towering pearly gates that gleam, 
 
 All beautiful to view, 
 Whose very whiteness seems to say, 
 
 " No foul thing shall pass through." 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 35 
 
 The glory of the jasper walls, 
 
 The rainbow round the throne, 
 The new, endearing name engraved 
 
 Upon the pure white stone. 
 
 And of the healing leaves that grow 
 
 Upon the fadeless tree ; 
 The glory-flame that burneth still 
 
 Amid the crystal sea 
 
 Whereon the crowned harpers stand, 
 
 And lead the mighty song, 
 Re-echoed by the millions there, 
 
 Like thunders deep and long. 
 
 The leading of the happy flock 
 
 To living fountains clear ; 
 The gracious tenderness that bends 
 
 To wipe their every tear. 
 
 The casting of the diadems 
 
 From many a saintly head, 
 In honor of the Worthy One, 
 
 Who liveth and was dead. 
 
 The opening of the seven seals, 
 
 The woes that then shall fall 
 On this doomed earth and all therein 
 
 Who turn from mercy's call. 
 
36 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 Their wild, vain cries for rocks and hills 
 To hide them, from the Face 
 
 Before whom earth and heaven shall flee 
 From their accustomed place. 
 
 The opening of the book that bears 
 
 The record of their doom, 
 Their wailings as they pass into 
 
 The everlasting gloom. 
 
 The lurid flame that shall ascend, 
 
 From the infernal lake 
 Where they, with Satan and his crew, 
 
 Their endless bed shall make. 
 
 These wondrous things to see and write 
 His God to him hath given ; 
 
 The exile-land is surely found 
 The very gate of heaven. 
 
 " His banner over me was love." Songs 24. 
 
 "In the name of our God we will set up our banners." - 
 Psalm xx. 5. 
 
 I hear a deep-toned voice 
 
 That speaks within my soul, 
 Grander than ocean's roar 
 
 Resounding on the shore, 
 
 Or lofty organ melodies that through cathedrals 
 roll. 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 37 
 
 Sweeter than aeolian harp, 
 
 When touched by passing breeze, 
 Or voice of parting friend, 
 
 When love and sorrow blend ; 
 
 Or autumn's lingering farewell, breathed through 
 the rustling trees. 
 
 It is the Bridegroom's voice ! 
 
 None other could it be ! 
 I hasten at His call 
 
 Into the banquet hall ; 
 
 For there, beneath his banner, He'll come and talk 
 with me. 
 
 Speak, Lord, thy servant hears ! 
 Speak of the quenchless love, 
 That bore Jehovah's frown, 
 
 That waters could not drown, 
 
 And my long years of cold neglect and sin could 
 not remove. 
 
 Upon my waiting brow, 
 
 He seals His holy kiss ; 
 His arm doth me embrace. 
 
 Oh, wondrous, wondrous grace, 
 That such unworthy one as I should meet such love 
 as this ! 
 
 I'd close my eyes and ears 
 To all earth's glare and noise, 
 
38 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 Its pleasures and its sin ; 
 
 Here, with my Lord shut in, 
 I'd sit forever now, and feast on heavenly joys. 
 
 But nay, He says, " Go forth ; 
 
 Equip thee for the fight ; 
 Come, take thou up thy cross, 
 
 Prepare to suffer loss ; 
 
 But still the banner of My love shall be thy ensign 
 bright." 
 
 Yea, Lord, I follow on, 
 
 Wherever thou dost lead. 
 Though I am weak and frail, 
 
 The banner shall prevail. 
 
 I know that I shall surely find new grace for all my 
 need. 
 
 " He led them forth by the right way." Psalm cvii. 7. 
 
 When we soar beyond the shadows, 
 
 Leave those passing scenes behind, 
 Stand upon the holy mountain, 
 Drink beside the crystal fountain, 
 Praising with unfettered mind. 
 
 With our eyes washed from the earth-scum, 
 And the tears that now bedim, 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 39 
 
 In that cloudless light, beholding 
 God's past dealings all unfolding 
 Oh, what thanks we'll give to Him ! 
 
 Things as cold, as bare, unsightly 
 
 As the jaw-bone Samson found, 
 Will be seen replete with blessing, 
 We had otherwise been missing, 
 
 Stony Bethel's hallowed ground. 
 
 Lonely hours of midnight wrestling, 
 
 Ere the stubborn will at length, 
 'Neath the mighty pressure shrinking, 
 Made us halt, yet left us thinking, 
 
 "This is better than our strength." 
 
 Mornings when the weary spirit 
 
 Turned away with shudder cold 
 From the long-protracted trial, 
 Conflict, toil, and self-denial, 
 
 Which the day must needs unfold. 
 
 Disappointment, separation, 
 
 Heart-wounds festering deep and sore ; 
 Life's wild .tumult, strife, and clangour, 
 And the still more dreaded languor 
 
 When the battle -shock is o'er. 
 
 All these even now are gilded 
 With His presence day by day, 
 
4O SOATGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 But for which, the spirit heaving, 
 Would, the mortal barrier cleaving, 
 To her loved home force her way. 
 
 But, that presence full, unclouded, 
 Will display them bright and fair ; 
 
 Discipline the soul was needing ; 
 
 Just the right way He was leading 
 To the joy and glory there. 
 
 Orkney, Dec. 9, 1882. 
 
 DEATH DEFEATED. 
 
 Who is He, the far-famed Stranger 
 Who approacheth o'er the plain, 
 With his followers attending, 
 While yon sad procession's wending 
 Slowly o'er the streets of Nain ? 
 
 Is it-some victorious general 
 
 From the bloody field of Mars, 
 Shouting crowds behind him trooping, 
 Retinue of captives drooping 
 Yoked to his triumphal cars ? 
 
 'Tis the Lord of Life who cometh, 
 
 His no pomp, no proud array ; 
 He will meet, at yonder portal, 
 Stronger foe than ever mortal 
 Slew in midst of battle-fray. 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 41 
 
 Earthly warriors proudly boasting 
 May recount their thousands slain ; 
 
 But, from death's grim clutch they never 
 
 Could a single life deliver, 
 Though it were a world to gain. 
 
 Yet the mighty tyrant meeteth 
 
 Here a mightier than he ; 
 See, with kindest look He turneth 
 To the stricken one who mourneth 
 
 Bids her wait His power to see ! 
 
 Ah, that suffering mother, mark her 
 
 Sunken eyes and pallid cheek, 
 Telling tale of mortal anguish, 
 When she saw her loved one languish, 
 
 Plainer far than words could speak ! 
 
 Thou alone her grief can measure, 
 Who has seen thy heart's desire 
 
 Struggling hard in Jordan's billow, 
 
 Wet with burning tears the pillow 
 Where thy darling did expire. 
 
 Life-blood from thy own heart flowing 
 
 Had been given drop by drop, 
 If the unreserved surrender 
 Made by heart so sad and tender 
 
 Could the fell destroyer stop. 
 
42 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 Such had been the blasting sorrow 
 
 Which had bowed that widowed head. 
 One wish only in her striving, 
 Hope all other hopes surviving, 
 Soon to be among the dead. 
 
 " Far away, beyond the shadow 
 
 She qnce more should meet her child," 
 Such the thought her sad heart rilling, 
 When the Master's deep voice thrilling 
 Met her ear in-accents mild. 
 
 "Young man, I say to thee arise ! " 
 Never such a high command 
 
 By the lips of man was spoken ; 
 
 But the deadly spell was broken ; 
 Death unclasped his icy hand. 
 
 Oh, the joy who can describe it 
 Of the mother in that hour ? 
 
 Language fails, the task declining ; 
 
 So my feeble pen resigning, 
 Must confess the lack of power. 
 
 Still, the Blessed One looks forward 
 To a bliss beyond compare, 
 
 To the joyful celebration 
 
 Of a general restoration, 
 Great, glad meeting in the air. 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 43 
 
 Down the Vista of the Ages 
 
 Looketh He with strong desire. 
 Sees the victory completed, 
 Death eternally defeated, 
 
 Cast into the lake of fire. 
 
 "One like unto the Son qf Man." Rev. i. 13. 
 
 Oh, can it be the very same, 
 
 The weary, suffering man, 
 With whom , beneath the olive-trees, 
 While moaned the chilly midnight breeze, 
 
 I watched by moonlight wan ? 
 
 Pale, worn, and sad was then the face 
 
 Lit up with glory now. 
 Those flaming eyes shed tears, a flood, 
 Which mingled with the drops of blood 
 
 Fast falling from His brow. 
 
 That voice, like many waters now 
 Was hoarse that night and low. 
 I heard its meek, imploring tone, 
 Half choked with agonizing moan, 
 While wrestling with his woe. 
 
44 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 He leadeth now, in majesty, 
 
 The whole celestial band ; 
 Yet was He led by ruthless men, 
 Like malefactor from his den, 
 
 At Pilate's bar to stand. 
 
 His garments now are spotless white ; 
 
 But on that bitter morn 
 He was by Herod's mocking crew 
 Arrayed in robes of purple hue 
 
 With diadem of thorn. 
 
 Ah, sure, it was a symbol meet 
 (Though man could do no worse) 
 
 That ere He went to Calvary's tree, 
 
 Our sacrifice for sin to be, 
 
 They crowned Him with the curse. 
 
 And never, sure, can I forget 
 
 My anguish deep and sore, 
 When I beheld the visage marred, 
 The holy brow so deeply scarred, 
 
 As to the cross they bore 
 
 This loving One, upon whose breast 
 
 I'd leaned in friendship sweet; 
 And drove the iron through those hands 
 Which oft had loosed the suff'rer's bands, 
 And through the tender feet 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 That journeyed many a weary mile 
 
 On works of mercy bent ; 
 And when arose that wondrous prayer ' 
 For cruel ones who nailed Him there, 
 
 The very rocks were rent. 
 
 The living water, pure and sweet, 
 
 He'd offered free to all ; 
 But when His dying thirst did crave 
 A cooling draught, they only gave 
 
 A bitter cup of gall. 
 
 He filleth now the glory-land 
 
 With His effulgent light ; 
 But round His cross, that day of doom 
 Hung awful canopy of gloom 
 
 Like to the blackest night. 
 
 Oh, joy to think 'tis over now, 
 
 The suffering and the shame ! 
 He of the travail of His soul 
 Shall see, while endless ages roll, 
 All glory to His Name ! 
 
46 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 THOUGHTS ON A WINTER MORNING. 
 
 How cheerless, cold and dull 
 Seems the gray dawning of the winter morn, 
 When these far-distant stars, that shone so clear 
 All through the long, still watches of the night, 
 Are waxing pale and dim. 
 
 My spirit heaves a sad, regretful sigh, 
 When I behold their calm, soft radiance eclipsed 
 By the stern light of day, that calls me forth 
 To face the hard realities of Life. 
 
 Upon the threshold of the opening day 
 I trembling stand, and shrink to enter in ; 
 To gird anew my armor for the strife ; 
 Meet Satan's fiery darts and subtile wiles, 
 And still more dreaded evils of my heart. 
 And all this weary warfare to maintain, 
 And bear the secret burdens of my soul, 
 Uncheered by human aid. 
 
 Oft through the night 
 I keep a happy vigil with the stars ; 
 In their high dwelling-place, they seem to me, 
 Ambassadors sent to the border-land 
 Which lies between the royal city fair 
 And this dark province of the King's domain, 
 To speak for Him, the great infinite One, 
 Who made them all, Who calls them by their names, 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 47 
 
 And guides them through immensity of space, 
 As shepherd guides his flock. 
 
 And, oh, to think, " He is my shepherd too." 
 The One who guides the stars is leading me, 
 All through life's winding maze, to yon high goal, 
 Yea, I shall one day soar beyond them all, 
 And see them roll far, far beneath my feet. 
 
 Thus, through the silent night, when none is 
 
 near, 
 
 My thoughts are sweetly drawn from time and sense, 
 To meditate on God and holy things ; 
 Until, by faith, I pass within the veil, 
 And bow before the throne. 
 
 But, when the daylight dawns and work begins, 
 My soul descends to earth on fluttering wings ; 
 For I must tread once more the beaten path, 
 Mix with the crowd, and hear those Babel sounds, 
 Wherein God has no part. 
 
 So while I watch the stars, 
 And see them disappear from mortal view, 
 I earnest long with them to pass away 
 Into the brighter light. O Home, Sweet Home, 
 I stretch my weary arms and cry for thee ! 
 If but my Lord would speak to me the word 
 Which David spake to Ittai of old 
 On Kedron's shore that memorable day. 
 
 ii. Sam. xv. 22. 
 
48 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 With His permission, I would gladly plunge 
 
 Into the Jordan's cold and gloomy tide, 
 
 For it would bear me to the loving arms 
 
 That were outstretched for me on Calvary's Cross. 
 
 Oft, when I pass yon churchyard by the sea, 
 
 I wish that I might share the deep repose 
 
 Of God's beloved saints who slumber there. 
 
 What though the great sea billows loudly roar, 
 
 Close to the precincts of their lowly bed, 
 
 Like a great band of trained mourners sent 
 
 To sing for them a ceaseless funeral wail ; 
 
 And clouds of sea-gulls rise on snowy wings 
 
 Holding their loud, shrill concerts o'er their heads ; 
 
 These cannot them disturb. No lesser sound 
 
 Than the Archangel's trump shall ever break 
 
 Their quiet, dreamless rest ; and oh ! methinks 
 
 'Twould be so very sweet to lay me down 
 
 And sleep with them, till Jesus bid me rise. 
 
 Come, my ungrateful soul, I thee recall ! 
 These morbid longings for an early grave 
 Befit thee not, for thou art not thy own.' 
 Thou art a servant of the Lord of Life. 
 He bids thee but to taste the bitter cup, 
 The cup of woe that He drank to the dregs ; 
 To share His baptism in measure slight ; 
 That thou, O shallow soul, might'st comprehend 
 In faint degree the mighty, mighty cost 
 At which he ransomed thee ! 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 Would 'st thou compare thy puny griefs with His ? 
 Those dire temptations in the wilderness ; 
 That awful hour beneath the olive-trees, 
 When o'er His brow the bloody sweat did roll ; 
 And then the deeper anguish of the cross, 
 When the great billows overwhelmed His soul, 
 And the damp weeds of desolation coiled 
 Around His sacred head. 
 
 O Lord, in lowly penitence I bow, 
 In contemplation of the wondrous love 
 That made Thee bear these agonies for me. 
 Oh, make me willing, Lord, to watch and wait ; 
 To serve or suffer as Thou dost command, 
 Until thou come again to call me home, 
 With all thy saints Thy beauty to behold, 
 And in Thy presence evermore to be ! 
 
 " I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the house 
 of the Lord." 
 
 The reply given by one of the German martyrs, when told that 
 he was about to be burnt at the stake. 
 
 Into the house of the Lord they went 
 
 Through gate of blood and flame. 
 Through the smoke to the golden clime, 
 
 Those martyrs of the olden time, 
 Who gladly yielded up their lives for love of Jesus' 
 Name. 
 
CjO SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 Passed they from the multitudes 
 
 Of raging, angry foes 
 Into the deep, eternal calm, 
 
 To join the grand, old swelling psalm, 
 That fills each soul in yon bright land with rapture 
 of repose. 
 
 Theirs was the baptism of pain ; 
 
 But, when they'd borne the worst, 
 From the poor, tortured, outraged clay 
 Soared their triumphant souls away, 
 And visions of celestial joy at once upon them burst. 
 
 Soon, into the House of the Lord 
 
 Sisters and brothers we go ; 
 Oh, let our pilgrim robes be clean, 
 
 And each one's shining lamp be seen, 
 Filled with the Holy Spirit's oil, reflecting purest 
 glow ! 
 
 Not to the martyrdom of fire 
 
 God calls His children now. 
 But, ah, the martyrdom of sneers 
 
 Too oft excites our coward fears ! 
 We shrink from His reproach, who wore the thorn- 
 crown on His brow. 
 
 Just think, " the reigning time " will come, 
 'Tis but a little while. 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 Then let us live % as strangers here 
 
 With naught to hope and naught to fear 
 But so to live that we might win the Lord's approv- 
 ing smile. 
 
 OUR FUTURE. 
 
 When life's woes all are ended, 
 When the last tear is shed, 
 
 The cares that tracked our footsteps 
 Once and forever fled, 
 
 We'll enter on a gladness 
 We cannot now conceive, 
 
 The joy that Christ prepareth 
 For all who will believe. 
 
 When all our toils are ended, 
 The sweat wiped from the brow, 
 
 Vanished those weary burdens, 
 That press so heavy now, 
 
 We shall enter on a rest 
 
 That no disturbance knows ; 
 
 The rest that still remaineth, 
 Eternity's repose. 
 
52 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 When the last pain is suffered, 
 The scorching fever passed, 
 
 The dull, depressing langour, 
 All gone away at last, 
 
 We'll have immortal vigor, 
 Health never more shall fail, 
 
 The limbs will not grow weary, 
 The cheeks will not grow pale. 
 
 When the last parting's over, 
 Breathed out the last farewell, 
 
 With all its bitter anguish, 
 
 More deep than tongue can tell, 
 
 'Twill be the glad re-union, 
 
 Inside the holy place, 
 We'll clasp^the hands of loved ones, 
 
 And see them face to face. 
 
 When service all is ended, - 
 When the last, faithful word 
 
 In weakness, fear, and trembling, 
 Is spoken for the Lord, 
 
 Then at the Master's bidding 
 The girdle we'll unloose, 
 
 And, girded, He will serve us : 
 Such is the part He'll choose. 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 53 
 
 When the dread conflict's over, 
 
 The tumult and the strife ; 
 Slain every foe that crossed us 
 
 While wrestling on through life ; 
 
 Then the palm-branch waits the hand 
 That grasps the sword-hilt now. 
 
 The glory-crown displacing 
 The helmet on the brow. 
 
 When the last glimpse of Jesus 
 
 By Faith's dim eye is seen, 
 Darkly through the misty glass 
 
 That ever comes between ; 
 
 In one blessed moment, 
 
 The twinkling of an eye, 
 We'll see His unveiled glory 
 
 Outbursting in the sky. 
 
 Oh, joy, all joys excelling, 
 
 His glory thus to see, 
 In perfect, bright effulgence, 
 
 And with Him still to be ! 
 
54 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 He shall keep them secretly in a pavilion from the strife of 
 tongues." Psalm xxxi. 20. 
 
 Louder and louder waxeth 
 
 This wild, unhallowed war ; 
 The echo of the contest 
 
 Is heard from near and far. 
 
 Word-weapons that are wielded, 
 
 Are deadlier than steel ; 
 The wounds by them inflicted, 
 
 Take longer far to heal. 
 
 What shame, that even saved ones, 
 
 Whom Jesus loves so well, 
 Sometimes lend their blood-bought lips 
 
 The godless strife to swell ! 
 
 See those who have united 
 
 In sweet salvation songs, 
 Assailing one another, 
 
 In this mad strife of tongues. 
 
 So many hands hang feeble, 
 
 That grasped the Spirit's sword ; 
 
 And many tongues are silenced 
 That witnessed for the Lord : 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 55 
 
 And bitter roots are springing, 
 
 And many are defiled ; 
 And the Beloved's garden 
 
 Becomes a desert wild. 
 
 O Lord, is there no refuge 
 
 Where we may safely hide ? 
 Is there no cleft rock near us 
 
 Wherein we may abide ? 
 
 Yes, he shows a hiding-place ; 
 
 'Tis safe and sure and calm ; 
 In secret of His presence 
 
 We find a healing balm. 
 
 Let us take the key of prayer, 
 
 Unlock the golden door, 
 Enter that blest pavilion, 
 
 And hear the strife no more. 
 
 The Lord our God talks with us, 
 As man talks with his friend ; 
 
 He tells us, all this turmoil 
 Is drawing to an end ; 
 
 He bids us lift our eyes to 
 
 The everlasting hills ; 
 To watch for His appearing, 
 
 Whose voice the tempest stills. 
 
56 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 Yea, we respond, " Come, quickly, 
 Thou Blessed Prince of Peace; 
 
 We know, when Thou appearest, 
 Each jarring note will cease." 
 
 In one swelling song of praise 
 We shall join forever ; 
 
 No discordant voice shall sound 
 
 By the Crystal River. 
 Orkney, July, 1881. 
 
 LINES WRITTEN ON RETURNING HOME, 
 AFTER HEARING A BROTHER SPEAK 
 FROM JOHN XVII. 
 
 Loving Father, I do thank Thee 
 For Thy precious word to-night, 
 
 Filling my poor, weary spirit 
 
 With new hope and joy and light : 
 
 Bringing fresh to my remembrance 
 That dear One, who here below 
 
 Made for me kind intercession 
 Eighteen hundred years ago. 
 
 Ere He went to dread Golgotha 
 
 All my load of sin to bear, 
 Of my low state, He was thinking, 
 
 Me remembering in His prayer. 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 57 
 
 Now the mighty work's accomplished, 
 He has changed his thorny crown 
 
 For a diadem of glory, 
 
 And at God's right hand sat down. 
 
 Still, through intervening ages 
 
 He has ever thought of me : 
 And His prayer will not be ended, 
 
 Till his face in light I see. 
 
 Why, oh, why, am I desponding; 
 
 Shrinking in affliction's hour, 
 While for me there stand enlisted 
 
 Heavenly wisdom, love and power ! 
 
 Thou hast spoken sweet assurance 
 
 Of Thy coming, O my Lord, 
 From all sorrow and temptation 
 
 Full deliverance to afford. 
 
 While my pilgrim feet are wandering 
 
 O'er the lonely desert-road, 
 There's a place for me preparing 
 
 In the city of my God. 
 
 Maybe, ere another morning 
 
 Dawns in yonder eastern sky, 
 Sleeping sons of earth awaking, 
 
 I shall stand with Christ on high : 
 
58 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 Shining in His glorious image, 
 Altogether bright and fair ; 
 
 Crowned and satisfied and holy, 
 'Mid the dear ones gathered there. 
 
 Done with all the bitter partings 
 Gone through in this vale of tears, 
 
 Finding in that holy circle 
 
 All the treasured love of years. 
 
 So I lay me on my pillow 
 
 With the one hope burning bright, 
 
 Thanking Thee for Thy sweet message 
 From a brother's lips to-night. 
 
 There is sorrow on the sea; it cannot be quiet." Jer. 
 xlix. 23. 
 
 Restless, mournful, wailing sea, 
 Tell me now what aileth thee ? . 
 Why is it that quiet rest 
 Visits not thy troubled breast ? 
 
 Dost thou mourn the young, the brave, 
 Over whom thy surging wave 
 All the time doth wildly sweep, 
 Wak'ning not their dreamless sleep ! 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 59 
 
 Or doth care thy bosom fill 
 For a something sadder still ? 
 Thinkest thou of those who now 
 Over thy vast bosom plough, 
 All forgetful of their God, 
 Hasting on the downward road ; 
 Tokens of his love and power 
 Spread around them every hour ; 
 Yet they will not understand, 
 Will not own His mighty hand. 
 
 It may be, thou Mighty Deep, 
 Thy thoughts take a wider sweep ! 
 Dost thou know the solemn end, 
 When those heavens, that o'er thee bend, 
 God 's hand shall together roll 
 Like a mighty parchment scroll ; 
 And those hills that round thee smile 
 Shall become a burning pile ; 
 And from out thy deep, dark bed, 
 Thou shalt yield the millions dead ; 
 All to stand disclosed in light, 
 At yon throne of dazzling white ? 
 
 Farewell, now, thou surging main ! 
 I must leave thy shore again, 
 Leave thee to thy musings lone 
 And thy sad and ceaseless moan ! 
 
60 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 There will come a joyful day, 
 When thou, too, shalt pass away. 
 Never more thy rolling tide 
 Love-knit hearts shall then divide ; 
 For God's word declares to me 
 That there shall be no more sea ! 
 
 " WHOM HAVE I IN HEAVEN BUT THEE ? " 
 
 When I am weary, 
 
 Burdened, weak and sore distressed, 
 Who then can cheer me ? 
 
 Who shall give me rest ? 
 Earthly reeds have broken ; 
 
 Yea, and pierced my trusting hand. 
 Sorrows deep, unspoken, 
 Come like armed band. 
 Jesus, Blessed Jesus, 
 
 In my need I turn to thee ; 
 Jesus, Blessed Jesus, 
 Rests my soul on Thee. 
 
 Thy blood hath gained me 
 
 Access free within the veil. 
 Thy love sustained me 
 
 When each prop did fail. 
 Dark clouds rise before me ; 
 
 But Thou art my Sun and Shield. 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 6 1 
 
 While the waves sweep o'er me, 
 On the Rock I build. 
 
 Jesus, Blessed Jesus, 
 
 Thou did'st give Thyself for me. 
 Jesus, Blessed Jesus, 
 Thou art all to me. 
 
 In yonder glory, 
 
 With the holy blood-washed throng 
 I shall adore Thee 
 
 Through the ages long. 
 Down at Thy pierced feet 
 
 Then my blood-bought crown I'll cast, 
 In Thy sweet presence 
 Find my home at last. 
 
 Jesus, Blessed Jesus, 
 
 Thou art coming soon for me ; 
 Jesus, Blessed Jesus, 
 I shall dwell with Thee. 
 
 PASSING AWAY. 
 
 Passing away, passing away ! 
 Beautiful Spring-time would not stay. 
 Came the Summer, with glowing heat, 
 And passed away with rapid feet. 
 
62 SOWGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 Golden Autumn with his sheaves 
 And his many tinted leaves, 
 Now is flying quickly past. 
 Ice-crowned Winter cometh fast. 
 
 Passing away, passing away ! 
 Flowers that made the earth seem gay ; 
 Transient things, how short their bloom ! 
 Pass they to dark oblivion's tomb. 
 
 Passing away those stately trees ; 
 Passing away all things that please ; 
 Beauty and laughter, songs and mirth ; 
 All that brighten this death-doomed Earth. 
 
 Passing away, passing away ! 
 Hoary hairs, how they tell decay ! 
 There's but a step between death and thee ! 
 Ag'd one, ponder eternity ! 
 
 Passing away is manhood's strength, 
 Age and sickness will come at length. 
 Death is stronger by far than thee, 
 Strong man, ponder eternity ! 
 
 Passing away, sweet childhood's years. 
 'Tis through a vale of death and tears 
 Dear little feet must shortly tread ; 
 Father, may they be safely led. 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 63 
 
 Passing away, passing away ! 
 Unsaved sinner, Time will not stay. 
 Over thee hangs an awful doom, 
 Fly to the refuge : still there's room. 
 
 Passing away, dear Saint of God, 
 From the toils of the homeward road. 
 Art thou weary because of the way ? 
 Thine the joys that will not decay ; 
 
 Thine is the peace by Jesus made ; 
 Thine is the crown that will not fade ; 
 Thine the white robe that will not stain ; 
 Thine the rest that will still remain ; 
 
 Thine the anchor within the veil, 
 That will outride the highest gale. 
 Christ will be through eternal day. 
 Portion that will not pass away. 
 Somerville, Sept. 28, 1885. 
 
 THE WAIL OF A LOST SOUL. 
 
 Woe is me ! I am benighted ! Will this gloom no 
 
 more be lighted 
 By one ray of blessed sunlight that we cheered in 
 
 days of yore ? 
 Will no dawn be ever waking, not the faintest 
 
 glimmer breaking, 
 
64 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 Th' impenetrable darkness of this awful, awful shore ? 
 Moon and stars, fair lights of evening, shall I see 
 them nevermore ? 
 
 Echo answers " Nevermore." 
 
 Oh, this racking, burning anguish ! If I could but 
 faint or languish 
 
 Into sweet annihilation, and endure this pain no 
 more ; 
 
 Even death is from me flying, mocking all my groan- 
 ing, crying : 
 
 Tauntingly he doth remind me, how I fled from him 
 before. 
 
 Now I call, him, he evades me, will he strike me 
 nevermore ? 
 
 Echo answers " Nevermore." 
 
 When I lived in yonder region, friends I had, their 
 name was Legion, 
 
 In this depth of utter darkness, I their faces see no 
 more ; 
 
 But their doleful lamentations and blasphemous exe- 
 crations, 
 
 Render these black vaults of Hades still more dismal 
 than before. 
 
 I, their dreadful doom have hastened, must I hear 
 them evermore ? 
 
 Echo answers " Evermore." 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 65 
 
 Memory like an adder stingeth, all the wasted past 
 
 upbringeth ; 
 If I could the viper strangle, half my misery would 
 
 be o'er; 
 But around my heart it coileth, all my frantic efforts 
 
 foileth ; 
 Tis the worm that never dieth, gnawing at my 
 
 bosom's core. 
 Is there, is there no deliverance ? Will he quit me 
 
 nevermore ? 
 
 Echo answers " Nevermore." 
 
 To my mouth my tongue is cleaving, not one drop 
 my thirst relieving 
 
 Of the copious, cooling water I so freely drank of 
 yore; 
 
 Oh, if God would grant permission for one brief 
 hour's intermission 
 
 Of this burning, fiery torture, till His mercy I'd im- 
 plore. 
 
 Day of mercy's gone forever ? Will it reach me 
 nevermore ? 
 
 Echo answers " Nevermore." 
 
 Even if the great Eternal bid me quit this gulf 
 
 infernal ; 
 Gave me leave through space to wander, till I stood 
 
 at heaven's door, 
 
66 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 Still, I would not dare to enter, for the Christ who 
 
 is the Centre, 
 Round whom all the saved ones gather, whom they 
 
 worship and adore, 
 Is the one I spurned, rejected when I dwelt on 
 
 yonder shore, 
 
 He would drive me from His door. 
 
 As the slain Lamb I refused Him, when He spake 
 in love, abused Him, 
 
 Lion now of tribe of Judah, I would flee His face 
 before. 
 
 Very sight of Him would blast me, self-condemned 
 at once would cast me 
 
 Back into the abyss of demons, here to wallow ever- 
 more ; 
 
 Farewell, all that's good and holy, I shall see you 
 nevermore. 
 
 Echo answers " Nevermore." 
 
 YET THERE IS ROOM. 
 
 " Condemned already and lost." Oh, what a terrible 
 doom ! 
 
 Bound for the lake that burneth and the everlasting 
 
 gloom. 
 
 Come, sinner, stay thy reckless feet 
 Ere thou the final sentence meet ! 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 6f 
 
 Oh, hear the invitation sweet 
 Behold there yet is room ! 
 
 Yes, there's room in the Father's house, His halls 
 
 are free and wide, 
 And robes and shoes are waiting thee, and royal 
 
 rings beside, 
 
 And fatted calves are in the stall ; 
 But, oh, the chiefest joy of all 
 The Father on thy neck would fall 
 And draw thee to His side. 
 
 Why in the far-off country stay, feed with the filthy 
 
 swine ; 
 When kingly fare is offered thee, a banquet all 
 
 divine. 
 
 Oh, why those tattered garments wear. 
 When thou couldst have a robe so fair, 
 That never would grow old or tear, 
 And never lose its shine ? 
 
 Thy path may seem a pleasant one : but it must 
 
 fatal be ; 
 The blood thou tramplest over now is calling against 
 
 thee. 
 
 When mortal strength and vigor fail, 
 Would "st thou in outer darkness wail, 
 Amid the fiery billows sail 
 To all eternity ? 
 
68 SOWGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 THE SIN-BEARER. 
 
 Unto a place called Calvary, 
 
 Outside Jerusalem's gate, 
 Three trembling victims came one day 
 
 To meet a dismal fate. 
 
 Each bore a cross to which he was 
 
 By cruel soldiers nailed, 
 And deep reproach and bitter scorn 
 
 The middle cross assailed. 
 
 Say, who was He, that suffering One, 
 The object of their scorn, 
 
 With visage marred with agony 
 And brow all cut with thorn ? 
 
 Oh, why, on that devoted head 
 Was poured such weight of woe ? 
 
 Was this the vilest of the three 
 That He should suffer so ? 
 
 Was ever criminal beheld 
 With such a look benign ? 
 
 Did e'er such majesty and love 
 In human face combine ? 
 
 Why was it that at mid-day hour 
 The sun was lost to sight, 
 
 As though a curtain there was drawn 
 To hide his glorious light ? 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 69 
 
 Why quaked fhe solid earth as though 
 
 Some fear did it assail ? 
 What unseen hand was that which came 
 
 And rent the temple veil ? 
 
 Come, fellow-sinner, to the spot, 
 
 Thou shalt the secret learn, 
 Oh, lend thou an attentive ear ; 
 
 It doth thee much concern. 
 
 'Twas the Sin-bearer who was hung 
 
 On that accursed tree. 
 The blood that flowed from hands and side 
 
 Was poured for thee and me. 
 
 A storm did sweep o'er Calv'ry's Hill : 
 
 A fire was kindled there, 
 Which burned all hot and fiercely in 
 
 The tree so green and fair. 
 
 And there the storm its fury spent ; 
 
 The fire was quenched in blood 
 All scattered were the clouds of wrath 
 
 That hid the face of God. 
 
 The way into the Holiest 
 
 Is opened now for all ; 
 Who will accept the Saviour's grace, 
 
 And at his foot stool fall ? 
 Orkney, January, 1880. 
 
SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 LORD'S-DAY MORNING. 
 
 Hail thy blessed dawning, 
 Day of sacred mirth, 
 
 Resurrection-morning ! 
 
 Let my soul now scorning 
 Meaner things of earth, 
 
 Bid them stay behind me 
 While I mount up there, 
 
 Holy places entering, 
 
 Thoughts on Jesus centering, 
 Who my sins did bear. 
 
 Keep me in Thy presence 
 All the long day through. 
 
 On Thy beauty gazing 
 
 Let me be upraising 
 Notes of worship true. 
 
 Orkney, September, 1881. 
 
OF MY PIL GRIM A GE. 7 I 
 
 LINES WRITTEN FOR A LADY WHO HAD 
 BEEN LONG IN THE FURNACE OF 
 PAIN. 
 
 "I see four men loose walking in the midst of the fire." 
 Daniel iii. 25. 
 
 'Twas the strangest pathway 
 
 Ere by mortal trod. 
 Where those three were walking 
 All unscathed and talking 
 
 With the Son of God. 
 
 Yet they stepped as safely 
 
 As they shall one day, 
 In yon city olden 
 Walk the streets all golden, 
 
 Where the blessed stay. 
 
 Roaring of the furnace 
 
 Quenched all other sound. 
 Music loudly swelling 
 Royal order telling, 
 
 In the noise was drowned. 
 
 But that voice beside them, 
 
 They could always hear, 
 And its deep tones thrilling 
 All their souls were stilling, 
 
 Calming every fear. 
 
72 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 All untouched their garments, 
 But the cords that bound 
 These the flames did sever, 
 They were gone for ever : 
 Could nowhere be found. 
 
 Has the Master called thee 
 Thus with Him to go 
 
 Through a furnace blazing ? 
 
 There His love amazing 
 Thou shalt surely know. 
 
 Thine no common trial, 
 
 Ordeal of pain ; 
 But He walks beside thee, 
 And what'er' betide thee 
 
 He shall still sustain. 
 
 All the ties that bound thee 
 
 To the things of time, 
 One by one He's burning, 
 And thy spirit turning 
 To things more sublime. 
 
 From the fire emerging 
 
 On the glory side ; 
 After the refining 
 Thou shalt soon be shining 
 Like gold purified. 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 73 
 
 A PRAYER FOR A YOUNG SISTER IN 
 SICKNESS. 
 
 Lord, be with my gentle sister 
 
 Mid the weariness and pain ! 
 May Thy tender love enfold her, 
 And Thy mighty arm uphold her ; 
 
 Then her suffering shall be gain ! 
 
 Through the lonely, dark night watches, 
 When no earthly friend is near, 
 
 Give her holy meditation, 
 
 Whisper words of consolation, 
 By Thy Spirit in her ear ! 
 
 Tell her of the Man Of Sorrows, 
 Who affliction's pathway trod ! 
 Tell her of His bitter anguish, 
 When He on the cross did languish, 
 To redeem her soul to God. 
 
 Let her trace Him to the glory, 
 Where he sits at God's right hand ! 
 
 Tell her how her name He's wearing, 
 
 And for her a place preparing 
 In the fair and blessed Land ! 
 
 Tell her also of His Coming 
 
 To receive his loved ones home ; 
 Of the untold joy of greeting 
 All the saints at that glad meeting ; 
 Gathered there no more to roam ! 
 
74 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 Tell her of the spotless garments, 
 And the crown of victory bright, 
 Of the joy, all joys excelling 
 With Him to be ever dwelling, 
 He Himself her Life and Light. 
 
 Give her perfect resignation, 
 
 To abide His coming here ; 
 Or to step within the Portal, 
 Where her spirit saved, immortal 
 Shall remain till He appear ! 
 
 Lord, we thank thee, Thou hast told us 
 There's no death for such as she ! 
 
 Jesus died and now He liveth 
 
 And eternal life He giveth. 
 Blessed gift, so rich and free ! 
 
 There may be a short unclothing, 
 
 And the body, like a dress 
 Folded for a little season, 
 And by Thee, for some wise reason, 
 Laid aside ; but none the less, 
 
 Thou shalt watch it as a treasure 
 
 Keeping for the Bridal-morn, 
 When to glorious life awaking, 
 It shall from the casket breaking 
 
 Brightly shine at Christ's return. 
 Somerville, October 4th, 1884. 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 75 
 
 FOR A SERVANT OF GOD LEAVING FOR 
 A DISTANT LAND. 
 
 Gracious, Everlasting Father, 
 In the Saviour's name we pray ; 
 
 Hear our supplications fervent, 
 
 For Thy dear beloved servant 
 Going from this land away ! 
 
 Tears in many eyes will gather, 
 Many hands will wave good-bye. 
 
 Hearts with strong affection burning, 
 
 His departure deeply mourning, 
 Will unite to swell this cry. 
 
 Whatso'er of joy or sorrow 
 
 Future days may have in store, 
 May Thy watchful care unsleeping 
 Him in all his way be keeping, 
 
 Till he reach the brighter shore ! 
 
 Health and strength and every blessing 
 
 All his need do Thou supply; 
 Let him to Thy praise be shining, 
 Grace and faithfulness combining, 
 
 Serving Thee with single eye ! 
 
 Bless Thou, Lord, his little children 
 And the partner of his love ! 
 
76 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 May Thy presence bending o'er them 
 
 Calm the troubled waves before them ! 
 
 All Thy goodness let them prove ! 
 
 Though his much-loved form we never 
 
 May again on earth behold ; 
 We shall, 'mid the scenes of glory, 
 When is past life 's checkered story, 
 Meet him on the streets of gold. 
 
 Voice that oft has thrilled our spirits, 
 
 We may never hear again, 
 ' Till we, mid the swelling chorus, 
 In the blessed land before us, 
 Hear it in sublimer strains. 
 
 Lord, we thank Thee for the prospect 
 
 Of the day we long to hail, 
 When the countless congregation 
 From each scattered tribe and nation, 
 Gather shall within the veil ! 
 
 All the dreary partings over, 
 
 Nothing then but love and joy ; 
 Cup of gladness overflowing, 
 Love in every bosom glowing, 
 Ardent, pure, without alloy. 
 
 Orkney, August, 1882. 
 
OF \MY PILGRIMAGE. 77 
 
 FOR TWO SERVANTS OF GOD LEAVING 
 FOR A NEW FIELD. 
 
 O Thou who hast revealed Thyself 
 
 As the answerer of prayer, 
 Be Thine ear to us attending 
 While Thy servants we're commending 
 
 To Thy ever watchful care ! 
 
 We would thank Thee, Lord that ever 
 Thou did'st guide their footsteps here : 
 
 For the power Thou hast given 
 
 By the Holy Ghost from Heaven 
 To proclaim Thy message clear ! 
 
 For the souls who have believed 
 
 Through Thy word by them declared : 
 
 Lessons of sweet consolation 
 
 And soul-stirring exhortation 
 
 We Thy children too have shared. 
 
 For our holy sweet communion, 
 
 Foretaste of the joys to come, 
 When our parting days, are ended, 
 And we all shall have ascended 
 
 To our Father's happy home. 
 
 Precious is the glad assurance 
 
 That Thou forth with them wilt go : 
 
78 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 Yet with us be still remaining, 
 Them and us alike sustaining, 
 While we sojourn here below. 
 
 Though with sad, regretful yearning 
 
 We must speak the word good-bye ; 
 They are still our own possession, 
 Bound by sacred, close relation 
 t To our Living Head on high. 
 
 SPaul, Apollos, Cephas, all things 
 
 Thou hast given us in Him. 
 Distance cannot really sunder 
 For our union is up yonder, 
 Far above those shadows dim. 
 
 Now we plead Thy blessed promise 
 
 Be Thou with them to the end ; 
 Every good to them supplying, 
 Keep them on Thyself relying, 
 Guide and comfort and defend ! 
 
 Strengthen them in soul and body 
 
 For the work that lies before ! 
 In Thy secret presence dwelling, 
 Be their cup of gladness swelling, 
 Running over more and more ! 
 
 Many souls to them be given ! 
 
 For this purpose make them wise ! 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 79 
 
 May their crowns be bright and burning 
 On the day of Thy returning 
 
 When they meet Thee in the skies ! 
 
 Oh, 'twill be a blessed meeting 
 
 At the Harvest-home so sweet ! 
 We shall in their joy be sharing 
 When their sheaves we see them bearing, 
 
 Laying them before Thy feet. 
 
 FOR A SISTER, ON HEARING OF HER 
 SAFE ARRIVAL IN A DISTANT LAND, 
 WHERE SHE HAD GONE ON A VISIT. 
 
 My God, this night I thank Thee, 
 
 For tidings brought to me, 
 That Thou hast led my sister 
 
 Across the stormy sea. 
 
 Though wild winds swept the ocean, 
 
 Thy loving mighty hand 
 Did guide that ship in safety 
 
 Unto the far-off land. 
 
 And now for my dear sister 
 
 I ask the needed grace 
 To be a faithful witness 
 
 For thee in every place. 
 
80 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 To live and speak for Jesus 
 Wherever Thou dost lead ; 
 
 To manifest His praises 
 In every word and deed. 
 
 And bring them back in safety 
 The mother and the child ; 
 
 Be Thou again their Pilot 
 Across the ocean wild. 
 
 That, with a heart all grateful 
 For Thine abundant grace, 
 
 The husband and the father 
 His loved ones may embrace. 
 
 Then keep them, Lord, and guide them, 
 
 Until life's journey o'er 
 They meet in perfect gladness 
 
 Upon the heavenly shore. 
 
 Where no dividing ocean 
 
 Shall ever roll between ; 
 But Christ shall gently lead them 
 Among the pastures green. 
 
 Somerville, Nov. 18, 1884. 
 
OF MY PILGRIMA GE. 8 1 
 
 FOR A SISTER ON THE OCCASION OF 
 HER MARRIAGE. 
 
 Standing just upon the threshold 
 
 Of a life untried and new, 
 Sister, may the good Lord guide thee, 
 And whatever lot betide thee, 
 
 May thy heart to Him be true. 
 
 Star of earthly love now rising 
 
 O'er thy pathway clear and sweet, 
 May it help to draw thee nearer 
 To the One who loves thee dearer : 
 Help to keep thee at His feet. 
 
 May His blessing rest upon thee, 
 
 And the partner of thy choice, 
 Be His love your richest treasure, 
 And your sweetest, dearest pleasure 
 
 Still to hear the Shepherd's voice. 
 
 May ye follow in His footsteps, 
 
 Honor Him in all your ways ; 
 Be your highest aim His glory, 
 So that all your life-long story 
 
 May be written to His praise . 
 
 When your pilgrimage is ended, 
 
 And ye reach the land above, 
 May ye then in sweet communion 
 Thank Him for this earthly union 
 
 He has given in His love. 
 
82 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 FOR ANOTHER SISTER ON HER MAR- 
 RIAGE. 
 
 God bless thee, darling Lizzie ! 
 
 I'm sure thou wilt not blame, 
 That still an old friend calls thee 
 
 The dear, familiar name ! 
 
 It needs no words to tell thee 
 How much I wish thee joy ; 
 
 If I might choose thy portion, 
 'Twould be without alloy. 
 
 But one whose love transcendeth 
 
 My feeble love as far, 
 As brightest blaze of noonday, 
 
 Excels the glimm'ring star, 
 
 Holds in His pierced hand a cup 
 
 Of mingled joy and woe, 
 He gives to all His children 
 
 To drink while here below. 
 
 And He will deal it wisely, 
 
 As best befitteth thee, 
 Then give thee perfect gladness 
 
 From every mixture free. 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 83 
 
 So I commend thee to Him, 
 
 In perfect trust this day, 
 I know that He will guide thee 
 
 And bless thee all the way. 
 
 Flame-wall around thy dwelling, 
 
 Its inner glory too, 
 His living presence always 
 
 Shall bear thee safely through : 
 
 Till thou and thy dear partner 
 
 Exchange your home below, 
 For yonder many mansions, 
 
 Where joy and gladness flow. 
 
 In perfect, perfect measure, 
 
 Unmixed with woe or sin, 
 I shall rejoice to meet you 
 
 When the fair goal I win. 
 
 Together we shall worship 
 
 Through everlasting days, 
 Nought left us then to wish for, 
 
 Each longing turned to praise. 
 
84 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 TO A SISTER ON HER BIRTHDAY. 
 
 Hail, beloved friend and sister ! 
 
 Now for thee I humbly pray, 
 That the Lord may keep and guide thee, 
 And with every good provide thee 
 
 All along thy future way. 
 
 Earthly gifts I cannot offer, 
 
 Gold and silver have I none ; 
 But from out a full heart glowing 
 Prayers and blessings richly flowing 
 
 I can offer, these alone. 
 
 Hitherto the Lord hath led thee, 
 
 Called thee by His mighty grace. 
 May thou on His arm be leaning, 
 Daily strength and comfort gleaning, 
 Till at last thou see His face ! 
 
 Thou and thy beloved partner, 
 
 And the child whom God has given. 
 May His presence watching o'er you 
 Make the pathway bright before you 
 Till ye reach that Home in Heaven ; 
 
 Where they never sin nor suffer, 
 Where they shed no parting tears, 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 85 
 
 Never feel one pang of sorrow, 
 Never dread the coming morrow, 
 Never count the days or years. 
 
 There we'll dwell in sweet communion 
 
 With each other and with Him 
 Who by His own blood hath healed us, 
 Sought and found and kept and sealed us 
 
 For the joys that ne'er grow dim. 
 Somerville, December 25th, 1883. 
 
 BIRTHDAY WISHES FOR A BROTHER IN 
 THE LORD. 
 
 Not for thee, Beloved Brother 
 Would I covet wealth or ease ; 
 
 Nor the trifles men call pleasures; 
 But far better things than these. 
 
 May the eye that never slumbers 
 Watch o'er thee by night and day ! 
 
 May the ear that grows not heavy 
 Listen still when thou dost pray ! 
 
 May the arm that grows not weary 
 
 Still protect thee and sustain ! 
 May the heart that never changes 
 
 Share thy every throb of pain ! 
 
86 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 May thy faith be firm, unfaltering, 
 Shrinking not the cross to bear, 
 
 Counting all things loss for Jesus, 
 And the glory " over there." 
 
 May thy hope be calm and steadfast, 
 Ever fixed on things divine ; 
 
 Till thou reach the glad possession, 
 And in Jesus' likeness shine ! 
 
 May thy love be pure and ardent, 
 Burning with a quenchless flame, 
 
 Ready still to do or suffer 
 
 For the blessed Master's name ! 
 
 Now my final wish I'm writing, 
 Highest, fondest wish of all ; 
 
 Tis that thou and I, Dear Brother, 
 Soon may hear the glad home-call. 
 
 That full soon, with all the Ransomed 
 We may rise to meet our Lord. 
 
 Never more to sin or sorrow, 
 Never speak one parting word ! 
 
 Oh, how sweet, in yon fair city 
 Whereunto our footsteps tend 
 
 Evermore to dwell together 
 
 And in praise our voices blend ! 
 
 Somerville, Feb. i, 1884. 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE 87 
 
 FOR A BROTHER ON HIS BIRTHDAY. 
 
 This day, my Brother, I do thank the Lord 
 
 That still along the way 
 His loving hand hath kept and guarded thee 
 
 To see a new birthday. 
 
 That fewer trials lie before thee now 
 
 Than ever in the past, 
 And nearer draws the Day for which we long, 
 
 (It cometh sure and fast ;) 
 
 And while I praise His Holy Name to-day 
 
 For grace on thee bestowed, 
 And for the happy fellowship that oft 
 
 Has cheered my pilgrim-road, 
 
 I pray that thine may be the shining path 
 
 That always brighter grows, 
 As this short life with all its changing scenes 
 
 Draws nearer to a close. 
 
 That he may perfect His good work in thee, 
 
 And make thee even here 
 So bright in holiness that all may see 
 
 His image in thee clear. 
 
 Soon shall we cease to reckon days and years, 
 For time itself shall cease ; 
 
88 SOWGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 And we shall launch upon a boundless tide 
 O love and joy and peace. 
 
 And wh < i we gather in the Father's Home, 
 
 VJaat pleasure will be mine 
 To see the brother whom I loved on earth 
 
 Amid that bright throng shine ! 
 
 Yea, though the Lord shall be our chiefest joy 
 
 Through all Eternity ; 
 We shall rejoice to clasp each other's hand, 
 
 Each other's face to see. 
 
 And sweet shall be our long communion there, 
 When faith is changed to sight ; 
 
 For we shall never speak the word farewell, 
 Nor good-by, nor good-night. 
 
 Somerville, Feb. i, 1885. 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 89 
 
 MEMORIALS OF DEPARTED ONES. 
 
 DAVID M. FLAWS, 
 My sister's little baby, one month old. 
 
 Darling Babe, thou soon grew weary 
 Of this world of pain and woe ! 
 
 Thine was but a passing visit ; 
 Yet its sufFring thou didst know. 
 
 As we stood in sorrow gazing, 
 
 On thy pale and lifeless clay, 
 Sprang there up amid our sadness 
 
 Thoughts of that approaching Day. 
 
 When the Blessed Lord from Heaven 
 
 Shall appear in glory fair, 
 And the sleeping saints arising 
 
 Gather home, His joy to share. 
 
 Mid that blood-washed throng all shining, 
 Thou, Dear Babe, wilt have a place. 
 
 Christ hath made the little children 
 Sharers in His love and grace. 
 
90 SOWGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 Even now thy soul is with Him, 
 Waiting till He come again. 
 
 And thy dust in peace reposing 
 Resteth now from all the pain. 
 
 Though our sin-beclouded vision 
 Could not scan the reason why 
 
 Thou wast only sent to languish 
 These short weeks, and then to die: 
 
 He, our loving God and Father, 
 Gave thee that brief pain to bear 
 
 That thou mightest know the gladness 
 And the sweet rest over there. 
 
 When he comes, the weeping parents 
 Shall again their child embrace, 
 
 And there shall be no more parting 
 In the heavenly dwelling-place. 
 
 Teach us now, O Gracious Father, 
 Just to say " Thy will be done." 
 
 Thou didst give and Thou hast taken ! 
 Glory be to Thee alone ! 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 91 
 
 JAMES SANDISON, 
 An aged saint, poor in this world, but rich in Faith. 
 
 From yonder lowly cottage 
 
 A son of God hath gone. 
 Gone to a nobler mansion 
 
 Than any 'neath the sun ! 
 
 Gone from deepest poverty 
 
 To riches all untold ; 
 To dwell within a city 
 
 Whose streets are paved with gold. 
 
 The body old and feeble 
 
 That slumbers in the ground, 
 Shall wake to youth immortal 
 
 At the glad trumpet's sound. 
 
 He passed through sore bereavements, 
 
 Deep grief his heart hath riven. 
 Sweet to the weary pilgrim 
 
 Will be the rest of Heaven. 
 
 And she who was his partner 
 
 In trials of the way, 
 Is waiting on before him, 
 
 Where they shall dwell for aye. 
 
92 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 They breasted many a billow 
 
 Of tribulation here : 
 But bowed in meek submission 
 
 To him their hearts held dear. 
 
 As they magnified His Name 
 He'll surely honor them. 
 
 Theirs will be a shining robe 
 And starry diadem. 
 
 GEORGE POTTINGER 
 Fell asleep in Jesus at the early age of seventeen. 
 
 Dear young saint, how sweetly he did sing 
 Of the time when he should behold the King ! 
 And now it is his that blessed sight ; 
 He dwells at home in His presence bright. 
 
 He trusted Christ in his young life's bloom, 
 So Death was robbed of his dismal gloom. 
 Smiling, he plunged in the Jordan Tide, 
 For the light shone clear from the other side. 
 
 He will not regret his early call ; 
 No tear from his eye will ever fall. 
 Taken away from evil to come, 
 He is safe and blest in his happy home. 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 93 
 
 His friends will miss him the " little while," 
 Long for his voice and his cheerful smile ; 
 But One Hope gladdens amidst their pain, 
 They know that Christ is coming again. 
 
 And so we bid him a short farewell 
 Till that glad morning, and who can tell 
 How soon we may see our precious Lord ! 
 " Behold I come " was His parting word. 
 
 DONALD ALLAN. 
 Aged fifty-five years ; suddenly called to his rest, April 8, 1877. 
 
 A beloved friend and brother 
 
 Has left this earthly scene, 
 And hallowed mem'ries cluster round 
 
 The place where he has been. 
 
 We think of all his kindly ways, 
 
 His words and deeds of love ; 
 And then in thought we follow him 
 
 To yon bright home above. 
 
 Many a dusty mile on earth 
 
 He trod with weary feet : 
 But he shall walk with tireless step 
 
 Along the golden street. 
 
94 SOWGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 Suddenly called from earthly toil 
 To enter heavenly rest ; 
 
 No care, no toil he'll ever know 
 In mansions of the blest. 
 
 The saints on earth will miss him sore, 
 With whom he used to meet, 
 
 Around the Master's sacred board 
 To hold communion sweet. 
 
 We'll miss his dear, familiar form, 
 His counsels and his prayers ; 
 
 But, oh, how sweet to know he's blest, 
 And heavenly joy now shares. 
 
 Yet, our hearts bleed for the widow 
 
 In her desolated home, 
 Where his dear voice no more is heard 
 
 And his footstep will not come. 
 
 Heavy, indeed, has been her loss, 
 And deep must be her grief. 
 
 We know the Blessed Lord alone 
 Can give her heart relief. 
 
 Still, to our beloved sister, 
 
 We'd speak some words of cheer, 
 
 Sweet thoughts of consolation 
 We'd whisper in her ear. 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 95 
 
 A little while, and he who comes 
 
 Shall come and tarry not. 
 Sorrow and sighing then shall flee, 
 
 Her grief shall be forgot. 
 
 And even for the few short years 
 
 That she may journey here ; 
 The Lord Himself shall be her guide : 
 
 He shall support and cheer. 
 
 The tender sympathy of Him 
 
 Who is the widow's Friend 
 Shall be her solace all the way, 
 
 And crown her journey's end. 
 
 JANE SUTHERLAND. 
 
 Aged twenty-seven years. Passed into rest through an ordeal 
 of pain. 
 
 Done with this scene of sorrow, 
 
 Of weariness and pain ; 
 Hers is a long, bright morrow 
 
 And death is endless gain. 
 
 Past all the bitter anguish 
 That much her faith did try, 
 
 She'll weep no more nor languish 
 In that sweet home on high. 
 
96 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 Dark frowned the vale before her ; 
 
 Yet she had perfect peace. 
 She knew the Lord watched o'er her, 
 
 His love would never cease. 
 
 She's gone within the Portal ; 
 
 We're waiting still outside ; 
 She tastes the joys immortal, 
 
 The veil from us doth hide. 
 
 Soon shall that veil be riven, 
 The glory breaking through ; 
 
 And He who is our Heaven 
 Shall burst upon our view. 
 
 Amid the joyful singing 
 
 On that triumphal day 
 We'll hear her glad voice ringing, 
 
 And greet her on the way. 
 
 And then the hidden reason 
 More fully we shall know, 
 
 Why for a little season 
 She suffered here below. 
 
 Then as we read the story, 
 The Saviour's praise we'll tell, 
 
 And shout amid the glory 
 " He doeth all things well." 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. ()J 
 
 MISS AXXA KEG AN 
 
 Fell asleep in Jesus, Dec. 2, 1883. 
 
 I knew her but a month or two, 
 
 A passing glimpse, no more, 
 Yet I had learned to love her for 
 
 The image that she bore 
 
 Of Him, the Blessed One, whose love 
 
 Unites His children dear 
 In one sweet bond of fellowship, 
 
 Most tender, strong and near. 
 
 Only a few short weeks have tied, 
 
 A very little while, 
 Since last I held her friendly hand 
 
 And caught her parting smile. 
 
 Ah, little thought I then that through 
 
 The dark, mysterious vale 
 So soon her ransomed soul would pass 
 
 To joys that never fail. 
 
 But God hath willed it so and hers 
 
 The long, eternal gain : 
 While unto those who loved her here 
 
 It bringeth loss and pain. 
 
98 SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 She rests in peace with Him, while we 
 With soiled and bleeding feet 
 
 Still tread the sandy desert road, 
 Faint 'neath the scorching heat : 
 
 Yet, even now a solemn joy* 
 Thrills through my being's core 
 
 To think how soon we'll meet again 
 And part, ah, nevermore ! 
 
 That body sown in weakness now, 
 
 Robed in immortal power 
 Shall rise again and much we long 
 
 For the triumphal hour, 
 
 When the Archangel's Trump shall wake 
 The sleeping saints and we 
 
 All clothed upon shall rise again, 
 The Saviour's face to see. 
 
 Then in the Father's house above 
 
 The family shall meet ; 
 No missing link, no broken tie, 
 
 The circle all complete. 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 99 
 
 KATP: RUSSELL 
 
 AY as led to accept Christ at the age of thirteen, and departed 
 to l)e with Him, little more than a year from the time of 
 her conversion. 
 
 Have I read the news aright ? 
 Art thou gone from mortal sight ? 
 Hast thou entered through the Door, 
 Entered to go out no more ? 
 
 Short and swift has been thy race ; 
 Early gained the resting-place ; 
 Scarcely had the fight begun, 
 Till the crown of life was won. 
 
 Ah, thy parents weep for thee, 
 Rosebud from their family tree 
 Gathered by Death's ruthless hand, 
 In yon fair and happy Land 
 Richer bloom shalt thou attain, 
 So their loss to thee is gain. 
 
 Christ, in whom thou did'st confide, 
 Gently wooed thee to His side. 
 There thou ever shalt remain, 
 Sheltered from each woe and pain ; 
 Farewell, Dear One, till we meet 
 In that Home so calm and sweet. 
 
 Somerville, Jan. 12, 1884. 
 
ICO SONGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 IDA E. NELSON. 
 
 A dear young sister who departed to be with Christ, Dec. 22 
 1884. 
 
 O grim, resistless Death, hast thou been here 
 Amid the stillness of the morning hours, 
 
 With noiseless tread, and cold, unpitying grasp, 
 To steal from Earth one of her sweetest flowers ? 
 
 Could'st thou not be content with millions more. 
 Already gathered in thy wide embrace ? 
 
 Couldst thou not leave this fair and precious one 
 To bloom a little longer in her place ? 
 
 Hadst thou no pity for the parents' grief, 
 
 Sisters and brothers whose young hearts must 
 bleed? 
 
 Compassion dwells not in thy stony breast ; 
 To human sorrow thou dost pay no heed. 
 
 But short thy triumph, O thou dreaded one, 
 For we can tell thee, smiling through our tears 
 
 She is not thine, although her dust may lie 
 In thy cold keeping for a few short years. 
 
 She is the property of One who paid 
 For her a costly price long years ago, 
 
 Even now her spirit finds repose with Him, 
 Beyond thy reach, beyond all sin and woe. 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. IOI 
 
 A little while and He shall come in power, 
 To claim the precious body He hath bought ; 
 
 Clothed in His image she shall then arise 
 In glory far surpassing human thought. 
 
 A conqueror's crown shall sparkle on her brow, 
 A blood-washed robe all spotless she shall wear. 
 
 Pass through the Gates into yon City bright, 
 And thou, O Death, can'st never enter there. 
 
 We'd humbly seek, as He our Lord has bid 
 To comfort thus the dear ones left behind 
 
 With thoughts of His appearing, and we pray 
 That they indeed may consolation find. 
 
 i 
 He will not chide their tears, for He did weep 
 
 In hallowed sympathy in days of old, 
 But He will speak of resurrection-joy, 
 
 When they their darling shall again behold. 
 
 OX Till: TWELFTH ANNIVERSARY OF MY 
 MOTHER'S DEATH. 
 
 Ah me ! Indeed 'tis just twelve years to-night, 
 
 Since to her long, long rest 
 Went the best friend I ever, ever knew, 
 Save Jesus Christ, the Faithful and the True. 
 
 My soul's most worthy guest. 
 
102 SOWGS IN THE HOUSE 
 
 It was my mother, who that solemn night 
 
 Passed from this vale of tears, 
 To be with Him, and that mysterious power, 
 Which links the far past with the present hour, 
 
 Leads me across the years, 
 
 Back to that time so very long ago, 
 
 When all of joy and hope 
 
 Seemed fading from me, as the death-hue stole 
 O'er the dear face, and in my inmost soul 
 
 I felt that I must grope 
 
 My future way uncounselled and uncheered 
 
 By her kind, watchful love. 
 That I should hear her gentle voice no more, 
 Nor see her face, till this sad life was o'er, 
 
 And we should meet above. 
 
 Of that much dreaded future twelve long years 
 
 Have now become the past. 
 Still, year by year my God hath led me through 
 With loving kindness, mercies ever new, 
 
 And soon will come the last. 
 
 Through dreary times, and seasons of delight : 
 
 O'er toilsome, thorny ways : 
 
 In pleasant paths bestrewn with summer flowers ; 
 'Mid glowing sunshine, and bleak, wintry shower 
 
 He's led me all the days, 
 
OF MY PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 I0 3 
 
 With more than mother's love, and sure I am 
 
 He will not me forsake 
 
 Whatever may betide through what remains 
 Of life's short night with all its woes and pains, 
 
 Till the glad morning break. 
 
 In a lone churchyard by the moaning sea 
 
 My mother's ashes lie, 
 
 The waves beside her make a ceaseless moan ; 
 Wild sea-birds scream, and oft with mournful tone 
 
 The winds go sweeping by : 
 
 And feet of strangers careless press the grave 
 
 That I no more shall see. 
 ; Tis well, the grave is not our meeting-place. 
 A better hope is mine, and soon by grace, 
 
 With her at home I'll be. 
 
 Of other friends whom God since then has given, 
 
 Some sleep in dust like her ; 
 'Twixt me and some lies many an ocean-mile ; 
 Some walk beside me for a little while ; 
 
 But all from near and far 
 
 Shall gather quickly, when the Master comes. 
 
 At sound of His Home-Call 
 
 In one blessed moment all from Earth shall spring 
 To His loved presence, and on joyful wing 
 
 Pass to the Bridal-Hall. 
 
104 SOA T GS 7A T THE HOUSE, ETC. 
 
 I shall behold my mother on that day, 
 
 And many dear ones more 
 
 Who throng me now in Memory's spacious dome. 
 All, all shall meet within that blessed home, 
 
 And parting shall be o'er. 
 
 Somerville, Jan. 22, 1885. 
 
 JOHN WATSON 
 
 \Va.s drowned in the act of saving a comrade's life. On his body 
 being recovered a New Testament was found in his pocket 
 with the leaf turned down at John xv. 13. 
 
 Hold we still in hallowed memory 
 Him, the loving and the brave, 
 
 Who away in foreign waters 
 Died a comrade's life to save. 
 
 Emblem of the Great Redeemer, 
 Over whom the waves did roll - 
 
 Waves of wrath and bitter anguish, 
 All to save the guilty soul. 
 
 Greater love could no man render 
 Than to die for those he lovec ; 
 
 'Twas a high and sacred honor 
 And his strong affection proved. 
 
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