:abbi Isadore Isaacson 
 
2 r. 
 
But is there for the night a resting place ? Page 65. 
 
 (From Painting by I y . Stuertz.) 
 
 THE IMMORTAL HOPE. 
 
Immortal Hope 
 
 THE WITNESS OF 
 THE GREAT POETS 
 OF ALL AGES TO 
 THE LIFE BEYOND 
 
 COMPILED BY 
 
 M. C. HAZARD, PH. D. 
 
 II 
 
 WITH A*N INTRODUCTION W 
 
 NEWELL DWIGHT HILLIS 
 
 WITH SIXTEEN FULL PAGE HALF-TONE 
 ILLUSTRATIONS FROM THE ORIGINAL 
 PAINTINGS BY CELEBRATED ARTISTS 
 
 A. L BURT COMPANY, ^ # & 
 PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK 
 
Copyright 1906 
 ByA. L. BURTCOMPANY 
 
 ' TfiB* IMMORTAL 
 Compiled by *M. C. Hazard 
 
 A AC A/ 
 
TO MY MOTHER 
 
 Who is in Heaven 
 
Ititaiitartum. 
 
 Among earth's wisest teachers, we give the 
 first place to the poets. 'These are the men of 
 vision, who see the open rift in the sky: who 
 hear and understand the voices that fall over the 
 heavenly battlements. And who, when the clouds 
 stand upon the horizon, pierce through the dark- 
 ness, and show us the sweet fields that lie be- 
 yond. In all ages, the poet has been the true 
 consoler and guide, and teacher. He is not sim- 
 ply the interpreter of the beautiful, he is also 
 the prophet of the eternal, and the herald of an 
 invisible friend. It is given to the soldier to 
 protect the people, the teacher instructs the state, 
 the statesman guides the state. But the poet in- 
 spires us, stays our faith, and gives the clue out 
 of the maze. What the philosopher cannot do, 
 the poet, with his song and parable, has easily 
 accomplished. The world owes much to Moses 
 for his laws, but not less for his psalm of the 
 brevity of life, the eternity of God, and the cer- 
 tainty of the realm that lies just beyond the stars. 
 Welcome, indeed, therefore, this volume that 
 binds together the great songs of the greatest 
 xi 
 
ffntro&uctfon. 
 
 singers of the great hope the hope of the life 
 immortal. 
 
 Just now the whole world is confessing a new 
 interest in immortality. The old material science 
 has lost its grip. The pendulum is swinging to- 
 ward idealism. And once more our best think- 
 ers are writing on immortality. Men have 
 learned that thoughts are as substantial as things. 
 That prayers are as real as paving stones. And 
 if reason has questioned, the heart of the poet 
 and the mystic whispers, "Hope, and have faith 
 in God." Once more the world is celebrating the 
 festival of the soul. The individual is being capi- 
 talized. At last events have compelled the recog- 
 nition that the grave, hitherto digged for other 
 feet, may soon be digged, not for others, but for 
 us. The mystery, the pathos, the tragedy and 
 the glory of this momentous event, named death, 
 is that the messengers of release and convoy may 
 even now be a- wing on their journey for us. The 
 wise reflections of the good and great upon the 
 brevity of life also enhance and intensify our per- 
 sonal relation to immortality. So rich is our world, 
 so wondrous are the intellectual fields where rea- 
 son may gather her sheaves, so sparkling are the 
 treasures of friendship, so beautiful the banks 
 of clouds in which the sun sinks to rest, so mar- 
 velous and fascinating the ruins of the old cities, 
 where other people had their beginning, so swift 
 is the progress and upward growth of our city 
 and our republic, so vast are the problems of 
 xii 
 
Introduction. 
 
 the poor, inviting our help to solve them, that the 
 very thought of leaving this world after so brief 
 a sojourn, brims the eyes with tears and eclipses, 
 for the moment, every joy. Verily, art and 
 growth are long, and life is short. All too short 
 the time for that prince of Israel, "the days of 
 the years of my pilgrimage have been few and 
 evil." All too short also the years of Moses, 
 the sage. "The years are heavy upon me, so that 
 I can no longer go out or come in." For earth's 
 wisest men also the weight of sixty years became 
 a weight unendurable, for, lo, "the grasshopper 
 is a burden, and desire hath failed, and man go- 
 eth to his long home." For the scholar, for the 
 soldier, for the courtier, for the merchant and 
 jurist, "the paths of glory lead but to the grave." 
 Have you ever seen the slow movement of a 
 vast glacier, flowing as a river of ice, down from 
 the mountains of God? Then, if not, take your 
 stand on the prow of the boat, and behold the 
 Muir Glacier of snow and ice. Watch this vast 
 river of snow and ice, as it moves, crowded 
 slowly forward by the vast masses of snow fall- 
 ing from the heights, at the one end, while at the 
 other, with boom like unto the boom of cannon, 
 the icebergs break off, and go floating out to sea, 
 attended by white mists and clouds, that wave 
 their plumes with the angels of God. And then 
 you will understand with what awe and fascina- 
 tion, joy and tears, we see the multitudes com- 
 ing in, and in death, going out, to be seen no 
 xiii 
 
Introduction. 
 
 more forever ! Verily, these fields are white unto 
 the harvest! When that foreign army invaded 
 Greece, it passed by many villages, and marched 
 straight toward Athens, to sack the city of its 
 treasures of art and beauty. What if the ruler 
 of Athens, beholding their coming had said, 
 "This is the tribute that an enemy pays to our 
 accumulated treasures. Spoiling our Parthenon 
 of its marbles, they would get the treasures up 
 to enrich other cities. The beauty disappears 
 from our midst, but it does not perish." So 
 comes death last. Our world has been dear unto 
 God's angels of death. In retrospect I know 
 what God thinks of His saints here made meet 
 for heaven. 
 
 We are quite sure 
 That He will give them back, 
 
 Bright, pure and beautiful; 
 We know that He will but keep 
 Our own and His until we fall asleep ; 
 We know that He does not mean 
 To break the strands reaching between 
 
 The Here and There; 
 He does not mean, though heaven be fair, 
 To change the spirits entering there, 
 
 That they forget. 
 
 Pg. 191- 
 
 The Ground of In all ages the philosophers 
 
 Immortality. have loved to pass in review 
 
 the arguments for immortality. They have made 
 
 much of the universality of the hope. Of the 
 
 xiv 
 
UntroDuctioru 
 
 fact that the instinct for immortality is all but 
 inexpugnable, much also of the analogies in na- 
 ture, based upon the death of the seed that the 
 plant may live, the falling of the flower that the 
 fruit may swell, the rending of the chrysalis that 
 the butterfly may spread its glorious wings, the 
 flight of the bird through the pathless air toward 
 the far-off tropic land. All these arguments are 
 full of meaning, all are valid, all carry comfort, 
 and all are rich in suggestion. But, in the nature 
 of the case, we cannot realize what it is to stand in 
 another continent until we arrive there. The ar- 
 guments of Columbus may be sound, and his 
 descriptions of the newly-discovered continent 
 may be clear and accurate, but his hearer can 
 never realize that vast new world beyond the 
 seas, until he sails away into the great West, 
 and for himself steps foot upon the shores 
 hitherto unexplored. Great is the hunger of 
 man's reason and heart for immortality. But 
 that immortality rests not upon a desire in man, 
 but upon the purpose and will of God. The wis- 
 dom of Jesus taught us that because "God lives 
 man shall live also." Oh, the wondrous 
 words! telling us that God is eternal and 
 that the man who possesses God-like quali- 
 ties is therefore immortal also. Close study 
 of the events of nature compels the reflection, 
 that God represents power in storms, goodness 
 in harvest, beauty in faces and landscapes; rep- 
 resents also truth and justice, mercy and love. 
 xv 
 
Introduction. 
 
 Is there a man, then, who, travelling across the 
 years, has gathered unto himself power, justice, 
 goodness, the love of truth, mercy, pity, love, 
 such an one has those attributes that in God are 
 eternal, and, lo, these qualities, under the touch 
 of God's love, have clothed him with immortality. 
 For the healthy mind it is inconceivable that 
 God could have lent this divine treasure to 
 the soul of a great man, named Paul, or Moses, 
 or Lincoln, only to destroy that soul after a few 
 brief summers and winters! Surely, there must 
 be some proportion between the endowments and 
 the field of action. The great redwood trees of 
 California cannot think, nor weep, nor laugh, nor 
 love, yet they began their growth before that 
 sepulcher was digged near the Mount of Olives. 
 Near Rome, there is an old olive tree that has 
 been mentioned in Italian literature and Latin 
 for 1,400 years, and it is believed to antedate the 
 poet Horace. To the white elephants of Siam, 
 God gives a career of 150 years. There are 
 beeches near Hampton Court, under which chil- 
 dren have played, and kings and queens have 
 lived and died, for five hundred years. But 
 while the oak lives on, fifteen generations of men 
 and women have risen and passed away again. 
 One of the German scientists speaks of "the se- 
 curity of the insignificant animalculse." He tells 
 us that because they are so small, they are prac- 
 tically free from eternal catastrophe, and there- 
 fore, are practically immortal. Science teaches 
 xvi 
 
Introduction. 
 
 us that death is not a necessity of organic func- 
 tions on the inside. It is the result of a catas- 
 trophe in the environment on the outside. For 
 that reason, plant your redwood tree in the hid- 
 den glade, and the functions of life will go on 
 for thousands of years. The tree is practically 
 immortal, but for the external catastrophes of 
 lightning, the axes, and bore worms. For man 
 death is not a necessity of the vital functions 
 of the body within. It is the outgrowth and ne- 
 cessity of our circumstances and environment 
 without. Has God made trees to live for thou- 
 sands of years and lent "security to insignificant 
 animalculse," and denied it to man made in His 
 image ? 
 
 What would we give to our beloved? 
 The hero's heart, to be unmoved, 
 The poet's star-tuned harp, to sweep, 
 The patriot's voice, to teach and rouse, 
 The monarch's crown, to light the brows? 
 He giveth His beloved sleep. 
 
 Pg- 234. 
 
 Man's Greatness Does God store the 
 
 Argues Immortality. SO ul like a vast mansion, 
 only to destroy it as soon as stored? Some great 
 castle or manor house in England holds portraits 
 of a hundred ancestors on the walls of the gal- 
 lery. Here, too, are old swords and medals, won 
 on many a battlefield. Here are old manuscripts 
 giving the history of the family. The present 
 xvii 
 
UntroCmction. 
 
 owner of the castle dwells under a sacred spell. 
 His fathers have made vows for him. These an- 
 cestors have stored up great treasures in his 
 body. Will the man lift up a firebrand upon- the 
 castle and destroy the treasured past? This is 
 the act of vandalism. Firebrand and the dyna- 
 mite are for cowards, not heroes. And has God 
 stored the soul with this picture gallery of imagi- 
 nation, this library for reason, these halls of 
 memory, these marvelous chambers where love 
 and faith and conscience have their homes, only 
 to destroy it after thirty-five summers and win- 
 ters? Does God assemble the memories, the in- 
 stincts and intuitions of a thousand generations, 
 only to have them all march with you into a black 
 hole in the ground ? Did God make Paul as food 
 for a headman's axe? Mozart writes his few 
 great songs and then death breaks the singer's 
 harp. The great artist lifts his brush to the can- 
 vas, paints a few pictures that are now the rich- 
 est possession of some Florence or Dresden, and 
 then, just at the beginning of his career, the 
 brush falls from his hand forever. Oh, the early 
 death of the gifted young! It is unexplainable, 
 save on the hypothesis that God needs them for 
 higher works. A great genius represents an in- 
 dividual possession. After a book is printed, if 
 you burn one volume, the others are safe. In 
 the coral islands, if one insect architect dies, the 
 others build on. Injure many trees in the for- 
 est, and the oak is still safe. An army gets its 
 xviii 
 
fntrofcuction. 
 
 meaning out of the multitude, and if some fall, 
 the rest march on to victory. The hive gets its 
 meaning from the many, but the great man, Lin- 
 coln, Hallam, Keats, is unique. It is the one 
 thing of its kind in the universe. If death sweeps 
 it into a hole in the waving grass, then the one 
 thing that makes this universe worth while has 
 been destroyed. Do you say that the soul of 
 man has the qualities of God? And the "arena 
 of an insect" ? Who art thou, that thou chargest 
 folly upon God? Let him believe it who will 
 I scorn it! God is Our Father. Men are 
 broken-hearted over their prodigal sons. Though 
 the boy wander far, though he blast every hope, 
 though he wreck every plan, though every door 
 is turned against him, there is one heart that 
 aches for him, and longs for his return his 
 father's. Until the boy comes home, the house 
 is empty. And reverently I say it, God, the In- 
 finite Father, is homesick for His earthly chil- 
 dren. His heart aches until they come home. 
 Through the storm and the night, He is abroad, 
 seeking for them. He will not be satisfied until 
 He brings them in. Their bodies fall like the 
 leaves, but they do not die for God; there are 
 no sailors in the depths of the sea, no pioneers 
 forgotten in the forest, no falling statesmen, no 
 dying mothers, no little children held in tombs. 
 Unto God all live. Presidents rule over eighty 
 million of living and loving and enterprising 
 men. Think you God is a king who stretches 
 xix 
 
ffntto&uction. 
 
 a sceptre over graveyards, and whose only sub- 
 jects are bones and skeletons? For God there 
 is no death. But that event called death is a lit- 
 tle incident and a trifling episode, a brief mo- 
 ment, when the soul slips out of the bodily gar- 
 ment, that it may wear brighter, lighter, and 
 more radiant robes. 
 
 Let me keep on, abiding and unfearing 
 
 Thy will always, 
 Through a long century's ripening fruition, 
 
 Or a short day's; 
 Thou canst not come too soon ; and I can wait, 
 
 If thou come late. 
 
 Pg. 73- 
 
 Man's Growth Foretells The very way in 
 His Immortality. wn i c h God educates 
 men seems to be a foregleam of immortality. This 
 world is God's workshop and school. Events 
 are our teachers. Joy and sorrow polish the soul 
 into shapeliness. By long processes we go 
 slowly to culture and character. But there ought 
 to be some proportion between the time spent 
 on preparation and education, and the time spent 
 on work and enjoyment. Even human edu- 
 cators recognize this principle. One of our col- 
 lege presidents published an article on the short- 
 ening of the university course. In part, his 
 views approved themselves to practical men. In 
 view of the fact that the average life is approxi- 
 mately thirty-five years, the period of education 
 xx 
 
 JO 
 
fntroDuctfon. 
 
 and the period of work must be proportionate, 
 and stand in a normal ratio. First of all, some 
 six years of education through the parents and 
 the home, then follow ten years of the public 
 schools, at 1 6, the boy enters the academy, at 18, 
 he enters the college, where he remains for four 
 years. At 22, he begins another four-years' 
 course in the halls of medicine, or law, or mor- 
 als. Even if the average life is forty, there re- 
 main only fifteen years for work, and the use 
 of the education. But character is a diploma 
 that God gives only after the full forty years. 
 Some men and women He keeps at school until 
 they are 70 and 80, but He keeps them at school 
 by many a hard task, by many a fiery pain, by 
 light shades and by dark shades, with a stroke 
 here and a stroke there; by health and by sick- 
 ness, by victory and by defeat, by storms and by 
 the bow of hope in the clouds, by wealth and also 
 by the flight of riches; by honors and the dis- 
 solution thereof, He drills and educates men for 
 that ripe stage called the character. There is 
 not one day of vacation. There are no long sum- 
 mers when God's pupil can for months leave the 
 school. It is one long drill, with God's appointed 
 teachers, named work, industry, temptation, 
 prayer, love, grief, death. But if the life ends 
 with the schooling, surely some great error has 
 been made. Drill looks toward an end. Prep- 
 aration implies continuance. The professional 
 course argues a long career of practice and en- 
 xxi 
 
 <U3 
 
 JO 
 
Untro&uctfon. 
 
 joyment, an apprenticeship means promotion. 
 Are artist masters wise when they graduate 
 their pupil into independence and a long career 
 in Painting, and does God graduate His pupils 
 into Greenwood? This turns all life into a 
 snare. Surely, God does not feed men on empty 
 husks and bubbles. This is a school room, and 
 when the task is done, we return home, to the 
 long eternal years. Some day we shall put away 
 our task and close our books. Like those boys 
 who have been away to school, come home for 
 the holidays, to fill all the halls with eager 
 shouts, and brim the mother's eyes with happy 
 tears, and make their father's heart to almost 
 break with pride in his sons and daughters, so 
 we shall come home after our schooling is done, 
 and be satisfied and find our beloved dead ! 
 
 And yet that same word ONCE 
 Is humanly acceptive! Kings have said, 
 
 Shaking a discrowned head, 
 
 "We ruled once," dotards, "We once taught and led," 
 Cripples once danced i' the vines and bards approved, 
 
 Were once by scornings moved: 
 But love strikes one hour LOVE. Those never loved, 
 
 Who dream that they loved ONCE. 
 
 Pg. 203. 
 
 Man's Great Past For deeply reflec- 
 
 Argues a Great Future, tive minds, man's 
 great past argues his long, immortal future. In 
 this era of physical science, our scholars are now 
 chiefly interested in the rise of the intellect, and 
 xxii 
 
 70 
 
Introduction, 
 
 the evolution of the faculties of the reason. The 
 time was when they held that the great intuitions 
 represented the result of a creative fiat. Man 
 has certain intuitions of space, and of time, and 
 certain mathematical principles are axioms. These 
 principles are so inwrought into the fibre of the 
 soul, that we cannot conceive of their being other- 
 wise. Little by little scholars have traced the 
 history of these instincts. Wordsworth thought 
 that perhaps they represented a pre-existence, in 
 that "man comes trailing clouds of glory. Not 
 in utter nakedness, not in entire forgetfulness," 
 does man come. Grown accustomed to this 
 physical world, the rich, heavenly memories soon 
 fade away ; the shades of the prison house close 
 in about the boy, and gross temptations make him 
 forget the glories of that imperial palace whence 
 he came, the splendors there, on happy hills of 
 God, that once he knew, but now, are all but for- 
 gotten. These are the glorious thoughts of the 
 old poets, that are true, but with a different phi- 
 losophy. With larger study, has come the wiser 
 conclusion, namely, that the instincts are ances- 
 tral memories, that the intuitions are the con- 
 densed recollections of long generations, regis- 
 tered, preserved, and handed forward for us. 
 By long study and habitual practice the worker's 
 hand performs certain feats automatically. And 
 by practice and long time, man has his mental 
 traits. Could we stand, therefore, in the aisle 
 of man's soul, and listen oh, what thousand- 
 xxiii 
 
 I 
 
fold whispers would we hear. As if ten thou- 
 sand streams and rivulets were flowing down 
 from ancestral hills, to make up that great river 
 of intellect called the human soul. To what end 
 was this task accumulated? Plainly, for a great 
 future. Yesterdays, so many and so rich, im- 
 ply to-morrows, equally numerous, and no less 
 rich. Ten thousand years to develop your in- 
 tuitions, your instincts, your heart-hungers for 
 righteousness and purity, and prayer, and self- 
 sacrifice, imply ten thousand years for your con- 
 tinuance, and the full development and exhibit 
 and use of your treasure. It is this great past 
 that prophesies the immortal to-morrow. It is 
 this immortal hope that consecrates to-day's tool 
 and task. The setting sun pours a flood of splen- 
 dor over humble objects the fallen log, the rail 
 fence, the humble cot and the soul stands in the 
 foregleam and anticipatory glow of an immortal 
 day. God, who made the sun to disappear in 
 a rich bank of clouds, that it may rise again in 
 the morning, makes the soul to sink into the arms 
 of death, to disappear from sight, but not to pass 
 away. The great sun to-day lifts frpm the sea 
 the white mists and the land sheds its vapors 
 that rise like white clouds and incense unto the 
 throne of God. And thus, the poet says, our 
 earth sheds its whitest souls into the air and 
 our noblest spirits rise heavenward, unto Him 
 who dwells above the stars, where is Our Fa- 
 
 xxiv 
 
ITntro&uctiotu 
 
 ther's house, the many mansions, and where 
 dwell the apostles and heroes and martyrs. 
 
 angel of the land of peace! 
 When wilt thou ever come for me? 
 
 1 fain would be where sorrows cease; 
 I dread no more thy kind release; 
 
 I wait for thee! 
 
 -Pg. 48. 
 
 Science the Prophet Physical science, also, 
 of Immortality. has become a prophet of 
 immortality. How fascinating those volumes, 
 "The Soul's Survival of Bodily Death." Here 
 and now it is enough to say that their author 
 deserves unbounded praise for his contribution. 
 Mr. Myers' poem on St. Paul tells us that had 
 he practiced verse he might have been a great 
 poet. His essays tell us that had he given him- 
 self to literature he might have been a great 
 writer. His studies in mental science tell us that 
 he could have achieved great fame as an ana- 
 lytical student; but Professor Myers gave him- 
 self for thirty years to the problems of the mind, 
 and for that form of mind which is generally 
 called abnormal and provokes severe criticism, 
 and induces much misunderstanding. In the sec- 
 ond volume of these great books, in which Pro- 
 fessor Myers seems to me to have established his 
 argument, he says that but for the study of phys- 
 ical science and for investigations into the realm 
 that he has been studying that a hundred years 
 xxv 
 
 
 TO 
 
fTntroOuctfon. 
 
 from now no man might have believed in im- 
 mortality, but that because of these investigations 
 a hundred years from now, there will be no sci- 
 entist of any standing who does not believe that 
 the soul survives bodily death. From every 
 quarter, therefore, the arguments come troop- 
 ing in. The proofs are cumulative. All the 
 facts march and they all march one way to- 
 ward immortality. Poetry has its prophecies. 
 Philosophy moves along its great highway of 
 argument; the over-equipment of the soul hints 
 the preparation for the immortal life; the early 
 death of the young, the gifted and the noblest 
 tell us they have been promoted to higher tasks ; 
 our heroes, slain by assassins' bullets, our mar- 
 tyrs, rising in chariots of fire, our reformers, ex- 
 iled and hunted over the hills, our teachers, 
 poisoned in Athens, our missionaries, beheaded 
 in Rome, our apostles, crucified in Egypt and 
 Ethiopia their wrongs shall be righted, for this 
 is a moral universe, and justice shall be done. 
 In this hope they lived the hope of immortality, 
 and in this faith they died, without a fear or tear. 
 God tells no lies to the birds, to whom He whis- 
 pers through instinct that if they will leave the 
 storm behind, far off is the warm tropic land. 
 Let us believe also that beyond these voices, there 
 is rest and peace. That God hath explained their 
 hard problems ; and that one look into His face, 
 one word of approval from His lips, hath jus- 
 tified the long years of perils in the city, and per- 
 xxvi 
 
Introduction. 
 
 ils in the wilderness of temptation, and sorrow 
 and struggle, of sacrifice, and death. 
 
 Immortality the Very 
 Genius of Life. 
 
 After long years of 
 reflection, and much 
 
 study, some of us have found the rock. Hope 
 has become conviction, conviction has become cer- 
 tainty, and at last faith is a winged reason, and 
 a form of glorified intellect. For us the im- 
 mortal hope is at once the solace and the glory 
 of daily life, and but for this outlook, life would 
 be all but unendurable. Hours there are, let us 
 confess it, when life for some is scarcely worth 
 the living. The statesman plans the people's good 
 and receives criticism. The publicist informs the 
 people, and a single sentence is torn from its con- 
 text and turned into an arrow, and winged with 
 fire against him. For generosity the merchant 
 receives ingratitude. Oft, too, the best men are 
 cast aside, while the worst climb to place and in- 
 fluence. Utterly tired of their fellows, worn out 
 inside and worn out outside, an overworked pub- 
 lic servant often feels as if he never wants to see 
 the face of man again, and would like to seek 
 a dreamless sleep. Then there is but one thing 
 that will recover his soul to its wonted strength, 
 equip him for his battle on the morrow, and pour 
 fresh life into his jaded soul the immortal hope. 
 Hours there are when one could not live, but for 
 this outlook toward the stars, and but for that 
 door opened into heaven. What passionate hun- 
 
Introduction, 
 
 ger for wisdom, with no time for quiet study! 
 What hunger of the eyes for beauty! Oh, for 
 a century of travel in the summer, into the great 
 mountains! and a century for travel in the win- 
 ter, into the great tropic lands ! What ambitions 
 to serve the poor and weak! Must the scholar 
 close his books forever? Must the jurist leave 
 his hall and bench when he has scarce begun 
 his task? Have the noble spirits with their zest 
 for righteousness and personal holiness, no place 
 of satisfaction? At best, what a little cage this 
 world is! 
 
 The keeper of the zoological garden tells us 
 that in the autumn the golden-crested eagle 
 stands always on the south side of the cage, with 
 its head between the bars, straining and strain- 
 ing toward the south. That when the spring 
 is again upon the land, and the south wind blows 
 softly, the eagle stands always looking toward 
 the north. With its head between the bars it 
 strains toward the land where coolness hath her 
 hiding-places. And oft the soul stands expec- 
 tant. Soon the signal will be seen. Then, put- 
 ting out into the night, and the storm, we shall 
 sail the sea with God alone, in the triumphant 
 faith that at last we shall drop anchor in a far- 
 off haven of happiness, and landing on the 
 soul's summer land, go up the happy hills of 
 God. 
 
 NEWELL DWIGHT HILLIS. 
 
 Brooklyn, 1905. 
 
 xxviii 
 
.1 
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 But is there for the night a resting place. Frontispiece 
 
 PAGE 
 Look, O Jesus, on thy soldiers, worn and wounded 
 
 in the fight 20 
 
 Yet how he prayed, unaided and alone, in that great 
 
 agony, ' ' Thy will be done ! " 31 
 
 Jesus the Nazarene : The King, the Crucified 
 
 I do not ask, O Lord, that thou shouldst shed full 
 
 radiance here 71 
 
 Lead, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom, 
 
 lead thou me on 78 
 
 But 'tis Jesus who has called them " Suffer, and 
 
 forbid them not. " 83 
 
 One who bore a heavier cross for thee 87 
 
 "Come, weary souls, for Jesus bids you come." 90 
 
 The hour that ends all earthly woes, and gives the 
 
 wearied soul repose 127 
 
 I hear a still, small voice, saying, "Faint not." 174 
 
 I think that the Angels have found her, and 
 
 begged the Good Father to keep her 209 
 
 His calm Almighty voice, saying "Awake! weep 
 
OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 All hail ! Redeemer hail ! , 260 
 
 The Angels ever bear some newly ransomed soul 
 
 on high 272 
 
 What home like this can the wide earth afford 278 
 
1. 
 
 longings for Ibeavem 
 
 / weary of this endless strife ; 
 
 I -weary of this dying life, 
 
 This living death, this heavy chain. 
 
 This torment of delay, 
 In which her sins my soul detain. 
 Ah, when shall it be mine ? ah, when ! 
 
 With my last breath to say, 
 " No more I weep, no more I sigh ! " 
 I '/# dying of desire to die. 
 
 St. Teresa of Spain. 
 
 ii 
 

 Having the desire to depart and be with Christ; for it is very far 
 better. Phil, i : 23. 
 
 For indeed we that are in this tabernacle do groan, being bur- 
 dened; not for that we would be unclothed, but that we would be 
 clothed upon, that what is mortal may be swallowed up of life. 
 2 Cor. 3:4. 
 
 We are of good courage, I say, and are willing rather to be absent 
 from the body, and to be at home with the Lord. 2 Cor. 3 : 8. 
 
 12 
 
for Ibeaveru 
 
 JERUSALEM THE GOLDEN. 
 
 JERUSALEM the golden ! 
 ^ I weary for one gleam 
 Of all thy glory folden 
 
 In distance and in dream ! 
 My thoughts, like palms in exile, 
 
 Climb up to look and pray 
 For a glimpse of thy dear country 
 
 That lies so far away ! 
 
 Jerusalem the golden ! 
 
 Methinks each flower that blows, 
 And every bird a-singing 
 
 Of thee some secret knows ; 
 I know not what the flowers 
 
 Can feel, or singers see ; 
 But all these summer raptures 
 
 Seem prophecies of thee. 
 
 Jerusalem the golden ! 
 
 When sunset 's in the west, 
 It seems thy gate of glory, 
 
 Thou city of the blest ! 
 And midnight's starry torches 
 
 Through intermediate gloom 
 Are waving with our welcome 
 
 To thy eternal home ! 
 
 TO 
 
Cbe fearless ZanD. 
 
 Jerusalem the golden ! 
 
 Where loftily they sing, 
 O'er pain and sorrow olden 
 
 Forever triumphing ; 
 Lowly may be the portal 
 
 And dark may be the door, 
 The mansion is immortal, 
 
 God's palace for his poor ! 
 
 Jerusalem the golden ! 
 
 There all our birds that flew, 
 Our flowers but half unfolden, 
 
 Our pearls that turned to dew, 
 And all the glad life-music, 
 
 Now heard no longer here, 
 Shall come again to greet us 
 
 As we are drawing near. 
 
 Jerusalem the golden ! 
 
 I toil on day by day ; 
 Heart-sore each night with longing, 
 
 I stretch my hands and pray, 
 That 'mid thy leaves of healing 
 
 My soul may find her nest ; 
 Where the wicked cease from troubling 
 
 The weary are at rest ! 
 18700 Gerald Masscy* 
 
 HOW LONG? 
 
 MY GOD, it is not fretfulness 
 That makes me say " How long?" 
 It is not heaviness of heart 
 
for 1bea\?en. 
 
 That hinders me in song j 
 T is not despair of truth and right, 
 Nor coward dread of wrong. 
 
 But how can I, with such a hope 
 
 Of glory and of home, 
 With such a joy before my eyes, 
 
 Not wish the time were come, 
 Of years the jubilee, of days 
 
 The Sabbath and the sun ? 
 
 These years, what ages they have been ! 
 
 This life, how long it seems ! 
 And how can I, in evil days, 
 
 'Mid unknown hills and streams, 
 But sigh for those of home and heart, 
 
 And visit them in dreams ? 
 
 Yet peace, my heart ; and hush, my tongue ; 
 
 Be calm, my troubled breast ; 
 Each restless hour is hastening on 
 
 The everlasting rest ; 
 Thou knowest that the time thy God 
 
 Appoints for thee is best. 
 
 Let faith, not fear nor fretfulness, 
 
 Awake the cry, " How long? " 
 Let no faint-heartedness of soul 
 
 Damp thy aspiring song : 
 Right comes, truth dawns, the night departs 
 
 Of error and of wrong. 
 
 Horatius Bonar. 
 
 TO 
 
fearless XanD. 
 
 SWEET place, sweet place alone ! 
 The court of God most High, 
 The Heaven of heavens' throne, 
 Of spotless majesty ! 
 O happy place ! 
 When shall I be, 
 My God, with thee, 
 To see thy face ? 
 
 The stranger homeward bends, 
 And fighteth for his rest : 
 Heaven is my home ; my friends 
 Lodge there in Abraham's breast. 
 O happy place ! 
 When shall I be, 
 My God, with thee, 
 To see thy face ? 
 
 Earth 's but a sorry tent 
 Pitched for a few frail days, 
 A short-leased tenement ; 
 Heaven 's still my song, my praise. 
 O happy place ! 
 When shall I be, 
 My God, with thee, 
 To see thy face ? 
 
 No tears from any eyes 
 Drop in that holy choir ; 
 But Death itself there dies, 
 And sighs themselves expire. 
 
 16 
 
for f>eaven, 
 
 O happy place ! 
 
 When shall I be, 
 
 My God, with thee, 
 To see thy face? 
 
 There should temptations cease, 
 My frailties there should end ; 
 There should I rest in peace 
 In the arms of my best Friend. 
 O happy place ! 
 When shall I be, 
 My God, with thee, 
 To see thy face ? 
 
 Jerusalem on high 
 My song and city is, 
 My home whene'er I die, 
 The center of my bliss. 
 O happy place ! 
 When shall I be, 
 My God, with thee, 
 To see thy face ? 
 
 Thy walls, sweet city, thine, 
 With pearls are garnished ; 
 Thy gates with praises shine, 
 Thy streets with gold are spread. 
 O happy place ! 
 When shall I be, 
 My God, with thee, 
 To see thy face ? 
 
 No sun by day shines there, 
 No moon by silent night ; 
 
 JO 
 
Xanfc. 
 
 Oh, no ! these needless are ; 
 The Lamb 's the city's light. 
 O happy place ! 
 When shall I be, 
 My God, with thee, 
 To see thy face ? 
 
 There dwells my Lord, my King, 
 Judged here unfit to live ; 
 There angels to him sing, 
 And lovely homage give. 
 O happy place ! 
 When shall I be, 
 My God, with thee, 
 To see thy face ? 
 
 The patriarchs of old 
 There from their travels cease ; 
 The prophets there behold 
 Their longed-for Prince of Peace. 
 O happy place ! 
 When shall I be, 
 My God, with thee, 
 To see thy face ? 
 
 The Lamb's apostles there 
 I might with joy behold, 
 The harpers I might hear 
 Harping on harps of gold. 
 O happy place ! 
 When shall I be, 
 My God, with thee, 
 To see thy face ? 
 
 18 
 
for Deaven, 
 
 The bleeding martyrs, they 
 Within these courts are found, 
 Clothe'd in pure array, 
 Their scars with glory crowned. 
 O happy place ! 
 When shall I be, 
 My God, with thee, 
 To see thy face ? 
 
 Ah me ! ah me ! that I 
 In Kedar's tents here stay ! 
 No place like this on high ! 
 Thither, Lord ! guide my way ! 
 O happy place ! 
 When shall I be, 
 My God, with thee, 
 To see thy face ? 
 
 Samuel Grossman* 
 
 A SIGHING EXILE. 
 
 the fount of life eternal 
 Gazing wistful and athirst, 
 
 Yearning, straining, from the prison 
 Of confining flesh to burst, 
 
 Here the soul an exile sighs 
 
 For her native Paradise. 
 
 Who can paint that lovely city, 
 City of true peace divine, 
 
 Whose pure gates for ever open 
 Each in pearly splendor shine ; 
 
 Whose abodes of glory clear 
 
 Naught defiling cometh near ? 
 
 19 
 
fearless Xanfc. 
 
 There no stormy winter rages ; 
 
 There no scorching summer glows ; 
 But through one perennial springtide 
 
 Bloom the lily and the rose ; 
 And the Lamb, with purest ray, 
 Scatters round eternal day. 
 
 There the saints of God, resplendent 
 
 As the sun in all its might, 
 Evermore rejoice together, 
 
 Crowned with diadems of light ; 
 And from peril safe at last, 
 Reckon up their triumphs past. 
 
 Happy they who, with them seated, 
 
 Shall in all their glory share ! 
 Oh, that we, our days completed, 
 
 Might but be admitted there t 
 There with them the praise to sing 
 Of our glorious God and King. 
 
 Look, O Jesus, on thy soldiers, 
 
 Worn and wounded in the fight ; 
 Grant, oh, grant us rest forever 
 
 In thy beatific sight ; 
 And thyself our guerdon be 
 Through a long eternity. 
 
 Rev. Edward Caswali. 
 
 MORE LIFE. 
 
 IOT weary of thy world, 
 
 So beautiful, O Father, in thy love, 
 Thy world, that, glory-lighted from above, 
 Lies in thy hand impearled : 
 
 N 
 
Look, O Jesus, on thy soldiers, 
 
 Worn and wounded in the fight. Page 20. 
 
 THE IMMORTAL HOPB. 
 
for Deaven. 
 
 Not asking rest from toil : 
 Sweet toil, that draws us nearer to thy side ; 
 Ever to tend thy planting satisfied, 
 
 Though in ungenial soil : 
 
 Nor to be freed from care, 
 That lifts us out of self's lone hollowness ; 
 Since unto thy dear feet we all may press, 
 
 And leave our burdens there : 
 
 But oh, for tireless strength ! 
 A life untainted by the curse of sin, 
 That spreads no vile contagion from within ; 
 
 Found without spot, at length ! 
 
 For power, and stronger will 
 To pour out love from the heart's inmost springs 
 A constant freshness for all needy things ; 
 
 In blessing, blessed still ! 
 
 Oh, to be clothed upon 
 With the white radiance of a heavenly form ! 
 To feel the winge"d Psyche quit the worm, 
 
 Life, life eternal won ! 
 
 Oh, to be free, heart- free 
 From all that checks the right endeavor here ! 
 To drop the weariness, the pain, the fear, 
 
 To know death cannot be ! 
 
 Oh, but to breathe in air 
 Where there can be no tyrant and no slave ; 
 Where every thought is pure and high and brave, 
 
 And all that is is fair ! 
 
 21 
 
fearless fcanfc. 
 
 More life ! the life of heaven ! 
 A perfect liberty to do thy will : 
 Receiving all from thee, and giving still, 
 
 Freely as thou hast given ! 
 
 More life ! a prophecy 
 Is in that thirsty cry, if read aright. 
 Deep calleth unto deep : life infinite, 
 
 O soul, awaiteth thee ! 
 
 Lucy Larcom. 
 
 LOVE, REST, AND HOME! 
 
 BEYOND the smiling and the weeping, 
 I shall be soon ; 
 
 Beyond the waking and the sleeping, 
 Beyond the sowing and the reaping, 
 
 I shall be soon. 
 Love, rest, and home ! 
 Sweet home ! 
 Lord, tarry not, but come. 
 
 Beyond the blooming and the fading, 
 
 I shall be soon ; 
 
 Beyond the shining and the shading, 
 Beyond the hoping and the dreading, 
 
 I shall be soon. 
 Love, rest, and home ! 
 Sweet home \ 
 Lord, tarry not, but come. 
 
 Beyond the rising and the setting, 
 I shall be soon ; 
 22 
 
Beyond the calming and the fretting, 
 Beyond remembering and forgetting, 
 I shall be soon. 
 
 Love, rest, and home ! 
 
 Sweet home ! 
 
 Lord, tarry not, but come. 
 
 Beyond the parting and the meeting, 
 
 I shall be soon ; 
 Beyond the farewell and the greeting, 
 Beyond the pulse's fever beating, 
 
 I shall be soon. 
 Love, rest, and home ! 
 Sweet home ! 
 Lord, tarry not, but come. 
 
 Beyond the frost-chain and the fever, 
 
 I shall be soon ; 
 
 Beyond the rock-waste and the river, 
 Beyond the ever and the never 
 
 I shall be soon. 
 Love, rest, and home ! 
 Sweet home ! 
 Lord, tarry not, but come. 
 
 Horatius Bonar. 
 
 MY HOMELAND. 
 
 MY Homeland, O my Homeland, 
 The land of souls free-born ! 
 No gloomy night is known there, 
 But aye the fadeless morn ; 
 
{Tearless Xan&. 
 
 I 'm sighing for that country, 
 
 My heart is aching here ; 
 There 's no pain in the Homeland 
 
 To which I 'm drawing near. 
 
 My Lord is in the Homeland, 
 
 With angels bright and fair ; 
 No sinful thing or evil 
 
 Can ever enter there ; 
 The music of the ransomed 
 
 Is ringing in my ears, 
 And when I think of Homeland 
 
 My eyes are filled with tears. 
 
 My loved ones in the Homeland 
 
 Are waiting me to come, 
 Where neither death nor sorrow 
 
 Invade their holy home ; 
 O dear, dear native country ! 
 
 O rest and peace above ! 
 Christ bring us to the Homeland 
 
 Of His eternal love ! 
 
 H.R.Haweis. 
 
 HOMESICK FOR HEAVEN. 
 
 HOMESICK for heaven ! winged soul, 
 Whose folded pinions stir with longing, 
 Sure herald this of that bright goal 
 
 Toward which thy eager hopes are thronging. 
 
 Homesick for heaven ! weary frame, 
 The Eden curse still hanging o'er thee, 
 
 Points mutely with its sword of flame 
 To that dear Beulah-land before thee. 
 
for f>eaven* 
 
 Homesick for heaven ! throbbing brain, 
 
 Thine infinite desires outreaching 
 Thy finite powers, this blissful pain 
 
 A boundless destiny is teaching. 
 
 Homesick for heaven ! halting tongue, 
 
 The muffled music of thy spirit, 
 The thoughts unvoiced, the songs unsung, 
 
 Are hints of what thou shalt inherit. 
 
 Homesick for heaven ! yearning heart, 
 With joy's swift pulse beat out life's story : 
 
 To love and be beloved thou art ; 
 And love 's for aye, not transitory. 
 
 Homesick for heaven ! spirit mine, 
 
 For God and holiness thus yearning, 
 Behold in this desire of thine, 
 
 A needle to its magnet turning. 
 
 Homesick for heaven ! sweetest ill 
 
 That can befall a soul immortal ! 
 Dear God, I thank thee for the spell 
 
 That makes grim death a shining portal. 
 
 EUa Gilber fives. 
 
 THE LIFE ABOVE. 
 
 T^HE life above, the life on high, 
 
 Alone is life in verity ; 
 Nor can we life at all enjoy, 
 Till this poor life is o'er ; 
 Then, O sweet Death ! no longer fly 
 
From me, who, ere my time to die, 
 
 Am dying evermore ; 
 Forevermore I weep and sigh, 
 Dying, because I do not die. 
 
 To Him, who deigns in me to live, 
 What better gift have I to give, 
 O my poor earthly life, than thee ? 
 
 Too glad of thy decay, 
 So but I may the sooner see 
 That face of sweetest majesty, 
 
 For which I pine away ; 
 While evermore I weep and sigh, 
 Dying, because I do not die. 
 
 Absent from thee, my Saviour dear, 
 I call not life this living here, 
 But a long dying agony, 
 
 The sharpest I have known ; 
 And I myself, myself to see 
 In such a rack of misery, 
 
 For very pity moan ; 
 And ever, ever weep and sigh, 
 Dying, because I do not die. 
 
 Ah ! Lord, my light and living breath, 
 
 Take me, oh, take me from this death, 
 
 And burst the bars that sever me 
 
 From my true life above ! 
 Think how I die thy face to see, 
 And cannot live away from thee, 
 
 O my eternal Love ! 
 And ever, ever weep and sigh, 
 Dying, because I do not die. 
 
 26 
 
Xongtngs for "fceavem 
 
 I weary of this endless strife ; 
 I weary of this dying life, 
 
 This living death, this heavy chain, 
 
 This torment of delay, 
 In which her sins my soul detain. 
 Ah ! when shall it be mine ? ah, when ! 
 
 With my last breath to say, 
 " No more I weep, no more I sigh ! " 
 I 'm dying of desire to die. 
 
 St. Teresa. Tr. by Edward Caswatt. 
 
 THE PROMISED LAND. 
 
 ON Jordan's stormy banks I stand, 
 And cast a wistful eye 
 To Canaan's fair and happy land, 
 Where my possessions lie. 
 
 Oh, the transporting, rapturous scene 
 
 That rises to my sight ! 
 Sweet fields arrayed in living green, 
 
 And rivers of delight ! 
 
 There generous fruits, that never fail, 
 
 On trees immortal grow ; 
 There rock and hill and brook and vale 
 
 With milk and honey flow. 
 
 All o'er those wide-extended plains 
 
 Shines one eternal day ; 
 There God the Sun forever reigns, 
 
 And scatters night away. 
 
 No chilling winds or poisonous breath 
 Can reach that healthful shore : 
 
 27 
 
fearless XanD. 
 
 1787. 
 
 Sickness and sorrow, pain and death, 
 Are felt and feared no more. 
 
 When shall I reach that happy place, 
 
 And be forever blest ? 
 When shall I see my Father's face, 
 
 And in his bosom rest ? 
 
 Filled with delight, my raptured soul 
 
 Can here no longer stay : 
 Though Jordan's waves around me roll, 
 
 Fearless I 'd launch away. 
 
 Samuel Stinnett. 
 
 COME, LIFE AND LIGHT. 
 
 WOULD you be young again ? 
 So would not I ; 
 One tear to memory given, 
 
 Onward I '11 hie ; 
 Life's dark wave forded o'er, 
 All but at rest on shore, 
 Say, would you plunge once more, 
 With home so nigh? 
 
 If you might, would you now 
 
 Retrace your way ? 
 Wander through stormy wilds, 
 
 Faint and astray ? 
 Night's gloomy watches fled, 
 Morning all beaming red, 
 Hope's smiles around us shed, 
 
 Heavenward, away ! 
 
 28 
 
Xongfngs for t)eaven. 
 
 Where are those dear ones, 
 
 Our joy and delight, 
 Dear and more dear, though now 
 
 Hidden from sight ? 
 Where they rejoice to be, 
 There is the home for me ; 
 Fly, Time ! fly speedily ! 
 
 Come, life and light ! 
 Carolina, Baroness of Nairnc, in her ^th year. 
 
 THE HOMELAND. 
 
 HOMELAND ! O Homeland ! 
 
 I close my weary eyes, 
 And let the happy vision 
 Before my spirit rise. 
 
 O Homeland ! O Homeland ! 
 
 No lonely heart is there, 
 No rush of blinding anguish, 
 
 No slowly dropping tear. 
 Now, like an infant crying, 
 
 Its mother's face to see, 
 O Motherland ! O Homeland ! 
 
 I stretch my arms to thee. 
 
 O Homeland ! O Homeland ! 
 
 No moaning of the sick, 
 No crying of the weary, 
 
 No sighing of the weak. 
 But sound of children's voices, 
 
 And shout of saintly song, 
 Are heard thy happy highways, 
 
 And golden streets along. 
 29 
 
Cbe Meatless XanD. 
 
 O Homeland ! O Homeland ! 
 
 The veil is very thin 
 That stretches thy dear meadows 
 
 And this cold world between ; 
 A breath aside may blow it, 
 
 A heart-throb burst it through, 
 And bring in one glad moment 
 
 Thy happy lands to view. 
 
 O Homeland ! O Homeland ! 
 
 One Chief of all thy band, 
 One altogether lovely, 
 
 One Lord of all the land 
 Stands, eager, at the gateway ; 
 
 The Bridegroom waits his bride ; 
 And resting on his bosom, 
 
 " I shall be satisfied." 
 
 Lucy J. Rider Meyer. 
 
 THE LAND OF FADELESS BEAUTY. 
 I. 
 
 THERE is a land where beauty cannot fade, 
 Nor sorrow dim the eye ; 
 
 Where true love shall not droop nor be dismayed, 
 And none shall ever die ! 
 Where is that land, oh, where ? 
 For I would hasten there ! 
 Tell me, I fain would go, 
 For I am wearied with a heavy woe ! 
 The beautiful have left me all alone : 
 The true, the tender, from my path have gone ! 
 
 30 
 
Yet now he prayed, unaided and alone, 
 
 In that great agony, "Thy will be done !" Page 31. 
 
 (From painting by Paul Thurman.) 
 
 HE IMMORTAL HOPE. 
 
Oh, guide me with thy hand, 
 
 If thou dost know the land, 
 For I am burdened with oppressive care, 
 And I am weak and fearful with despair ! 
 
 Where is it? Tell me where ! 
 Thou that art kind and gentle, tell me where ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Friend, thou must trust in Him who trod before 
 
 The desolate paths of life ; 
 Must bear in meekness, as He meekly bore, 
 
 Sorrow, and pain, and strife ! 
 
 Think how the Son of God 
 
 These thorny paths hath trod ; 
 
 Think how He longed to go, 
 Yet tarried out for thee the appointed woe ; 
 Think of His weariness in places dim, 
 When no man comforted or cared for him ! 
 
 Think of the blood-like sweat 
 
 With which his brow was wet, 
 Yet how he prayed, unaided and alone, 
 In that great agony, " Thy will be done ! " 
 
 Friend, do not thou despair, 
 
 Christ from his heaven of heavens will hear thy prayer. 
 Johann Ludwig Uhland ; Translator unknown. 
 
 
 i Note i. 
 
 THE CELESTIAL COUNTRY. 1 
 
 T^HE world is very evil ! 
 * The times are waxing late : 
 Be sober, and keep vigil ; 
 The Judge is at the gate : 
 
3be fearless XanO. 
 
 The Judge that comes in mercy, 
 
 The Judge that comes with might, 
 To terminate the evil, 
 
 To diadem the right. 
 When the just and gentle Monarch 
 
 Shall summon from the tomb, 
 Let man, the guilty, tremble, 
 
 For Man, the God, shall doom. 
 Arise, arise, good Christian, 
 
 Let right to wrong succeed ; 
 Let penitential sorrow 
 
 To heavenly gladness lead ; 
 To the light that hath no evening, 
 
 That knows nor moon nor sun, 
 The light so new and golden, 
 
 The light that is but one. 
 And when the Sole- Begotten 
 
 Shall render up once more 
 The kingdom to the Father 
 
 Whose own it was before, 
 Then glory yet unheard of 
 
 Shall shed abroad its ray, 
 Resolving all enigmas, 
 
 An endless Sabbath-day. 
 Then, then from his oppressors 
 
 The Hebrew shall go free, 
 And celebrate in triumph 
 
 The year of Jubilee ; 
 And the sunlit Land that recks not 
 
 Of tempest nor of fight, 
 Shall fold within its bosom 
 
 Each happy Israelite : 
 
 3 2 
 
for Ibeaven, 
 
 The Home of fadeless splendor, 
 
 Of flowers that fear no thorn, 
 Where they shall dwell as children, 
 
 Who here as exiles mourn. 
 Midst power that knows no limit, 
 
 And wisdom free trom bound, 
 The beatific vision 
 
 Shall glad the saints around : 
 The peace of all the faithful, 
 
 The calm of all the blest, 
 Inviolate, unvaried, 
 
 Divinest, sweetest, best. 
 Yes, peace ! for war is needless, 
 
 Yes, calm ! for storm is past, 
 And goal from finished labor, 
 
 And anchorage at last. 
 That peace but who may claim it ? 
 
 The guileless in their way, 
 Who keep the ranks of battle, 
 
 Who mean the thing they say : 
 The peace that is for heaven, 
 
 And shall be for the earth : 
 The palace that re-echoes 
 
 With festal song and mirth ; 
 The garden, breathing spices, 
 
 The paradise on high : 
 Grace beautified to glory, 
 
 Unceasing minstrelsy. 
 There nothing can be feeble, 
 
 There none can ever mourn, 
 There nothing is divided, 
 
 There nothing can be torn : 
 
 33 
 
fearless Xanfc. 
 
 T is fury, ill, and scandal, 
 
 'T is peaceless peace below ; 
 Peace, endless, strifeless, ageless, 
 
 The halls of Syon know : 
 O happy, holy portion, 
 
 Refection for the blest : 
 True vision of true beauty, 
 
 Sweet cure of all distress ! 
 Strive, man, to win that glory ; 
 
 Toil, man, to gain that light ; 
 Send hope before to grasp it, 
 
 Till hope be lost in sight : 
 Till Jesus gives the portion 
 
 Those blessed souls to fill, 
 The insatiate, yet satisfied, 
 
 The full, yet craving still. 
 That fullness and that craving 
 
 Alike are free from pain, 
 Where thou, midst heavenly citizens, 
 
 A home like theirs shalt gain. 
 Here is the warlike trumpet ; 
 
 There, life set free from sin ; 
 When to the last Great Supper 
 
 The faithful shall come in : 
 When the heavenly net is laden 
 
 With fishes many and great ; 
 So glorious in its fullness, 
 
 Yet so inviolate : 
 And the perfect from the shattered, 
 
 And the fall'n from them that stand, 
 And the sheep-flock from the goat-herd 
 
 Shall part on either hand : 
 
 34 
 
 JO 
 
Jesus the Nazarene : The King, the Crucified Page 35. 
 
 THE IMMORTAL HOPK 
 
for 1>eaven, 
 
 And these shall pass to torment, 
 
 And those shall triumph, then ; 
 The new peculiar nation, 
 
 Blest number of blest men. 
 Jerusalem demands them : 
 
 They paid the price on earth, 
 And now shall reap the harvest 
 
 In blissfulness and mirth : 
 The glorious holy people, 
 
 Who evermore relied 
 Upon their Chief and Father, 
 
 The King, the Crucified : 
 The sacred ransomed number 
 
 Now bright with endless sheen, 
 Who made the Cross their watchword 
 
 Of Jesus, Nazarene : 
 Who, fed with heavenly nectar, 
 
 Where foul-like odors play, 
 Draw out the endless leisure 
 
 Of that long vernal day : 
 And through the sacred lilies, 
 
 And flowers on every side, 
 The happy, dear-bought people 
 
 Go wandering far and wide. 
 Their breasts are filled with gladness, 
 
 Their mouths are tuned to praise, 
 What time, now safe forever, 
 
 On former sins they gaze : 
 The fouler was the error, 
 
 The sadder was the fall, 
 The ampler are the praises 
 
 Of Him who pardoned all. 
 
 35 
 
Their one and only anthem, 
 
 The fullness of His love, 
 Who gives, instead of torment, 
 
 Eternal joys above : 
 Instead of torment, glory ; 
 
 Instead of death, that life 
 Wherewith your happy Country 
 
 True Israelites, is rife. 
 
 Brief life is here our portion ; 
 
 Brief sorrow, short-lived care ; 
 The life that knows no ending, 
 
 The tearless life, is there. 
 O happy retribution ! 
 
 Short toil, eternal rest ; 
 For mortals and for sinners 
 
 A mansion with the blest ! 
 That we should look, poor wand'rers, 
 
 To have our home on high ! 
 That worms should seek for dwellings 
 
 Beyond the starry sky ! 
 To all one happy guerdon 
 
 Of one celestial grace ; 
 For all, for all, who mourn their fall, 
 
 Is one eternal place : 
 And martyrdom hath roses 
 
 Upon that heavenly ground : 
 And white and virgin lilies 
 
 For virgin souls abound. 
 Their grief is turned to pleasure ; 
 
 Such pleasure, as below 
 
 36 
 
for f>eaven. 
 
 No human voice can utter, 
 
 No human heart can know : 
 And after fleshly scandal, 
 
 And after this world's night, 
 And after storm and whirlwind, 
 
 Is calm, and joy, and light. 
 And now we fight the battle, 
 
 But then shall wear the crown 
 Of full and everlasting 
 
 And passionless renown : 
 And now we watch and struggle, 
 
 And now we live in hope, 
 And Syon, in her anguish, 
 
 With Babylon must cope : 
 But He whom now we trust in 
 
 Shall then be seen and known, 
 And they that know and see Him 
 
 Shall have Him for their own. 
 The miserable pleasures 
 
 Of the body shall decay : 
 The bland and flattering struggles 
 
 Of the flesh shall pass away : 
 And none shall there be jealous ; 
 
 And none shall there contend : 
 Fraud, clamor, guile, what say I ? 
 
 All ill, all ill shall end ! 
 And there is David's Fountain, 
 
 And life in fullest glow, 
 And there the light is golden, 
 
 And milk and honey flow : 
 The light that hath no evening, 
 
 The health that hath no sore, 
 
 37 
 
 
fearless 
 
 The life that hath no ending, 
 But lasteth evermore. 
 
 There Jesus shall embrace us, 
 
 There Jesus be embraced, 
 That spirit's food and sunshine 
 
 Whence earthly love is chased. 
 Amidst the happy chorus, 
 
 A place, however low, 
 Shall show Him us, and, showing, 
 
 Shall satiate evermo. 
 By hope we struggle onward, 
 
 While here we must be fed 
 By milk, as tender infants, 
 
 But there by Living Bread. 
 The night was full of terror, 
 
 The morn is bright with gladness 
 The Cross becomes our harbor, 
 
 And we triumph after sadness : 
 And Jesus to his true ones 
 
 Brings trophies fair to see : 
 And Jesus shall be loved, and 
 
 Beheld in Galilee : 
 Beheld, when morn shall waken, 
 
 And shadows shall decay : 
 And each true-hearted servant 
 
 Shall shine as doth the day : 
 And every ear shall hear it ; 
 
 Behold thy King's array : 
 Behold thy God in beauty ; 
 
 The Law hath passed away ! 
 
 38 
 
Xongings for Deaven. 
 
 Yes ! God my King and Portion, 
 
 In fullness of His grace, 
 We then shall see forever, 
 
 And worship face to face. 
 Then Jacob into Israel, 
 
 From earthlier self estranged, 
 And Leah into Rachel 
 
 Forever shall be changed : 
 Then all the halls of Syon 
 
 For aye shall be complete, 
 And, in the Land of Beauty, 
 
 All things of beauty meet. 
 
 For thee, O dear, dear Country ! 
 
 Mine eyes their vigils keep ; 
 For very love, beholding 
 
 Thy happy name, they weep : 
 The mention of thy glory 
 
 Is unction to the breast, 
 And medicine in sickness, 
 
 And love, and life, and rest. 
 O one, O onely Mansion ! 
 
 O Paradise of Joy ! 
 Where tears are ever banished, 
 
 And smiles have no alloy ; 
 Beside thy living waters 
 
 All plants are, great and small, 
 The cedar of the forest, 
 
 The hyssop of the wall : , 
 With jaspers glow thy bulwarks ; 
 
 Thy streets with emeralds blaze 
 
 39 
 
ilbe fearless XanD. 
 
 The sardius and the topaz 
 
 Unite in thee their rays : 
 Thine ageless walls are bonded 
 
 With amethyst unpriced : 
 Thy saints build up its fabric, 
 
 And the corner-stone is Christ. 
 The Cross is all thy splendor, 
 
 The Crucified thy praise : 
 His laud and benediction 
 
 Thy ransomed people raise : 
 Jesus, the Gem of Beauty, 
 
 True God and Man, they sing : 
 The never-failing Garden, 
 
 The ever-golden Ring : 
 The Door, the Pledge, the Husband, 
 
 The Guardian of his Court : 
 The Day-star of Salvation, 
 
 The Porter and the Port. 
 Thou hast no shore, fair ocean ! 
 
 Thou hast no time, bright day ! 
 Dear fountain of refreshment 
 
 To pilgrims far away ! 
 Upon the Rock of Ages 
 
 They raise thy holy tower : 
 Thine is the victor's laurel, 
 
 And thine the golden dower : 
 Thou feel'st in mystic rapture, 
 
 O Bride that know'st no guile, 
 The Prince's sweetest kisses, 
 
 The Prince's loveliest smile ; 
 Unfading lilies, bracelets 
 
 Of living pearl thine own ; 
 
 40 
 
OLongfngs tor Deaven. 
 
 The Lamb is ever near thee, 
 
 The Bridegroom thine alone ; 
 The Crown is He to guerdon, 
 
 The Buckler to protect, 
 And He himself the Mansion 
 
 And He the Architect. 
 The only art thou needest, 
 
 Thanksgiving for thy lot : 
 The only joy thou seekest, 
 
 The Life where Death is not : 
 And all thine endless leisure 
 
 In sweetest accents sings, 
 The ill that was thy merit, 
 
 The wealth that is thy King's ! 
 
 Jerusalem the golden, 
 
 With milk and honey blest, 
 Beneath thy contemplation 
 
 Sink heart and voice oppressed : 
 I know not, O I know not, 
 
 What social joys are there ; 
 What radiancy of glory, 
 
 What light beyond compare ! 
 And when I fain would sing them, 
 
 My spirit fails and faints ; 
 And vainly would it image 
 
 The assembly of the saints. 
 They stand, those halls of Syon, 
 
 Conjubilant with song, 
 And bright with many an angel, 
 
 And all the martyr throng : 
 
fearless Xanfc. 
 
 The Prince is ever in them ; 
 
 The daylight is serene ; 
 The pastures of the Blesse'd 
 
 Are decked in glorious sheen. 
 There is the throne of David, 
 
 And there, from care released, 
 The song of them that triumph, 
 
 The shout of them that feast : 
 And they who, with their Leader, 
 
 Have conquered in the fight, 
 Forever and forever 
 
 Are clad in robes of white ! 
 
 O holy, placid harp-notes 
 
 Of that eternal hymn ! 
 O sacred, sweet refection, 
 
 And peace of seraphim ! 
 O thirst, forever ardent, 
 
 Yet evermore content ! 
 O true peculiar vision 
 
 Of God cunctipotent ! 
 Ye know the many mansions 
 
 For many a glorious name, 
 And divers retributions 
 
 That divers merits claim : 
 For midst the constellations 
 
 That deck our earthly sky, 
 This star than that is brighter, 
 
 And so it is on high. 
 
 Jerusalem the glorious ! 
 The glory of th' elect I 
 
 42 
 
tot Ibeavetu 
 
 O dear and future vision 
 
 That eager hearts expect ; 
 Even now by faith I see thee ; 
 
 Even here thy walls discern : 
 To thee my thoughts are kindled, 
 
 And strive and pant and yearn : 
 Jerusalem the onely, 
 
 That look'st from heaven below, 
 In thee is all my glory ; 
 
 In me is all my woe : 
 And though my body may not, 
 
 My spirit seeks thee fain, 
 Till flesh and earth return me 
 
 To earth and flesh again. 
 O none can tell thy bulwarks, 
 
 How gloriously they rise : 
 O none can tell thy capitals 
 
 Of beautiful device : 
 Thy loveliness oppresses 
 
 All human thought and heart : 
 And none, O peace, O Syon, 
 
 Can sing thee as thou art. 
 New mansion of new people, 
 
 Whom God's own love and light 
 Promote, increase, make holy, 
 
 Identify, unite. 
 Thou City of the Angels ! 
 
 Thou City of the Lord ! 
 Whose everlasting music 
 
 Is the glorious decachord ! l 
 
 1 Decachord is the " instrument of ten strings," indicating perfect harmony. 
 
 43 
 
fearless Xanfc, 
 
 And there the band of Prophets 
 
 United praise ascribes, 
 And there the twelve-fold chorus 
 
 Of Israel's ransomed tribes : 
 The lily-beds of virgins, 
 
 The roses' martyr-glow, 
 The cohort of the Fathers 
 
 Who kept the faith below. 
 And there the Sole-Begotten 
 
 Is Lord in regal state ; 
 He, Judah's mystic Lion, 
 
 He, Lamb Immaculate. 
 O fields that know no sorrow ! 
 
 O state that fears no strife ! 
 
 princely bovv'rs ! O land of flow'rs ! 
 
 realm and home of life ! 
 
 Jerusalem, exulting 
 On that securest shore, 
 
 1 hope thee, wish thee, sing thee, 
 
 And love thee evermore 1 
 I ask not for my merit : 
 
 1 seek not to deny 
 My merit is destruction, 
 
 A child of wrath am I : 
 But yet with Faith I venture 
 
 And Hope upon my way ; 
 For those perennial guerdons 
 
 I labor night and day. 
 The Best and Dearest Father 
 
 Who made me and who saved, 
 
 44 
 
Xcngings for Deaven. 
 
 Bore with me in defilement, 
 
 And from defilement laved ; 
 When in His strength I struggle, 
 
 For very joy I leap, 
 When in my sin I totter, 
 
 I weep, or try to weep : 
 And grace, sweet grace celestial, 
 
 Shall all its love display, 
 And David's Royal Fountain 
 
 Purge every sin away. 
 O mine, my golden Syon ! 
 
 O lovelier far than gold ! 
 With laurel-girt battalions, 
 
 And safe victorious fold : 
 O sweet and blessed country, 
 
 Shall I ever see thy face ? 
 
 sweet and blessed country, 
 Shall I ever win thy grace ? 
 
 1 have the hope within me 
 To comfort and to bless ! 
 
 Shall I ever win the prize itself? 
 O tell me, tell me, Yes ! 
 
 Exult, O dust and ashes ! 
 
 The Lord shall be thy part : 
 His only, His forever, 
 
 Thou shalt be, and thou art ! 
 Exult, O dust and ashes ! 
 
 The Lord shall be thy part : 
 His only, His forever, 
 
 Thou shalt be, and thou art ! 
 Bernard of Cluny. Tr. by John M. Neale, D.D. 
 
 45 
 
Xano, 
 
 O MOTHER DEAR, JERUSALEM. 1 
 
 O MOTHER dear, Jerusalem, 
 When shall I come to thee ? 
 When shall my sorrows have an end? 
 Thy joys when shall I see ? 
 
 O happy harbor of God's saints ! 
 
 O sweet and pleasant soil ! 
 In thee no sorrow can be found, 
 
 Nor grief, nor care, nor toil. 
 
 No dimming cloud o'ershadows thee, 
 Nor gloom, nor darksome night ; 
 
 But every soul shines as the sun, 
 For God himself gives light. 
 
 Thy walls are made of precious stone, 
 
 Thy bulwarks diamond-square, 
 Thy gates are all of orient pearl 
 
 O God ! if I were there ! 
 
 my sweet home, Jerusalem ! 
 Thy joys when shall I see ? 
 
 The King that sitteth on thy throne 
 In his felicity ? 
 
 Thy gardens and thy goodly walks 
 
 Continually are green, 
 Where grow such sweet and pleasant flowers 
 
 As nowhere else are seen. 
 
 Right through thy streets with pleasing sound 
 
 The flood of life doth flow, 
 And on the banks, on either side, 
 
 The trees of life do grow. 
 
 1 Note 2. 
 
 46 
 
Those trees each month yield ripened fruit ; 
 
 For evermore they spring, 
 And 'all the nations of the earth 
 
 To thee their homage bring. 
 
 There the blest souls that hardly 'scaped 
 
 The snare of death and hell, 
 Triumph in joy eternally, 
 
 Whereof no tongue can tell. 
 
 O mother dear, Jerusalem. 
 
 When shall I come to thee ? 
 When shall my sorrows have an end ? 
 
 Thy joys when shall I see? 
 
 Rev. David Dickson. 
 
 O ANGEL OF THE LAND OF PEACE. 
 
 O ANGEL of the land of peace, 
 When wilt thou ever come for me ? 
 I fain would be where sorrows cease, 
 I dread no more thy kind release, 
 I wait for thee. 
 
 Sleep shuns mine eyes mine inner sight 
 Is turning dimly heavenward, 
 To that far-off land of love and light, 
 Where angels all the silent night 
 Earth's children guard. 
 
 My yearning soul would fain demand, 
 O holy angels, pure and blest, 
 Where, mid yon happy, shining band, 
 In all the heavenly Fatherland, 
 My lost ones rest ! 
 
 47 
 
fearless Xanfc. 
 
 Thou, who alone, when man forgot 
 His heavenly innocence, and fell, 
 Still pitying, lingered round the spot 
 To soothe the anguish of his lot 
 Thou, thou canst tell ! 
 
 For thou, with sweet and loving smile, 
 Didst gently lure them to thy breast, 
 And bear them from this world of guile, 
 Thy pale, pure angel lips the while 
 Upon them prest. 
 
 Dark grew my soul till down the air 
 Thy seraph smile upon me fell ! 
 And then I knew, from sin and care, 
 That thou my little ones didst bear 
 With God to dwell ! 
 
 angel of the land of peace ! 
 When wilt thou ever come for me ? 
 
 1 fain would be where sorrows cease ; 
 I dread no more thy kind release ; 
 
 I wait for thee ! 
 
 Mrs. C. M. Sawyer, 
 
 THE LAND BEYOND THE SEA. 
 
 THE Land beyond the Sea ! 
 When will life's task be o'er? 
 When shall we reach that soft blue shore, 
 O'er the dark strait whose billows foam and roar? 
 When shall we come to thee, 
 Calm Land beyond the Sea? 
 
Xongfngs foe Deavetu 
 
 The Land beyond the Sea ! 
 
 How close it often seems, 
 
 When flushed with evening's peaceful gleams ; 
 
 And the wistful heart looks o'er the strait, and dreams ! 
 
 It longs to fly to thee, 
 
 Calm Land beyond the Sea ! 
 
 The Land beyond the Sea ! 
 
 Sometimes distinct and near 
 
 It grows upon the eye and ear, 
 
 And the gulf narrows to a threadlike mere ; 
 
 We seem halfway to thee, 
 
 Calm Land beyond the Sea ! 
 
 The Land beyond the Sea ! 
 
 Sometimes across the strait, 
 
 Like a drawbridge to a castle gate, 
 
 The slanting sunbeams lie, and seem to wait 
 
 For us to pass to thee, 
 
 Calm Land beyond the Sea ! 
 
 The Land beyond the Sea ! 
 
 Oh, how the lapsing years, 
 
 Mid our not unsubmissive tears, 
 
 Have borne, now singly, now in fleets, the biers 
 
 Of those we love to thee, 
 
 Calm Land beyond the Sea ! 
 
 The Land beyond the Sea ! 
 How dark our present home ! 
 By the dull beach and sullen foam 
 How wearily, how drearily we roam, 
 With arms outstretched to thee, 
 Calm Land beyond the Sea ! 
 
 49 
 
fearless XanD. 
 
 The Land beyond the Sea ! 
 When will our toil be done? 
 Slow-footed years ! more swiftly run 
 Into the gold of that unsetting sun ! 
 Homesick we are for thee, 
 Calm Land beyond the Sea ! 
 
 The Land beyond the Sea ! 
 
 Why fadest thou in light? 
 
 Why art thou better seen towards night? 
 
 Dear Land ! look always plain, look always bright, 
 
 That we may gaze on thee, 
 
 Calm Land beyond the Sea ! 
 
 The Land beyond the Sea ! 
 Sweet is thy endless rest, 
 But sweeter far that Father's breast 
 Upon thy shores eternally possest j 
 For Jesus reigns o'er thee, 
 Calm Land beyond the Sea ! 
 
 Frederick William Faber. 
 
 I'M KNEELING AT THE THRESHOLD. 
 
 I'M kneeling at the threshold, weary, faint and sore : 
 Waiting for the dawning, for the opening of the door ; 
 Waiting till the Master shall bid me rise and come 
 To the glory of his presence, to the gladness of his home. 
 
 A weary path I've traveled, mid darkness, storm and 
 
 strife ; 
 
 Bearing many a burden, struggling for my life : 
 But now the morn is breaking, my toil will soon be o'er, 
 I 'm kneeling at the threshold, my hand is on the door. 
 
 50 
 
Xongings tot f>eaven. 
 
 Methinks I hear the voices of the blessed as they stand, 
 
 Singing in the sunshine of the sinless land ; 
 
 Oh, would that I were with them, amid their shining 
 
 throng, 
 Mingling in their worship, joining in their song ! 
 
 The friends that started with me have entered long ago ; 
 One by one they left me struggling with the foe ; 
 Their pilgrimage was shorter, their triumph sooner won ; 
 How lovingly they '11 hail me when my toil is done ! 
 
 With them the blessed angels that know no grief nor 
 
 sin, 
 
 I see them by the portals, prepared to let me in. 
 O Lord, I wait thy pleasure ; thy time and way are best ; 
 But I am wasted, worn, and weary; O Father, bid me 
 
 rest ! 
 
 The Sunday Magazine. 
 
 THE DISTANT LAND. 
 
 "II 7 HERE dost thou lie, O Land of Peace? 
 
 * * Across what foaming ocean's swell? 
 My heart, with sighs that never cease, 
 
 Yearns in thy palaces to dwell ; 
 But yet, O fair and distant land, 
 I cannot see thy shining strand. 
 
 Sometimes when morning's iris light 
 
 Is flaming in the eastern sky, 
 I say, Beneath that rose and white 
 
 The blessed realm must surely lie ! 
 But morning's brow by noon is fanned, 
 And thou art still the distant land. 
 
Ci>e fearless XanD. 
 
 And oft when sunset's burnished gold 
 Falls warm upon the water's breast, 
 
 I say, Beyond that glorious fold 
 
 Must gleam the islands of the blest ! 
 
 But stars steal out, a silent band, 
 
 And thou art still the distant land. 
 
 And then I dream a blissful dream 
 That I have gained thy tranquil bowers, 
 
 And lo ! life's sorrows only seem 
 
 Winds that a moment bent its flowers 
 
 I wake, I clasp no angel hand, 
 
 And thou art still the distant land. 
 
 I watch, I long, I faint for thee ! 
 
 Canst thou not open wide the door, 
 That I may enter in and be 
 
 Part of thy peace forevermore ? 
 O send that sleep so sweet, so grand, 
 And thou shalt be no distant land ! 
 
 Anon. 
 
 WHERE SUNS GO DOWN. 
 
 BEYOND the hills where suns go down, 
 And brightly beckon as they go, 
 I see the land of fair renown, 
 
 The land which I so soon shall know. 
 
 Above the dissonance of time, 
 And discord of its angry words, 
 
 I hear the everlasting chime, 
 The music of unjarring chords. 
 
 52 
 
I bid it welcome, and my haste 
 To join it cannot brook delay ; 
 
 O song of morning, come at last, 
 And ye who sing it, come away 
 
 O song of light, and dawn, and bliss, 
 Sound over earth, and fill these skies ; 
 
 Nor ever, ever, ever cease 
 Thy soul-entrancing melodies ; 
 
 Glad song of this disburdened earth, 
 Which holy voices then shall sing, 
 
 Praise for creation's second birth, 
 And glory to creation's King. 
 
 Horatius Bonar. 
 
 OH, FOR THE ROBES OF WHITENESS! 
 
 OH, for the robes of whiteness ! 
 Oh, for the tearless eyes ! 
 Oh, for the glorious brightness 
 Of the unclouded skies ! 
 
 Oh, for the no more weeping 
 
 Within the land of love, 
 The endless joy of keeping 
 
 The bridal feast above ! 
 
 Oh, for the bliss of dying, 
 
 My risen Lord to meet ! 
 Oh, for the rest of lying 
 
 Forever at his feet ! 
 
 53 
 
3be fearless XanD* 
 
 Oh, for the hour of seeing 
 
 My Saviour face to face, 
 The hope of ever being 
 
 In that sweet meeting-place ! 
 
 Jesus, thou King of glory, 
 
 I soon shall dwell with thee ; 
 I soon shall sing the story 
 
 Of thy great love to me ! 
 
 Meanwhile my thoughts shall enter 
 
 E'en now, before thy throne 
 That all my love may center 
 
 On thee, and thee alone ! 
 
 Charitie Lees Smith. 
 
 COME, TRIUMPHANT DAY. 
 
 OLAND relieved from sorrow ! 
 O land secure from tears ! 
 Oh, respite on the morrow 
 
 From all the toil of years ! 
 To thee we hasten ever, 
 
 To thee our steps ascend, 
 Where darkness cometh never, 
 And joy shall never end. 
 
 O happy, holy portal 
 
 For God's own blest elect : 
 O region, pure, immortal, 
 
 With better spring bedecked : 
 Thy pearly doors for ever 
 
 Their welcome shall extend, 
 Where darkness cometh never, 
 
 And joy shall never end. 
 
 54 
 
3Lon0fngs for toeaven. 
 
 O home where God the Father 
 
 Takes all his children in : 
 Where Christ the Son shall gather 
 
 The sinners saved from sin : 
 No night nor fear shall sever 
 
 A friend from any. friend, 
 For darkness cometh never, 
 
 And joy shall never end. 
 
 Rise, then, O brightest morning ! 
 
 Come, then, triumphant day ! 
 When into new adorning 
 
 We change and pass away : 
 For so with firm endeavor 
 
 Our spirits gladly tend 
 Where darkness cometh never, 
 
 And joy shall never end. 
 
 Samuel W. Dufiicld. 
 
 I HAVE HEARD HIS VOICE. 
 
 '"THERE are refreshments sweeter far than sleep, 
 
 Though its soft power 
 Might gladly close the vigils I now keep 
 
 From hour to hour, 
 
 And hush these vain imaginings to rest, 
 Which silence in my heart its dearest Guest. 
 
 Oh, I have heard His voice, his voice of love, 
 
 In the still night, 
 Sweet as the songs from seraph hearts above, 
 
 Tranced in delight ! 
 
 It haunts my memory, lives within my heart, 
 And makes me long, yea, languish to depart. 
 
 55 
 
tearless 3Lan<x 
 
 Those who have heard it once can ne'er forget 
 
 That voice divine ; 
 With it compared, earth's accents are not sweet. 
 
 My God, I pine 
 
 A dweller in those palaces to be, 
 Where I shall hear it through eternity. 
 
 Then I shall ne'er be harassed by the din 
 
 Of earthly thought ; 
 All will be holy and serene within ; 
 
 My spirit, fraught 
 
 With deepest reverence, with intense desire, 
 Will listen to that voice, and never tire. 
 
 Charlotte Elliott. 
 
 O PARADISE! O PARADISE! 
 
 O 
 
 1 Having a desire to depart, and to be with Christ ; which is far better. 
 
 PARADISE ! O Paradise ! 
 
 Who doth not crave thy rest ? 
 Who would not seek the happy land 
 Where they that loved are blest? 
 Where loyal hearts and true 
 
 Stand ever in the light, 
 All rapture through and through, 
 In God's most holy sight. 
 
 O Paradise ! O Paradise ! 
 
 The world is growing old ; 
 Who would not be at rest and free 
 
 Where love is never cold ? 
 Where loyal hearts and true, etc. 
 
 56 
 
Xongfn0s for Deavett, 
 
 Paradise ! O Paradise ! 
 'T is weary waiting here ; 
 
 1 long to be where Jesus is, 
 To feel, to see him near ; 
 
 Where loyal hearts and true, etc. 
 
 Paradise ! O Paradise ! 
 I want to sin no more, 
 
 1 want to be as pure on earth 
 
 As on thy spotless shore ; 
 Where loyal hearts and true, etc. 
 
 O Paradise ! O Paradise ! 
 
 I greatly long to see 
 The special place my dearest Lord 
 
 In love prepares for me ; 
 Where loyal hearts and true, etc. 
 
 Lord Jesu, King of Paradise, 
 
 O keep me in Thy love, 
 And guide me to that happy land 
 
 Of perfect rest above ; 
 Where loyal hearts and true 
 
 Stand ever in the light, 
 All rapture through and through, 
 
 In God's most holy sight. Amen. 
 
 Frederick William Faber. 
 
 LET me be with Thee where thou art, 
 My Saviour, my eternal rest; 
 Then only will this longing heart 
 Be fully and forever blest. 
 
Let me be with Thee where thou art, 
 
 Thy unveiled glory to behold ; 
 Then only will this wandering heart 
 
 Cease to be treacherous, faithless, cold. 
 
 Let me be with Thee where thou art, 
 Where spotless saints Thy name adore ; 
 
 Then only will this sinful heart 
 Be evil and defiled no more. 
 
 Let me be with Thee where thou art, 
 
 Where none can die, where none remove ; 
 
 There neither death nor life will part 
 Me from thy presence and thy love. 
 
 Charlotte Elliott. 
 
 THE REALMS OF THE BLEST. 
 
 \17E speak of the realms of the blest, 
 
 * Of that country so bright and so fair, 
 And oft are its glories confess'd ; 
 But what must it be to be there ! 
 
 We speak of its pathways of gold, 
 
 And its walls decked with jewels most rare ; 
 Of its wonders and pleasures untold ; 
 
 But what must it be to be there ! 
 
 We speak of its freedom from sin, 
 From sorrow, temptation, and care ; 
 
 From trials without and within ; 
 But what must it be to be there ! 
 
longings for TDeaven. 
 
 We speak of its service of love, 
 
 Of the robes which the glorified wear ; 
 
 Of the Church of the first-born above ; 
 But what must it be to be there ! 
 
 Then let us, midst pleasure and woe, 
 
 Still for heaven our spirits prepare, 
 And shortly we also shall know, 
 
 And feel what it is to be there ! 
 
 Mrs. Elizabeth Mills. 
 
 JERUSALEM, MY HAPPY HOME. 1 
 
 JERUSALEM, my happy home, 
 ^ Name ever dear to me ! 
 When shall my labors have an end 
 In joy and peace, in thee ? 
 
 When shall these eyes thy heaven-built walls 
 
 And pearly gates behold? 
 Thy bulwarks with salvation strong, 
 
 And streets of shining gold ? 
 
 Oh, when, thou city of my God, 
 
 Shall I thy courts ascend, 
 Where congregations ne'er break up, 
 
 And Sabbaths have no end ? 
 
 There happier bowers than Eden's bloom, 
 
 Nor sin nor sorrow know : 
 Blest seats ! through rude and stormy scenes 
 
 I onward press to you. 
 
 Note 2. 
 
 59 
 
 <i-0> 
 
 T> 
 
{Tearless Xanfc, 
 
 Why should I shrink at pain and woe, 
 
 Or feel at death dismay ? 
 I Ve Canaan's goodly land in view, 
 
 And realms of endless day. 
 
 Apostles, martyrs, prophets, there 
 
 Around my Saviour stand ; 
 And soon my friends in Christ below 
 
 Will join the glorious band. 
 
 Jerusalem, my happy home ! 
 
 My soul still pants for thee ; 
 Then shall my labors have an end, 
 
 When I thy joys shall see. 
 1790. Eckington Collection* 
 
 MY AIN COUNTREE. 
 
 But now they desire a better country, that is, an heavenly. Heb. 
 ii :i6. 
 
 T 'M far frae my name, an' I 'm weary aftenwhiles, 
 
 * For the langed-for hame-bringing, an' my Father's 
 
 welcome smiles ; 
 
 I '11 ne'er be fu' content, until mine een do see 
 The shining gates o' heaven an' my ain countree. 
 
 The earth is flecked wi' flowers, mony-tinted, fresh, an' 
 
 gay, 
 
 The birdies warble blithely, for my Father made them 
 
 sae; 
 But these sights an' these soun's will as naething be to 
 
 me, 
 When I hear the angels singin' in my ain countree. 
 
 60 
 
 J 
 
longings for 1bea\>en. 
 
 I 've his gude word of promise that some gladsome day 
 
 the King 
 
 To his ain royal palace his banished hame will bring : 
 Wi' een an* wi' hearts rurmin' ower, we shall see 
 The King in his beauty in our ain countree. 
 
 My sins hae been mony, an* my sorrows hae been sair, 
 But there they '11 never vex me, nor be remembered 
 
 mair; 
 His bluid has made me white, his hand shall dry mine 
 
 e'e, 
 When he brings me hame at last, to my ain countree. 
 
 Like a bairn to its mither, a wee birdie to its nest, 
 I wad fain be ganging noo unto my Saviour's breast ; 
 For he gathers in his bosom witless, worthless lambs 
 
 like me, 
 And carries them himseP to his ain countree. 
 
 He's faithful that hath promised, he'll surely come 
 
 again, 
 
 He '11 keep his tryst wi' me, at what hour I dinna ken ; 
 But he bids me still to wait, an' ready aye to be, 
 To gang at ony moment to my ain countree. 
 
 So I 'm watching aye, an' singin' o' my hame as I wait, 
 For the soun'ing o' his footfa' this side the shining gate ; 
 God gie his grace to ilk ane wha listens noo to me, 
 That we a' may gang in gladness to our ain countree. 
 
 Mary Lee Demarest. 
 
 61 
 
 70 
 
{Tearless 
 
 THOU KNOWEST. 
 
 THOU knowest, O my Father ! Why should I 
 Weary high heaven with restless prayers and tears ? 
 Thou knowest all ! My heart's unuttered cry 
 
 Hath soared beyond the stars and reached thine ears. 
 
 Thou knowest, ah, Thou knowest ! Then what need, 
 O loving God, to tell thee o'er and o'er, 
 
 And with persistent iteration plead 
 
 As one who crieth at some close" d door? 
 
 " Tease not ! " we mothers to our children say, 
 
 " Our wiser love will grant whate'er is best." 
 Shall we, thy children, run to thee alway, 
 Begging for this and that in wild unrest ? 
 
 I dare not clamor at the heavenly gate, 
 
 Lest I should lose the high, sweet strains within ; 
 
 O Love divine ! I can but stand and wait 
 Till Perfect Wisdom bids me enter in. 
 
 Julia C. R. Dorr. 
 
II. 
 
 BMIorimaee to Ibeaven 
 
 Far o'er yon horizon 
 
 Rise the city towers, 
 Where our God abideth ; 
 
 That fair home is ours. 
 Flash the streets with jasper, 
 
 Shine the gates with gold ; 
 Flows the gladdening river 
 
 Shedding joys untold; 
 Thither, onward thither, 
 
 In the Spirit's might ; 
 Pilgrims to your country, 
 
 Forward into Light ! 
 
 Rev. Henry Alford, D.D. 
 
 63 
 
For we are strangers before thee, and sojourners, as all our 
 fathers were : our days on the earth are as a shadow, and there is 
 no abiding. / Chron. 29 : 15. 
 
 Having confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on the 
 earth. For they that say such things make it manifest that they 
 are seeking after a country. Heb. u : 13, 14. 
 
pilgrimage to Ibeaven* 
 
 THE JOURNEY. 
 
 DOES the road wind uphill all the way? 
 Yes, to the very end. 
 
 Will the day's journey take the whole long day? 
 From morn to night, my friend. 
 
 But is there for the night a resting-place ? 
 
 A roof for when the slow dark hours begin. 
 May not the darkness hide it from my face ? 
 
 You cannot miss that inn. 
 
 Shall I meet other wayfarers at night ? 
 
 Those who have gone before. 
 Then must I knock, or call when just in sight? 
 
 They will not keep you standing at the door. 
 
 Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak ? 
 
 Of labor you shall find the sum. 
 Will there be beds for me and all who seek ? 
 
 Yes, beds for all who come. 
 
 Christina G. Rossetti. 
 
 WHAT WE BRING. 
 
 LORD ! leadeth not this desert land 
 To our bright home with thee ? 
 Dost Thou not mean thy pilgrim band 
 The Golden Gates to see ? 
 
 65 
 
 <CU> 
 
fearless 
 
 Yet may we carry to our home 
 
 Gifts in the desert given ; 
 Thou would'st not have Thy pilgrims come 
 
 All empty to thy heaven. 
 
 Bright angels ! on your store alone 
 
 We shall not need to live ; 
 We bring you something of our own, 
 
 Our God's dear gifts we give. 
 
 We bring the strength by Him conferred 
 
 Unto the heavenly host ; 
 We bring the shame for him incurred 
 
 To be our endless boast ; 
 
 We bring the wounds on earth that bled 
 
 To have sweet healing given ; 
 We bring the tears on earth we shed 
 
 To find them smiles in heaven. 
 
 Your burning love the flame we lend 
 That here so humbly burned ; 
 
 And with your awful love we blend 
 The love on earth we learned. 
 
 We bring you each endeavor fair 
 That made earth's darkness shine ; 
 
 Each triumph o'er the foe ye share, 
 Each victory divine. 
 
 Each precious, pure delight that made 
 
 The Vale of Tears less sad, 
 Doth help the joys that never fade, 
 
 Doth make the angels glad. 
 
 66 
 
BMlsrfmage to Deaven, 
 
 O happy golden hours below ! 
 
 Your glory hath not gone : 
 The grateful years eternal flow 
 
 More bright because ye shone. 
 
 On earth we sing our heavenly songs, 
 
 With holy fire we burn ; 
 O golden harps ! O angel tongues ! 
 
 Our strains ye too may learn. 
 
 Dear Lord ! whose grace on earth we taste, 
 
 Whose glory down doth come, 
 Thou meanest not these gifts for waste, 
 
 May we not bear them home? 
 
 May we not, richly laden, make 
 
 The wealth of heaven the more, 
 And bringing gifts divine, partake 
 
 The sweet celestial store ? 
 
 Thomas H. Gill. 
 
 "HOW CAN WE KNOW THE WAY?" 
 
 PROM out this dim and gloomy hollow, 
 
 Where hang the cold clouds heavily, 
 Could I but gain the clew to follow, 
 How blessed would the journey be ! 
 
 Aloft, I see a fair dominion, . 
 
 Through time and change, all vernal still ; 
 But where the power, and what the pinion, 
 
 To gain the ever-blooming hill ? 
 
 67 
 
Afar, I hear the music ringing, 
 
 The lulling sounds of heaven's repose ; 
 
 And the light gales are downward bringing 
 The sweets of flowers the mountain knows. 
 
 I see the fruit, all golden glowing, 
 
 Beckon, the glassy leaves between : 
 
 And o'er the winds that there are blowing, 
 Nor blight nor winter's wrath hath been. 
 
 Ye suns that shine forever yonder, 
 
 O'er fields that fade not, sweet to flee ; 
 
 The very zephyrs there that wander, 
 How healing must their breathing be ! 
 Schiller. Tr. by Sir Edward Bulwer-Lytton. 
 
 LIFE'S SHADY PATH. 
 
 I AM wandering down life's shady path, 
 Slowly, slowly, wandering down ; 
 I am wandering down life's rugged path, 
 Slowly, slowly, wandering down. 
 
 Morn, with its store of buds and dew, 
 
 Lies far behind me now ; 
 Morn, with its wealth of song and light, 
 
 Lies far behind me now. 
 
 'T is the mellow flush of sunset now, 
 'T is the shadow and the cloud ; 
 
 'T is the dimness of the dying eve, 
 'T is the shadow and the cloud. 
 
 68 
 
BMlgrfmage to Ibeaven, 
 
 'T is the dreamy haze of twilight now, 
 'T is the hour of silent trust ; 
 
 'T is the solemn hue of fading skies, 
 'T is the time of tranquil trust. 
 
 The pleasant heights of breezy life, 
 The pleasant heights are past ; 
 
 The sunny slopes of buoyant life, 
 The sunny slopes are past 
 
 I shall rest in yon low valley soon, 
 There to sleep my toil away ; 
 
 I shall rest in yon sweet valley soon, 
 There to sleep my tears away. 
 
 One little hour will soothe away 
 Time's months of care and pain ; 
 
 One quiet hour will dream away 
 Time's years of care and pain. 
 
 Laid side by side with those I love, 
 How calm that rest shall be ! 
 
 Laid side by side with those I love, 
 How soft that sleep shall be ! 
 
 I shall rise and put on glory 
 
 When the great morn shall dawn ; 
 
 I shall rise and put on beauty 
 When the glad morn shall dawn. 
 
 I shall mount to yon fair city, 
 The dwelling of the blest ; 
 
 I shall enter yon bright city, 
 The palace of the blest. 
 
 69 
 
fearless Xanfc. 
 
 I shall meet the many parted ones, 
 
 In that one home of joy ; 
 Lost love forever found again 
 
 In that dear home of joy. 
 
 We have shared our earthly sorrow, 
 
 Each with the other here ; 
 We shall share our heavenly gladness, 
 
 Each with the other there. 
 
 We have mingled tears together, 
 
 We shall mingle smiles and song ; 
 We have mingled sighs together, 
 
 We shall mingle smiles and song. 
 
 Horatius Bonar. 
 
 PER PACEM AD LUCEM. 
 
 I DO not ask, O Lord, that life may be 
 A pleasant road ; 
 
 I do not ask that thou wouldst take from me 
 Aught of its load ; 
 
 I do not ask that flowers should always spring 
 
 Beneath my feet ; 
 I know too well the poison and the sting 
 
 Of things too sweet. 
 
 For one thing only, Lord, dear Lord, I plead : 
 
 Lead me aright, 
 
 Though strength should falter, and though heart should 
 bleed, 
 
 Through Peace to Light ! 
 
 70 
 
I do not ask, O Lord, that thou shouldst shed 
 
 Full radiance here : 
 Give but the ray of peace, that 1 may tread 
 
 Without a fear. Page 71. 
 
 THE IMMORTAL 
 
 HOPE. 
 
be pilgrimage to t>eav>en, 
 
 I do not ask, O Lord, that thou shouldst shed 
 
 Full radiance here ; 
 Give but the ray of peace, that I may tread 
 
 Without a fear. 
 
 I do not ask my cross to understand, 
 
 My way to see ; 
 Better in darkness just to feel Thy hand, 
 
 And follow thee. 
 
 Joy is like restless day ; but peace divine 
 
 Like quiet night : 
 Lead me, O Lord, till perfect day shall shine, 
 
 Through Peace to Light. 
 
 Adelaide Anne Procter. 
 
 THE LAST HOUR. 
 
 TF I were told that I must die to-morrow, 
 
 That the next sun 
 Which sinks should bear me past all fear and sorrow 
 
 For any one, 
 All the fight fought, all the short journey through, 
 
 What should I do? 
 
 I do not think that I should shrink or falter, 
 
 But just go on, 
 Doing my work, nor change, nor seek to alter 
 
 That which is gone ; 
 But rise and move, and love and smile and pray 
 
 For one more day. 
 
Sbe fearless 
 
 And lying down at night for a last sleeping, 
 
 Say in that ear 
 Which hearkens ever : " Lord, within thy keeping, 
 
 How should I fear? 
 And when to-morrow brings thee nearer still, 
 
 Do thou Thy will." 
 
 I might not sleep for awe ; but peaceful, tender, 
 
 My soul would lie 
 All the night long ; and when the morning splendor 
 
 Flushed o'er the sky, 
 I think that I could smile, could calmly say, 
 
 " It is His day." 
 
 But if a wondrous hand from the blue yonder 
 
 Held out a scroll, 
 On which my life was writ, and I with wonder 
 
 Beheld unroll 
 To a long century's end its mystic clew, 
 
 What should I do? 
 
 What could I do, O blessed Guide and Master, 
 
 Other than this : 
 Still to go on as now, not slower, faster, 
 
 Nor fear to miss 
 The road, although so very long it be, 
 
 While led by thee? 
 
 Step after step, feeling Thee close beside me, 
 
 Although unseen, 
 Through thorns, through flowers, whether the tempest 
 
 hide thee, 
 Or heavens serene, 
 72 
 
ttbe pilgrimage to Deaven, 
 
 Assured thy faithfulness cannot betray, 
 Thy love decay. 
 
 I may not know, my God ; no hand revealeth 
 
 Thy counsels wise ; 
 Along the path a deepening shadow stealeth ; 
 
 No voice replies 
 To all my questioning thought, the time to tell ; 
 
 And it is well. 
 
 Let me keep on, abiding and unfearing 
 
 Thy will always, 
 Through a long century's ripening fruition, 
 
 Or a short day's ; 
 Thou canst not come too soon ; and I can wait, 
 
 If thou come late. 
 1872. Susan Coolidge. 
 
 A LITTLE WHILE THE VIGIL KEEPING. 
 
 OH, for the peace which floweth as a river, 
 Making life's desert places bloom and smile ! 
 Oh, for the faith to grasp heaven's bright " forever " 
 Amid the shadows of earth's " little while " ! 
 
 A little while for patient vigil keeping, 
 
 To face the stern, to battle with the strong ; 
 
 A litttle while to sow the seed with weeping, 
 
 Then bind the sheaves and sing the harvest song. 
 
 A little while to wear the weeds of sadness, 
 To pace with weary steps through noisy ways j 
 
 Then to pour forth the fragrant oil of gladness, 
 And clasp the girdle round the robe of praise. 
 73 
 
SI^- 
 
 fearless ILanD. 
 
 A little while midst shadow and delusion 
 To strive by faith love's mysteries to spell : 
 
 Then read each dark enigma's bright solution, 
 
 Then hail sight's verdict " He doeth all things well." 
 
 A little while the earthen pitcher taking, 
 
 To wayside brooks from far-off fountains fed ; 
 
 Then the cool lip its thirst forever slaking 
 Beside the fullness of the fountain-head. 
 
 A little while to keep the oil from failing, 
 A little while faith's flickering lamp to trim, 
 
 And then, the Bridegroom's coming footsteps hailing, 
 To haste to meet him, with the bridal hymn. 
 
 And he who is himself the Gift and Giver 
 
 The future glory and the present smile, 
 With the bright promise of the glad forever 
 
 Will light the shadows of the " little while." 
 
 Jane Crewdson. 
 
 THE GOLDEN STREET. 
 toil is very long, and I am tired : 
 O Father, I am weary of the way ! 
 Give me that rest I have so long desired ; 
 
 Bring me that Sabbath's cool refreshing day, 
 And let the fever of my world-worn feet 
 Press the cool smoothness of the golden street. 
 
 Tired very tired ! And I at times have seen, 
 When the far pearly gates were open thrown 
 
 For those who walked no more with me, the green 
 Sweet foliage of the trees that there alone 
 
 At last wave over those whose world-worn feet 
 
 Press the cool smoothness of the golden street. 
 74 
 
ipilgrtmase to Ibeaven. 
 
 When the gates open and before they close 
 Sad hours but holy I have watched the tide 
 
 Whose living crystal there forever flows 
 Before the throne, and sadly have I sighed 
 
 To think how long until my world-worn feet 
 
 Press the cool smoothness of the golden street. 
 
 They shall not wander from that blessed way ; 
 
 Nor heat, nor cold, nor weariness, nor sin, 
 Nor any clouds in that eternal day, 
 
 Trouble them more who once have entered in ; 
 But all is rest to them whose world-worn feet 
 Press the cool smoothness of the golden street. 
 
 Thus the gates close and I behold no more, 
 Though as I walk, they open oftener now 
 
 For those who leave me and go on before ; 
 And I am lonely also while I bow 
 
 And think of those dear souls whose world-worn feet 
 
 Press the cool smoothness of the golden street. 
 
 Tired very tired but I will patient be, 
 
 Nor will I murmur at the weary way : 
 I too shall walk beside the crystal sea, 
 
 And pluck the ripe fruit all that God-lit day, 
 When thou, O Lord, shalt let my feet 
 Press the cool smoothness of the golden street. 
 
 William O. Stoddard. 
 
 OUR PATHWAY. 
 
 OE the pathway smooth or thorny, 
 *-* Dark with storms or bright, 
 All along life's changeful journey, 
 Day and night ; 
 
 75 
 
 O 
 
Geatleas %ano. 
 
 Through the desert, wending lowly., 
 
 Or with lov'd ones nigh ; 
 Bread to spare, or given only 
 
 As we cry ; 
 
 Wayworn in its weary stages, 
 
 Or by crystal springs, 
 Where the smitten Rock of Ages 
 
 Comfort brings : 
 
 Onward still come joy or sorrow, 
 
 Blossom or decay ; 
 Knowing nothing of to-morrow, 
 
 Calm to-day. 
 
 God will be our Guide for ever. 
 
 To our latest breath, 
 Through the depths of Jordan's river, 
 
 Over death. 
 
 Over death, among the meadows 
 
 Where His own are led, 
 And in perfect day the shadows 
 
 All have fled. 
 
 Over death all told the story 
 
 Of our earthly strife, 
 There to prove in Canaan's glory 
 
 Life of life. 
 
 Edward Henry Bickersteth. 
 
 FAR FROM THE DISCORD LOUD. 
 
 FAR from the discord loud, 
 Far from the striving crowd, 
 Far from the din, 
 76 
 
Cbe pilgrimage to t>eaven, 
 
 Far from the burning tears, 
 Far from the crushing fears, 
 Far from the sin. 
 
 Up beyond all toil and care, 
 Far from the tainted air, 
 
 Far from all pain, 
 Out of the reach of crime, 
 Far from this changing clime, 
 
 We shall remain. 
 
 Where the redeemed and blest 
 Ever shall sweetly rest, 
 
 No more to roam ; 
 Where the curse dwelleth not, 
 Sorrow is all forgot 
 
 There is our home. 
 
 Where the joy-founts are stirred, 
 Where the harp note is heard, 
 
 Where the palms wave, 
 Where the white-robed shall glide. 
 Where the death dews are dried, 
 
 Where is no grave. 
 
 There is our glorious home : 
 Why do we longer roam 
 
 Far from its peace ? 
 Soon may the hill be gained, 
 Soon be the rest obtained, 
 
 Soon the toil cease. 
 
 Brother, press onward then : 
 Why should we linger when 
 Home is in sight? 
 
 77 
 
fearless XanD. 
 
 L 
 
 On while the day is here, 
 On while the way is clear, 
 On ere the night ! 
 
 Marianne Farningham. 
 
 LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT. 1 
 
 EAD, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom, 
 
 Lead thou me on ; 
 The night is dark, and I am far from home, 
 
 Lead thou me on ; 
 
 Keep thou my feet ; I do not ask to see 
 The distant scene ; one step enough for me. 
 
 I was not ever thus, nor prayed that thou 
 
 Shouldst lead me on ; 
 I loved to choose and see my path ; but now 
 
 Lead thou me on ! 
 
 I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears, 
 Pride ruled my will. Remember not past years ! 
 
 So long thy power has blest me, sure it still 
 
 Will lead me on 
 O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till 
 
 The night is gone, 
 
 And with the morn those angel faces smile 
 Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile ! 
 
 John Henry Newman. 
 
 At sea, Ji 
 
 1833- 
 
 GOD'S OWN SMILE. 
 
 WHAT then? Why then another pilgrim song; 
 And then, a hush of rest, divinely granted ; 
 And then, a thirsty stage j (ah, me, so long !) 
 And then, a brook just where it most is wanted. 
 
 1 Note 3. 
 
 78 
 
Lead, kindly light, amid the encircling gloom, 
 Lead thou me on. Page 78. 
 
 THE IMMORTAL HOPE. 
 
BMlgrfmage to Ibeaven. 
 
 What then ? The pitching of the evening tent ; 
 
 And then, perchance, a pillow rough and thorny ; 
 And then, some sweet and tender message, sent 
 
 To cheer the faint one for to-morrow's journey. 
 
 What then ? The wailing of the midnight wind ; 
 
 A feverish sleep ; a heart oppressed and aching ; 
 And then, a little water- cruse to find 
 
 Close by my pillow, ready for my waking. 
 
 What then ? I am not careful to inquire ; 
 
 I know there will be tears, and fears, and sorrow ; 
 And then a loving Saviour drawing nigher, 
 
 And saying, " I will answer for the morrow." 
 
 What then ? For all my sins His pardoning grace ; 
 
 For all my wants and woes his lovingkindness ; 
 For darkest shades, the shining of God's face, 
 
 And Christ's own hand to lead me in my blindness. 
 
 What then ? A shadowy valley, lone and dim ; 
 
 And then, a deep and darkly rolling river ; 
 And then, a flood of light a seraph's hymn, 
 
 And God's own smile, forever and forever. 
 
 Jane Crewdson. 
 
 FIRST THE SORROWFUL, AND THEN THE 
 GLAD. 
 
 "T 1 is first the true, and then the beautiful ; 
 
 * Not first the beautiful and then the true : 
 First the wild moor, with rock and reed and pool, 
 
 Then the gay garden rich in scent and hue. 
 
 79 
 
fearless XanO. 
 
 Not first the glad, and then the sorrowful ; 
 
 But first the sorrowful, and then the glad : 
 Tears for a day, for earth of tears is full ; 
 
 Then we forget that we were ever sad. 
 
 Not first the bright, and after that the dark ; 
 
 But first the dark, and after that the bright : 
 First the thick cloud, and then the rainbow's arc ; 
 
 First the dark grave, then resurrection light. 
 
 'T is first the night stern night of storm and war, 
 Long night of heavy clouds and veiled skies ; 
 
 Then the fair sparkle of the Morning Star, 
 That bids the saint awake, and day arise. 
 
 Horatius Bonar. 
 
 MY REST IS NOT HERE. 
 
 MY rest is in heaven, my rest is not here ; 
 Then why should I murmur when trials are near? 
 Be hushed, my dark spirit ; the worst that can come 
 But shortens thy journey, and hastens thee home. 
 
 It is not for me to be seeking my bliss, 
 And building my hopes in a region like this 
 I look for a city which hands have not piled, 
 I pant for a country by sin undefiled. 
 
 The thorn and the thistle around me may grow, 
 I would not lie down upon roses below ; 
 I ask not my portion, I seek not a rest, 
 Till I find them forever in Jesus' breast. 
 
 So 
 
pilgrimage to 
 
 Afflictions may damp me, they cannot destroy ; 
 One glimpse of His love turns them all into joy, 
 And the bitterest tears, if he smile but on them, 
 Like the dew in the sunshine, grow diamond and gem. 
 
 Let doubt, then, and danger, my progress oppose ; 
 They only make heaven more sweet at the close. 
 Come joy or come sorrow, whate'er may befall, 
 An hour with my God will make up for them all. 
 
 A scrip on my back, and a staff in my hand, 
 I '11 march on in haste in an enemy's land ; 
 The road may be rough, but it cannot be long, 
 And I '11 smooth it with hope and cheer it with song ! 
 
 Henry Francis Lyte. 
 
 "I SHALL BE SATISFIED." 
 
 IVToT here ! not here ! not where the sparkling waters 
 
 Fade into mocking sands as we draw near ; 
 Where in the wilderness each footstep falters 
 I shall be satisfied but oh ! not here. 
 
 Not here ! where every dream of bliss deceives us, 
 Where the worn spirit never gains its goal : 
 
 Where, haunted ever by the thoughts that grieve us, 
 Across us floods of bitter memory roll. 
 
 There is a land where every pulse is thrilling 
 With rapture earth's sojourners may not know, 
 
 Where heaven's repose the weary heart is stilling 
 And peacefully life's time-tossed currents flow. 
 
 81 
 
 <ux 
 
 JO 
 
Gearless 5LanD. 
 
 Far out of sight, while yet the flesh infolds us, 
 Lies the fair country where our hearts B bide, 
 
 And of its bliss is nought more wondrous told us, 
 Than these few words, " I shall be satisfied." 
 
 Satisfied ! satisfied ! The spirit's yearning 
 
 For sweet companionship with kindred minds 
 
 The silent love that here meets no returning 
 The inspiration which no language finds 
 
 Shall they be satisfied ? the soul's vague longing 
 The aching void which nothing earthly fills ? 
 
 O ! what desires upon my soul are thronging 
 As I look upward to the heavenly hills. 
 
 Thither my weak and weary steps are tending 
 Saviour and Lord ! with thy frail child abide ! 
 
 Guide me toward home, where all my wanderings ending, 
 I then shall see thee, and " be satisfied." 
 
 Anon. 
 
 
 
 "SUFFER THEM TO COME TO ME." 
 
 " Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not : for of 
 such is the kingdom of God." 
 
 A LL along the mighty ages, 
 ** All adown the solemn time, 
 They have taken up their homeward 
 
 March to that serener clime, 
 Where the watching, waiting angels 
 
 Lead them from the shadow dim, 
 To the brightness of His presence 
 
 Who has called them unto him. 
 
 82 
 
But 'tis Jesus who has called them 
 'Suffer, and forbid them not." Page 83. 
 
 THK IMMORTAL HOPE. 
 
pilgrimage to Ibeaven, 
 
 They are going only going 
 
 Out of pain and into bliss 
 Out of sad and sinful weakness 
 
 Into perfect holiness. 
 Snowy brows no care shall shade them ; 
 
 Bright eyes tears shall never dim ; 
 Rosy lips no time shall fade them ; 
 
 Jesus called them unto him. 
 
 Little hearts forever stainless 
 
 Little hands as pure as they 
 Little feet by angels guided 
 
 Never a forbidden way ! 
 They are going, ever going ! 
 
 Leaving many a lonely spot ; 
 But 'tis Jesus who has called them 
 
 " Suffer, and forbid them not." 
 
 Lyra Anglicana. 
 
 EVENING BRINGS US HOME. 
 T TPON the hills the wind is sharp and cold ; 
 ^ The sweet young grasses wither on the wold ; 
 And we, O Lord, have wandered from thy fold, 
 But evening brings us home. 
 
 Among the mists we stumbled, and the rocks 
 Where the brown lichen whitens, and the fox 
 Watches the straggler from the scattered flocks ; 
 But evening brings us home. 
 
 The sharp thorns prick us, and our tender feet 
 Are cut and bleeding, and the lambs repeat 
 Their pitiful complaints ; oh, rest is sweet 
 When evening brings us home ! 
 
fearless XanD. 
 
 We have been wounded by the hunter's darts ; 
 Our eyes are very heavy, and our hearts 
 Search for Thy coming : when the light departs 
 At evening bring us home. 
 
 The darkness gathers. Through the gloom no star 
 Rises to guide us. We have wandered far. 
 Without Thy lamp we know not where we are : 
 At evening bring us home. 
 
 The clouds are round us and the snowdrifts thicken, 
 O thou, dear Shepherd, leave us not to sicken 
 In the waste night : our tardy footsteps quicken ; 
 At evening bring us home. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 FATHER, TAKE MY HAND. 
 
 I. THE APPEAL. 
 
 '"FHE way is dark, my Father ! Cloud upon cloud 
 * Is gathering quickly o'er my head, and loud 
 The thunders roll above me. See, I stand 
 Like one bewildered. Father, take my hand, 
 And through the gloom 
 Lead safely home 
 Thy child ! 
 
 The day goes fast, my Father, and the night 
 Is drawing darkly down. My faithless sight 
 Sees ghostly visions ; fears, a spectral band, 
 Encompass me. O Father, take my hand 
 
 And from the night 
 
 Lead up to light 
 Thy child ! 
 
 84 
 
tlbe pilgrimage to f>ea\>en, 
 
 The way is long, my Father, and my soul 
 Longs for the rest and quiet of the goal : 
 While yet I journey through this weary land, 
 Keep me from wandering. Father, take my hand ; 
 
 Lead in the way 
 
 To endless day 
 
 Thy child ! 
 
 The path is rough, my Father. Many a thorn 
 Hath pierced me, and my weary feet, all torn 
 And bleeding, mark the way ; yet thy command 
 Bids me press forward. Father, take my hand ; 
 
 Then, safe and blest, 
 
 Lead up to rest 
 
 Thy child ! 
 
 The throng is great, my Father. Many a doubt 
 And fear of danger compass me about, 
 And foes oppress me sore. I cannot stand 
 Or go alone. O Father, take my hand, 
 
 And through the throng 
 
 Lead safe along 
 
 Thy child ! 
 
 The cross is heavy, Father. I have borne 
 It long, and still do bear it. Let my worn 
 And fainting spirit rise to that blest land 
 Where crowns are given. Father, take my hand, 
 
 And reaching down, 
 
 Lead to the crown 
 Thy child ! 
 
 II. THE GRACIOUS ANSWER. 
 
 The way is dark, my child, but leads to light. 
 I would not always have thee walk by sight. 
 
 85 
 
 d>0 
 
ZTbc Gearlees XanD. 
 
 My dealings now thou canst not understand. 
 I meant it so ; but I will take thy hand 
 
 And through the gloom 
 
 Lead safely home 
 My child ! 
 
 The day goes fast, my child. But is the night 
 Darker to me than day ? In me is light ! 
 Keep close to me, and every spectral band 
 Of fears shall vanish. I will take thy hand 
 
 And through the night 
 
 Lead up to light 
 My child ! 
 
 The way is long, my child ; but it shall be 
 
 Not one step longer than is best for thee ; 
 
 And thou shalt know at last, when thou shalt stand 
 
 Safe at the goal, how I did take thy hand 
 
 And quick and straight 
 
 Lead to heaven's gate 
 My child ! 
 
 The path is rough, my child ; but oh, how sweet 
 Will be the rest, for weary pilgrims meet, 
 When thou shalt reach the borders of that land 
 To which I lead thee as I take thy hand, 
 
 And safe and blest 
 
 With me shall rest 
 My child ! 
 
 The throng is great, my child ; but at thy side 
 Thy Father walks ; then be not terrified, 
 86 
 
OBI 
 
 One who bore a heavier cross for thee. Page 87. 
 
 THE IMMORTAL HOPK. 
 
pilgrimage to Ibeavetu 
 
 For I am with thee, will thy foes command 
 To let thee freely pass, will take thy hand, 
 
 And through the throng 
 
 Lead safe along 
 My child ! 
 
 The cross is heavy, child ; yet there was One 
 Who bore a heavier for thee my Son, 
 My Well-beloved. For him bear thine, and stand 
 With him at last, and from thy Father's hand, 
 Thy cross laid down, 
 Receive a crown, 
 My child ! 
 
 Rev. Henry N. Cobb, DJ). 
 
 JESUS, STILL LEAD ON. 
 
 JESUS, still lead on, 
 ^ Till our rest be won ; 
 And although the way be cheerless, 
 We will follow, calm and fearless ; 
 Guide us by thy hand 
 To our Fatherland. 
 
 If the way be drear, 
 
 If the foe be near, 
 Let not faithless fears o'ertake us, 
 Let not faith and hope forsake us ; 
 
 For, through many a foe, 
 
 To our home we go. 
 
 87 
 
Sbe fearless ILanD. 
 
 1721, 
 
 When we seek relief 
 
 From a long-felt grief, 
 When temptations come alluring, 
 Make us patient and enduring ; 
 
 Show us that bright shore 
 
 Where we weep no more. 
 
 Jesus, still lead on, 
 Till our rest be won ; 
 Heavenly Leader, still direct us, 
 Still support, console, protect us, 
 Till we safely stand 
 In our Fatherland. 
 
 Nicolaus Ludwig Zinzendorf. Tr. 
 by Miss Jane Borthwick. 
 
 THE WAY OF THY FEET. 
 
 HEERFUL, O Lord, at thy command 
 
 I bind my sandals on, 
 I take my pilgrim's staff in hand, 
 And go to seek the better land, 
 The way thy feet have gone. 
 
 I oft shall think, when on my way, 
 
 Some bitter grief I meet, 
 " This path hath echoed with His moan, 
 And every rude and flinty stone 
 
 Hath bruised His blessed feet." 
 
 Fainting and sad along the road, 
 Thou layest on my head 
 
 88 
 
pilgrimage to Ibeaven. 
 
 The hands they fastened to the tree, 
 The hands that paid the price for me, 
 The hands that brake the bread. 
 
 Thou whisperest some pleasant word, 
 
 I catch the much-loved tone ; 
 I feel thee near, my gracious Lord ; 
 I know thou keepest watch and ward, 
 
 And all my grief is gone. 
 
 From every mountain's rugged peak 
 
 The far-off land I view, 
 And from its fields of fadeless bloom 
 Come breezes laden with perfume, 
 
 And fan my weary brow. 
 
 There peaceful hills and holy vales 
 
 Sleep in eternal day, 
 While rivers, deep and silent, glide 
 'Twixt meads and groves on either side, 
 
 Through which the blessed stray. 
 
 There He abides who is of heaven 
 
 The loveliest and best ; 
 His face, when shall I gaze upon ! 
 Or share with the beloved John 
 
 The pillow of His breast ! 
 
 Anon. 
 
 ANGELIC SONGS ARE SWELLING. 
 T T ARK ! hark ! my soul, angelic songs are swelling 
 * * O'er earth's green fields and ocean's wave-beat 
 
 shore, 
 
 How sweet the truth those blessed strains are telling, 
 Of that new life, when sin shall be no more. 
 
 89 
 
Darker than night life's shadows fall around us, 
 And like benighted men we miss our mark : 
 
 God hides himself, and grace has scarcely found us, 
 Ere death finds out his victims in the dark. 
 
 Onward we go, for still we hear them singing, 
 " Come, weary souls, for Jesus bids you come," 
 
 And through the dark, its echoes sweetly ringing, 
 The music of the Gospel leads us home. 
 
 Far, far away, like bells at evening pealing, 
 The voice of Jesus sounds o'er land and sea, 
 
 And laden souls by thousands meekly stealing, 
 Kind Shepherd, turn their weary steps to thee. 
 
 Rest comes at last, though life be long and dreary, 
 The day must dawn, and darksome night be past, 
 
 All journeys end in welcomes to the weary, 
 
 And heaven, the heart's true home, will come at last. 
 Frederick William Faber. 
 
Come, weary souls, for Jesus bids you come." Page 90. 
 
 THE IMMORTAL HOPE. 
 
III. 
 
 ZCbe (Bate of Ibeavem 
 
 There is no death. What seems so is transition. 
 
 This life of mortal breath 
 Is but the suburb of the life elysian, 
 
 Whose portal we call Death. 
 
 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 
 
 Did He not to his followers say, 
 lam the Life, the Light, the Way ? 
 
 Yea, and still from the heavens he saith, 
 
 Thf gate of life is the gate of death. 
 
 Phosbe Gary. 
 
Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was : and the spirit 
 shall return unto God who gave it. Eccl. 12 : 7. 
 
 For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal 
 must put on immortality. But when this corruptible shall have put 
 on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then 
 shall come to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up 
 in victory. O death, where is thy victory? O death, where is thy 
 sting?/ Cor. 15 : 53-55. 
 
Gate of 1bea\>em 
 
 PASSING THE GATE. 
 
 INHERE is a land immortal, 
 The beautiful of lands ; 
 Beside its ancient portal 
 A silent sentry stands ; 
 He only can undo it, 
 
 And open wide the door ; 
 And mortals who pass through it 
 Are mortals never more. 
 
 That glorious land is heaven, 
 
 And Death the sentry grim ; 
 The Lord, therefore, has given 
 
 The opening keys to him ; 
 And ransomed sinners, sighing 
 
 And sorrowful for sin, 
 Do pass the gate in dying, 
 
 And freely enter in. 
 
 Though dark and drear the passage 
 
 That leadeth to the gate, 
 Yet grace comes with the message 
 
 To souls that watch and wait ; 
 And, at the time appointed, 
 
 A messenger comes down, 
 And leads the Lord's anointed 
 
 From cross to glory's crown. 
 
 93 
 
Their sighs are lost in singing, 
 
 They 're blessed in their tears ; 
 Their journey homeward winging, 
 
 They leave to earth their fears ; 
 Death like an angel seemeth ; 
 
 " We welcome thee," they cry ; 
 Their face with glory beameth ; 
 
 T is life for them to die. 
 
 Thomas MacKellar. 
 
 I'M RETURNING, NOT DEPARTING. 
 
 I'M returning, not departing ; 
 My steps are homeward-bound ; 
 I quit the land of strangers, 
 For a home on native ground. 
 
 I am rising, and not setting 
 This is not night, but day ; 
 
 Not in darkness, but in sunshine, 
 Like a star I fade away. 
 
 All is well with me forever ; 
 
 I do not fear to go ; 
 My tide is but beginning 
 
 Its bright eternal flow. 
 
 I am leaving only shadows, 
 
 For the true, and fair, and good ; 
 
 I must not, cannot linger ; 
 I would not, if I could. 
 
This is not Death's dark portal ; 
 
 T is Life's golden gate to me ; 
 Link after link is broken, 
 
 And I, at last, am free ! 
 
 I am going to the angels, 
 
 I am going to my God ; 
 I know the hand that beckons, 
 
 I see the heavenly road. 
 
 Why grieve me with your weeping? 
 
 Your tears are all in vain : 
 An hour's farewell, beloved, 
 
 And we shall meet again. 
 
 Jesus, thou wilt receive me, 
 
 And welcome me above ; 
 This sunlight which now fills me, 
 
 Is thine own smile of love ! 
 
 Horatius Bonar. 
 
 THE TWO ANGELS. 1 
 
 'T'wo angels, one of Life and one of Death, 
 
 Passed o'er our village as the morning broke ; 
 The dawn was on their faces, and beneath, 
 
 The somber houses hearsed with plumes of smoke. 
 
 Their attitude and aspect were the same, 
 
 Alike their features and their robes of white ; 
 
 But one was crowned with amaranth, as with flame, 
 And one with asphodels, like flakes of light. 
 
 i Note 4. 
 
 95 
 
XanD. 
 
 I saw them pause on their celestial way ; 
 
 Then said I, with deep fear and doubt oppressed, 
 " Beat not so loud, my heart, lest thou betray 
 
 The place where thy beloved are at rest ! " 
 
 And he who wore the crown of asphodels, 
 Descending, at my door began to knock, 
 
 And my soul sank within me, as in wells 
 
 The waters sink before an earthquake's shock. 
 
 I recognized the nameless agony, 
 
 The terror and the tremor and the pain, 
 
 That oft before had filled or haunted me, 
 
 And now returned with threefold strength again. 
 
 The door I opened to my heavenly guest, 
 
 And listened, for I thought I heard God's voice ; 
 
 And, knowing whatsoe'er he sent was best, 
 Dared neither to lament nor to rejoice. 
 
 Then with a smile, that filled the house with light, 
 " My errand is not Death, but Life," he said ; 
 
 And ere I answered, passing out of sight, 
 On his celestial embassy he sped. 
 
 T was at thy door, O friend ! and not at mine, 
 The angel with the amaranthine wreath, 
 
 Pausing, descended, and with voice divine 
 
 Whispered a word that had a sound like Death. 
 
 Then fell upon the house a sudden gloom, 
 A shadow on those features fair and thin ; 
 
 And softly, from that hushed and darkened room, 
 Two angels issued, where but one went in. 
 96 
 
 <i-o> 
 
0ate ot Ibeaven. 
 
 All is of God ! If he but wave his hand, 
 
 The mists collect, the rain falls thick and loud, 
 
 Till, with a smile of light on sea and land, 
 Lo ! he looks back from the departing cloud. 
 
 Angels of Life and Death alike are his ; 
 
 Without his leave they pass no threshold o'er ; 
 Who, then, would wish or dare, believing this, 
 
 Against his messengers to shut the door ? 
 
 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 
 
 THE ROAD IS SHORT, THE REST IS LONG. 
 
 COME forth ! come on, with solemn song, 
 The road is short, the rest is long, 
 The Lord brought here, he calls away ; 
 
 Make no delay, 
 This home was for a passing day. 
 
 Here in an inn a stranger dwelt, 
 Here joy and grief by turns he felt ; 
 Poor dwelling, now we close thy door ! 
 
 The task is o'er, 
 The sojourner returns no more. 
 
 Now of a lasting home possessed, 
 He goes to seek a deeper rest ; 
 Good night ! the day was sultry here, 
 
 In toil and fear ; 
 Good night ! the night is cool and clear. 
 
 Come on, ye bells ! again begin, 
 And ring the Sabbath morning in ; 
 
 97 
 
Gbe fearless 
 
 The laborer's week-day work is done, 
 
 The rest begun, 
 Which Christ hath for his people won ! 
 
 Now open to us, gates of peace ! 
 Here let the pilgrim's journey cease } 
 Ye quiet slumberers, make room 
 
 In your still home, 
 For the new stranger who has come ! 
 
 How many graves around us lie ! 
 How many homes are in the sky ! 
 Yes, for each saint doth Christ prepare 
 
 A place with care : 
 Thy home is waiting, brother, there. 
 
 Jesus, thou reignest, Lord, alone, 
 Thou wilt return and claim thine own. 
 Come quickly, Lord ! return again ! 
 
 Amen ! amen ! 
 Thy seal is ever, now and then ! 
 
 From the German of F. Sachse. 
 
 FREED FROM BONDAGE. 
 
 O SPIRIT, freed from bondage, 
 Rejoice, thy work is done ! 
 The weary world is 'neath thy feet, 
 Thou, brighter than the sun ! 
 
 Arise, put on thy garments, 
 Which the redeemed win ! 
 
 Now sorrow hath no part in thee, 
 Thou sanctified from sin ! 
 
 98 
 
3be Gate of f>eaven. 
 
 Awake and breathe the living air, 
 
 Of our celestial clime ! 
 Awake to love that knows no change, 
 
 Thou, who hast done with time ! 
 
 Awake, lift up thy joyful eyes, 
 
 See, all heaven's host appears ; 
 And be thou glad exceedingly, 
 
 Thou who hast done with tears ! 
 
 Awake ! ascend ! thou art not now 
 
 With those of mortal birth, 
 The living God hath touched thy lips, 
 
 Thou who hast done with earth ! 
 
 Mary Howitt. 
 
 INTO THE JOY-LAND. 
 
 of the shadows of sadness, 
 Into the sunshine of gladness, 
 Into the light of the blest j 
 Out of the land very dreary, 
 Out of the world of the weary, 
 Into the rapture of rest. 
 
 Out of to-day's sin and sorrow, 
 Into the blissful to-morrow, 
 
 Into a day without gloom ; 
 Out of a land filled with sighing, 
 Land of the dead and the dying, 
 
 Into a land without tomb. 
 
 Out of a life of commotion, 
 Tempest swept oft as the ocean, 
 Dark with wrecks drifting o'er, 
 
 99 
 
Into a land calm and quiet, 
 Never a storm cometh nigh it, 
 Never a wreck on its shore. 
 
 Out of a land in whose bowers 
 Perish and fade all the flowers ; 
 
 Out of the land of decay, 
 Into the Eden where fairest 
 Of flow'rets, the sweetest and rarest, 
 
 Never shall wither away. 
 
 Out of the world of the wailing, 
 Thronged with the anguished and ailing, 
 
 Out of the world of the sad, 
 Into the world that rejoices 
 World of bright visions and voices, 
 
 Into the world of the glad. 
 
 Out of a life ever lornful, 
 Out of a land very mournful, 
 
 Where in bleak exile we roam, 
 Into a joy-land above us, 
 Where there 's a Father to love us, 
 
 Into our home, sweet home. 
 
 Rev. Abram Joseph Ryan. 
 
 THE DAY IS BREAKING. 
 
 LET me go, the day is breaking ; 
 Dear companions, let me go ; 
 We have spent a night of waking 
 
 In the wilderness below ; 
 Upward now I bend my way ; 
 Part we here at break of day. 
 100 
 
Let me go ; I may not tarry, 
 
 Wrestling thus with doubts and fears ; 
 
 Angels wait my soul to carry 
 Where my risen Lord appears ; 
 
 Friends and kindred, weep not so ; 
 
 If you love me, let me go. 
 
 We have traveled long together, 
 
 Hand in hand and heart in heart, 
 Both through calm and stormy weather, 
 
 And 't is hard, 't is hard to part ; 
 Yet we must ; farewell to you ; 
 Answer, one and all, adieu. 
 
 'T is not darkness gathering round me 
 Which withdraws me from your sight ; 
 
 Walls of flesh no more can bound me ; 
 But, translated into light, 
 
 Like the lark on mounting wing, 
 
 Though unseen, you hear me sing. 
 
 Heaven's broad day hath o'er me broken, 
 
 Far beyond earth's span of sky ; 
 I am dead ; nay, by this token 
 
 Know that I have ceased to die. 
 Would you solve the mystery ? 
 Come up hither, come and see ! 
 
 James Montgomery. 
 
 O DEAR AND FRIENDLY DEATH. 
 
 O 
 
 DEAR and friendly Death, 
 
 End of my road, however long it be, 
 Waiting with hospitable hands stretched out 
 And full of gifts for me ! 
 
 101 
 
{Tearless %an&. 
 
 Why do we call thee foe, 
 Clouding with darksome mists thy face divine ? 
 Life, she was sweet, but poor her largess seems 
 
 When matched with thine. 
 
 Thy amaranthine blooms 
 Are not less lovely than her rose of joy ; 
 And the rare, subtle perfumes which they breathe 
 
 Never the senses cloy. 
 
 Thou holdest in thy store 
 Full satisfaction of all doubt ; reply 
 To question, and the golden clews to dreams 
 
 Which idly passed us by ; 
 
 Darkness to tired eyes, 
 
 Perplexed with vision, blinded with long day ; 
 Quiet to busy hands, glad to fold up 
 
 And lay their work away ; 
 
 A balm for anguish past ; 
 Rest to the long unrest which smiles did hide ; 
 The recognitions thirsted for in vain, 
 
 And still by life denied ; 
 
 A nearness, all unknown 
 While in these stifling, prisoning bodies pent, 
 Unto thy soul and mine, beloved, made one 
 
 At last in full content. 
 
 Thou bringest me mine own, 
 The garnered flowers which felt thy sickle keen, 
 And the full vision of that Face divine, 
 
 Which I have loved unseen. 
 102 
 
<3ate of Ibcaven, 
 
 O dear and friendly Death, 
 End of my road, however long it be, 
 Nearing me day by day, I still can smile 
 
 Whene'er I think of thee ! 
 
 Susan Coottdge. 
 
 THE LAND O' THE LEAL. 
 
 I'M wearin' awa', John, 
 Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, John, 
 I 'm wearin' awa' 
 
 To the land o' the leal. 
 There 's nae sorrow there, John, 
 There 's neither cauld nor care, John, 
 The day is aye fair 
 In the land o' the leal. 
 
 Our bonnie bairn 's there, John, 
 She was baith gude and fair, John, 
 And oh ! we grudged her sair 
 
 To the land o' the leal. 
 But sorrow's sel' wears past, John, 
 And joy 's a-comin' fast, John, 
 The joy that 's aye to last, 
 
 In the land o' the leal. 
 
 Sae dear 's that joy was bought, John, 
 Sae free that battle fought, John, 
 That sinfu' man e'er brought 
 
 To the land o' the leal. 
 Oh ! dry your glistening e'e, John, 
 My saul langs to be free, John, 
 And angels beckon me 
 
 To the land o' the leal. 
 
 103 
 
 d-O 
 
 ?O 
 
Meatless Xano* 
 
 1798, 
 
 Oh ! baud you leal and true, John, 
 Your day it 's wearin' through, John, 
 And I '11 welcome you 
 
 To the land o' the leal. 
 Now fare-ye-weel, my ain John, 
 This warld's cares are vain, John, 
 We '11 meet, and we '11 be fain 
 
 In the land o' the leal. 
 
 Lady Carolina Nairne. 
 
 SING WITH ME. 
 
 O ING with me, sing with me, 
 M Weeping brethren, sing with me ! 
 For now an open heaven I see, 
 And a crown of glory laid for me. 
 How my soul this earth despises ! 
 How my heart and spirit rises ! 
 Bounding from the flesh I sever ; 
 World of sin, adieu forever ! 
 
 Sing with me, sing with me, 
 Friends in Jesus, sing with me ! 
 All my sufferings, all my woe, 
 All my griefs I here forego. 
 Farewell, terrors, sighing, grieving, 
 Praying, hearing, and believing, 
 Earthly trust and all its wrongings, 
 Earthly love and all its longings. 
 
 Sing with me, sing with me, 
 Blessed spirits, sing with me ! 
 To the Lamb our songs shall be, 
 Through a glad eternity. 
 104 
 
<3ate of Deavcm 
 
 Farewell, earthly morn and even, 
 Sun and moon and stars of heaven ; 
 Heavenly portals ope before me, 
 Welcome Christ in all his glory ! 
 
 James Hogg. 
 
 WELCOME CHANGE AND DEATH. 
 
 NOT long ! not long ! the spirit-wasting fever 
 Of this strange life shall quit each throbbing vein ; 
 And this wild pulse flow placidly forever ; 
 And endless peace relieve the burning brain. 
 
 Earth's joys are but a dream ; its destiny 
 Is but decay and death. Its fairest form 
 
 Sunshine and shadow mixed. Its brightest day 
 A rainbow braided on the wreaths of storm. 
 
 Yet there is blessedness that changeth not ; 
 
 A rest with God, a life that cannot die ; 
 A better portion and a brighter lot ; 
 
 A home with Christ, a heritage on high. 
 
 Hope for the hopeless, for the weary, rest, 
 More gentle than the still repose of even ! 
 
 Joy for the joyless, bliss for the unblest ; 
 Homes for the desolate in yonder heaven ! 
 
 The tempest makes returning calm more dear ; 
 
 The darkest midnight makes the brightest star, 
 Even so to us when all is ended here, 
 
 Shall be the past, remembered from afar. 
 
fearless %an& 
 
 Then welcome change and death ! Since these alone 
 Can break life's fetters, and dissolve its spell ; 
 
 Welcome all present change, which speeds us on 
 So swift to that which is unchangeable. 
 
 Horatius Bonar. 
 
 A MESSAGE OF COMFORT. 
 
 He made life and He takes it but instead 
 Gives more ; praise the Restorer, Al-Mu?hid! 
 
 HE who died at Azan sends 
 This to comfort faithful friends. 
 
 Faithful friends ! it lies, I know, 
 Pale and white and cold as snow ; 
 And ye say, " Abdullah 's dead ! " 
 Weeping at my feet and head. 
 I can see your falling tears, 
 I can hear your cries and prayers ; 
 Yet I smile, and whisper this : 
 " I am not that thing you kiss ; 
 Cease your tears, and let it lie ; 
 It was mine, it is not I." 
 
 Sweet friends ! what the women lave, 
 For the last sleep of the grave, 
 Is a tent which I am quitting, 
 Is a garment no more fitting, 
 Is a cage from which, at last, 
 Like a bird my soul hath passed. 
 Love the inmate, not the room ; 
 The wearer, not the garb ; the plume 
 Of the eagle, not the bars 
 Which kept him from the splendid stars. 
 
 106 
 
Loving friends ! be wise, and dry 
 Straightway every weeping eye ; 
 What ye lift upon the bier 
 Is not worth a wistful tear. 
 'T is an empty sea-shell, one 
 Out of which the pearl is gone ; 
 The shell is broken, it lies there ; 
 The pearl, the all, the soul, is here. 
 'T is an earthen jar whose lid 
 Allah sealed, the while it hid 
 That treasure of His treasury, 
 A mind which loved Him ; let it lie 
 Let the shard be earth's once more, 
 Since the gold shines in His store ! 
 
 Allah Mu'hid, Allah good ! 
 Now thy grace is understood ; 
 Now the long, long darkness ends, 
 Yet ye wail, my foolish friends, 
 While the man whom ye call " dead " 
 In unspoken bliss instead, 
 Lives, and loves you ; lost, 't is true, 
 To the light which shines for you ; 
 But in light ye cannot see 
 Of unfulfilled felicity, 
 And enlarging paradise, 
 Lives the life that never dies. 
 
 Farewell, friends ! Yet not farewell ; 
 Where I am, ye too shall dwell. 
 I am gone before your face 
 A heart-beat's time, a gray ant's pace. 
 
 V 
 
 107 
 
fearless XanO. 
 
 When ye come where I have stepped, 
 Ye will marvel why ye wept, 
 Ye will know, by true love taught, 
 That here is all, and there is naught. 
 Weep awhile, if ye are fain ; 
 Sunshine still must follow rain . 
 Only not at death, for death 
 Now I see is that first breath 
 Which our souls draw when we enter 
 Life, which is of all life center. 
 
 Know ye Allah's law is love, 
 Viewed from Allah's throne above : 
 Be ye firm of trust, and come 
 Bravely onward to your home ! 
 " La Allah ilia Allah ! Yea, 
 Mu'hid ! Restorer ! Sovereign ! " say ! 
 
 He who died at Azan gave 
 
 This to those who made his grave. 
 
 Edwin Arnold. From the Arabic. 
 
 T 
 
 FLING OPEN WIDE THE GOLDEN GATES. 
 
 'EN thousand times ten thousand, 
 
 In sparkling raiment bright, 
 The armies of the ransomed saints 
 
 Throng up the steeps of light : 
 } T is finished, all is finished, 
 
 Their fight with death and sin : 
 Fling open wide the golden gates, 
 And let the victors in. 
 108 
 
(Sate of Deavetu 
 
 What rush of hallelujahs 
 
 Fills all the earth and sky ! 
 What ringing of a thousand harps 
 
 Bespeaks the triumph nigh ! 
 Oh, day, for which creation 
 
 And all its tribes were made ! 
 Oh, joy, for all its former woes, 
 
 A thousand-fold repaid ! 
 
 Oh, then what raptured greetings 
 
 On Canaan's happy shore, 
 What knitting severed friendships up, 
 
 Where partings are no more ! 
 Then eyes with joy shall sparkle, 
 
 That brimmed with tears of late, 
 Orphans no longer fatherless, 
 
 Nor widows desolate. 
 
 Bring near thy great salvation, 
 
 Thou Lamb for sinners slain ; 
 Fill up the roll of thine elect, 
 
 Then take thy power, and reign ; 
 Appear, Desire of nations 
 
 Thine exiles long for home 
 Show in the heaven thy promised sign, 
 
 Thou Prince and Saviour, come ! 
 
 Henry Alford. 
 
 IT IS NOT DEATH TO DIE. 
 
 TT is not death to die 
 
 To leave this weary road, 
 And, mid the brotherhood on high, 
 To be at home with God. 
 
 109 
 
Gbc fearless XanD. 
 
 It is not death to close 
 
 The eye long dimmed by tears, 
 And wake in glorious repose 
 
 To spend eternal years. 
 
 It is not death to bear 
 
 The wrench that sets us free 
 From dungeon chain, to breathe the air 
 
 Of boundless liberty. 
 
 It is not death to fling 
 
 Aside this sinful dust, 
 And rise, on strong exulting wing, 
 
 To live among the just. 
 
 Jesus, thou Prince of life ! 
 
 Thy chosen cannot die ; 
 Like thee, they conquer in the strife, 
 
 To reign with Thee on high. 
 
 George W. Bethune. 
 
 AT EVE. 
 
 WE journey through a vale of tears, 
 By many a cloud o'ercast, 
 And worldly cares and worldly fears 
 
 Go with us to the last ! 
 Not to the last ! God's Word hath said, 
 
 Could we but read aright : 
 O pilgrim, lift in hope thy head, 
 At eve it shall be light 1 
 
 Though earth-born shadows now may shroud 
 Our thorny path awhile, 
 
<3ate of Ibeaven. 
 
 God's blessed word can rend each cloud, 
 
 And bid the sunshine smile. 
 Only believe, in living faith, 
 
 His love and power divine, 
 And, ere life's sun shall set in death, 
 
 His light shall round us shine. 
 
 When tempest-clouds are dark on high, 
 
 His bow of love and peace 
 Shines sweetly in the vaulted sky, 
 
 Betokening storms shall cease. 
 Walk on thy way with hope unchilled, 
 
 By faith and not by sight, 
 And we shall own his word fulfilled, 
 
 At eve it shall be light ! 
 
 Bernard Barton. 
 
 ASCEND, BELOVED. 
 
 ASCEND, belove'd, to the joy ; 
 The festal day has come ; 
 To-night the Lamb doth feast his own, 
 To-night he with his Bride sits down, 
 To-night puts on the spousal crown, 
 In the great upper room. 
 
 Ascend, belove'd, to the love ; 
 
 This is the day of days ; 
 To-night the bridal song is sung, 
 To-night ten thousand harps are strung, 
 In sympathy with heart and tongue, 
 
 Unto the Lamb's high praise. 
 
 in 
 
The festal lamps are lighting now 
 
 In the great marriage hall ; 
 By angel- hands the board is spread; 
 By angel-hands the sacred bread 
 Is on the golden table laid ; 
 
 The King his own doth call. 
 
 The gems are gleaming from the roof, 
 
 Like stars in night's round dome ; 
 The festal wreaths are hanging there, 
 The festal fragrance fills the air, 
 And flowers of heaven, divinely fair, 
 Unfold their happy bloom. 
 
 Long, long deferred, now comes at last 
 
 The Lamb's glad wedding day ; 
 The guests are gathering to the feast, 
 The seats in heavenly order placed, 
 The royal throne above the rest ; 
 How bright the new array ! 
 
 Sorrow and sighing are no more ; 
 
 The weeping hours are past ; 
 To-night the waiting will be done, 
 To-night the wedding robe put on, 
 The glory and the joy begun ; 
 
 The crown has come at last. 
 
 Without, within, is light, is light ; 
 
 Around, above, is love, is love ; 
 We enter, to go out no more ; 
 We raise the song unsung before ; 
 We doff the sackcloth that we wore 
 
 For all is joy above. 
 
Ascend, beloved, to the life ; 
 
 Our days of death are o'er ; 
 Mortality has done its worst ; 
 The fetters of the tomb are burst ; 
 The last has now become the first, 
 
 Forever, evermore. 
 
 Ascend, beloved, to the feast ; 
 
 Make haste, thy day is come ; 
 Thrice blest are they the Lamb doth call 
 To share the heavenly festival 
 In the new Salem's palace-hall, 
 
 Our everlasting home. 
 
 Horatius Bonar. 
 
 THROUGH THE DOOR. 
 
 '"THE angel opened the door 
 * A little way, 
 And she vanished, as melts a star 
 
 Into the day. 
 And, for just a second's space, 
 
 Ere the bar he drew, 
 The pitying angel paused, 
 
 And we looked through. 
 
 What did we see within ? 
 
 Ah, who can tell ! 
 What glory and glow of light 
 
 Ineffable ! 
 What peace in the very air, 
 
 What hush and calm, 
 Soothing each tired soul 
 
 Like healing balm ! 
 
 "3 
 
 
 l! 
 
 / 
 
fearless XanD* 
 
 Was it a dream we dreamed, 
 
 Or did we hear 
 The harping of silver harps 
 
 Divinely clear? 
 A murmur of that " new song," 
 
 Which, soft and low, 
 The happy angels sing, 
 
 Sing as they go ? 
 
 And, as in the legend old, 
 
 The good monk heard, 
 As he paced his cloister dim, 
 
 A heavenly bird, 
 And, rapt and lost in the joy 
 
 Of the wondrous song, 
 Listened a hundred years, 
 
 Nor deemed them long, 
 
 So, chained in sense and limb, 
 
 All blind with sun, 
 We stood and tasted the joy 
 
 Of our vanished one ; 
 And we took no note of time, 
 
 Till soon, or late, 
 The gentle angel sighed, 
 
 And shut the gate. 
 
 The vision is closed and sealed ; 
 
 We are come back 
 To the old, accustomed earth, 
 
 The well-worn track, 
 Back to the daily toil, 
 
 The daily pain, 
 114 
 
(Bate of fbeaven* 
 
 But we never can be the same, 
 Never again. 
 
 We who have bathed in noon, 
 
 All radiant white, 
 Shall we come back content 
 
 To sit in night ? 
 Content with self and sin, 
 
 The stain, the blot? 
 To have stood so near the gate, 
 
 And enter not ? 
 
 O glimpse so swjft, so sweet, 
 
 So soon withdrawn, 
 Stay with us ! Light our dusks 
 
 Till day shall dawn, 
 Until the shadows flee, 
 
 And to our view 
 Again the gate unbars, 
 
 And we pass through. 
 
 Susan Coolidge. 
 
 REAPPEARING. 
 
 THE star is not extinguished when it sets 
 Upon the dull horizon ; but it goes 
 To shine in other skies, then reappear 
 In ours, as fresh as when it first arose. 
 
 The river is not lost when o'er the rock 
 It pours its flood into the abyss below ; 
 
 Its scattering force regathering from the shock, 
 It hastens onward with yet fuller flow. 
 
 "5 
 
 cU3 
 
fearless 
 
 The bright sun dies not when the shadowing orb 
 Of the eclipsing moon obscures its ray ; 
 
 It still is shining on, and soon to us 
 
 Will burst undimmed into the joy of day. 
 
 The lily dies not when both flower and leaf 
 
 Fade, and are strewed upon the chill, sad ground ; 
 
 Gone for shelter to its mother earth, 
 
 'T will rise, re-bloom, and shed its fragrance round. 
 
 The dewdrop dies not when it leaves the flower, 
 And passes upward on the beam of morn ; 
 
 It does but hide itself in light on high, 
 To its loved flower at twilight to return. 
 
 The fine gold has not perished when the flame 
 
 Seizes upon it with consuming glow ; 
 In freshened splendor it comes forth anew, 
 
 To sparkle on the monarch's throne or brow. 
 
 Thus nothing dies, or only dies to live, 
 
 Star, stream, sun, flower, the dewdrop, and the gold ; 
 
 Each goodly thing, instinct with buoyant hope, 
 Hastes to put on its purer, finer mould. 
 
 So, in the quiet joy of kindly trust, 
 
 We bid each parting saint a brief farewell ; 
 
 Weeping, yet smiling, we commit their dust 
 To the safe keeping of the silent cell. 
 
 Softly within that peaceful resting-place 
 
 We place their wearied limbs, and bid the clay 
 
 Press lightly on them, till the night be past, 
 And the far east give note of coming day. 
 
 116 
 
<3ate of l>eaven. 
 
 The day of reappearing, how it speeds ! 
 
 He who is true and faithful speaks the word ; 
 Then shall we ever be with those we love ; 
 
 Then shall we be forever with the Lord. 
 
 
 
 The shout is heard ; the archangel's voice goes forth ; 
 
 The trumpet sounds ; the dead awake and sing ; 
 The living put on glory ; one glad band, 
 
 They hasten up to meet their coming King ! 
 
 Short death and darkness, endless life and light ! 
 
 Short dimming, endless shining in yon sphere, 
 Where all is incorruptible and pure, 
 
 The joy without the pain, the smile without the tear. 
 
 Horatius Bonar. 
 
 "FOREVER WITH THE LORD." 
 
 I Thess. 4 : 17. 
 PART I. 
 
 " POREVER with the Lord ! " 
 * Amen, so let it be ; 
 Life from the dead is in that word, 
 'T is immortality. 
 
 Here in the body pent, 
 Absent from thee I roam ; 
 
 Yet nightly pitch my moving tent 
 A day's march nearer home. 
 
 My Father's house on high, 
 Home of my soul, how near, 
 
 At times, to faith's foreseeing eye, 
 Thy golden gates appear ! 
 
 117 
 
3be Ccarlcss XanD. 
 
 Ah ! then my spirit faints 
 
 To reach the land I love, 
 The bright inheritance of saints, 
 
 Jerusalem above. 
 
 
 
 Yet clouds will intervene, 
 
 And all my prospect flies ; 
 Like Noah's dove, I flit between 
 
 Rough seas and stormy skies. 
 
 Anon the clouds dispart, 
 The winds and waters cease 
 
 While sweetly o'er my gladdened heart 
 Expands the bow of peace. 
 
 Beneath its glowing arch, 
 Along the hallowed ground, 
 
 I see cherubic armies march, 
 A camp of fire around. 
 
 I hear at morn and even, 
 At noon and midnight hour, 
 
 The choral harmonies of heaven 
 Earth's Babel-tongues o'erpower. 
 
 Then, then I feel that he 
 
 (Remembered or forgot), 
 The Lord, is never far from me, 
 
 Though I perceive him not. 
 
 PART H. 
 
 In darkness as in light 
 Hidden alike from view, 
 
 I sleep, I wake within his sight, 
 Who looks existence through. 
 
 118 
 
Gate of f>eavetu 
 
 From the dim hour of birth, 
 Through every changing state 
 
 Of mortal pilgrimage on earth, 
 Till its appointed date ; 
 
 All that I am, have been, 
 
 All that I yet may be, 
 He sees at once, as he hath seen 
 
 And shall forever see. 
 
 How can I meet his eyes? 
 
 Mine on the cross I cast, 
 And own my life a Saviour's prize, 
 
 Mercy from first to last. 
 
 " Forever with the Lord ! " 
 Father, if 't is thy will, 
 
 The promise of that faithful word 
 Even here to me fulfill. 
 
 Be thou at my right hand, 
 
 Then can I never fail ; 
 Uphold thou me, and I shall stand, 
 
 Fight, and I must prevail. 
 
 So when my latest breath 
 Shall rend the veil in twain, 
 
 By death I shall escape from death, 
 And life eternal gain. 
 
 Knowing as I am known, 
 How shall I love that word, 
 
 And oft repeat before the throng, 
 " Forever with the Lord ! " 
 
 119 
 
 O 
 
Cbe fearless OLanD. 
 
 Then though the soul enjoy 
 
 Communion high and sweet, 
 While worms this body must destroy, 
 
 Both shall in glory meet. 
 
 The trump of final doom 
 
 Will speak the self-same word, 
 And heaven's voice thunder through the tomb, 
 
 " Forever with the Lord ! " 
 
 The tomb shall echo deep 
 
 That death-awakening sound ; 
 The saints shall hear it in their sleep 
 
 And answer from the ground. 
 
 Then upward as they fly, 
 
 That resurrection-word 
 Shall be their shout of victory, 
 
 " Forever with the Lord ! " 
 
 That resurrection- word, 
 That shout of victory, 
 Once more, " Forever with the Lord ! " 
 
 Amen, so let it be ! 
 
 James Montgomery. 
 
 THE DEAD GOING HOME. 1 
 
 SLOWLY, with measured tread, 
 Onward we bear the dead 
 To his long home. 
 Short grows the homeward road, 
 On with your mortal load j 
 O grave ! we come. 
 
 1 In Egypt a funeral procession stopped before the doors of friends and ene- 
 
i 
 
 Yet, yet ah ! hasten not 
 Past each familiar spot 
 
 Where he hath been ; 
 Where late he walked in glee, 
 There from henceforth to be 
 
 Nevermore seen. 
 
 Yet, yet ah ! slowly move 
 Bear not the form we love 
 
 Fast from our sight 
 Let the air breathe on him, 
 And the sun leave on him 
 
 Last looks of light. 
 
 Rest ye set down the bier, 
 One he loved dwelleth here, 
 
 Let the dead lie 
 A moment that door beside, 
 Wont to fly open wide 
 
 Ere he came nigh. 
 
 Hearken ! he speaketh yet 
 " O friend ! wilt thou forget 
 
 (Friend more than brother !) 
 How hand in hand we Ve gone, 
 Heart with heart linked in one 
 
 All to each other. 
 
 " O friend ! I go from thee, 
 Where the worm feasteth free 
 
 Darkly to dwell 
 Giv'st thou no parting kiss ? 
 Friend ! is it come to this? 
 
 O friend, farewell ! " 
 
 i 
 
fearless 3LanD 
 
 Uplift your load again, 
 
 Take up the mourning strain ! 
 
 Pour the deep wail ! 
 Lo ! the expected one 
 To his place passeth on 
 
 Grave ! bid him hail. 
 
 Yet, yet ah ! slowly move 
 Bear not the form we love 
 
 Fast from our sight 
 Let the air breathe on him, 
 And the sun leave on him 
 
 Last looks of light. 
 
 Here dwells his mortal foe ; 
 Lay the departed low, 
 
 E'en at his gate. 
 Will the dead speak again, 
 Uttering proud boasts and vain, 
 
 Last words of hate ? 
 
 Lo ! the dead lips unclose 
 List ! list ! what sounds are those, 
 
 Plaintive and low ? 
 " O thou, mine enemy ! 
 Come forth and look on me 
 
 Ere hence I go. 
 
 " Curse not thy foeman now 
 Mark ! on his pallid brow 
 
 Whose seal is set ! 
 Pard'ning I passed away 
 Thou wage not war with clay 
 
 Pardon forget." 
 
 122 
 
Gate of IDeaven, 
 
 Now his labor 's done ! 
 Now, now the goal is won ! 
 
 O grave ! we come. 
 Seal up this precious dust 
 Land of the good and just, 
 
 Take the soul home ! 
 
 Caroline Bowles. 
 
 NEARER HOME. 1 
 
 s sweetly solemn thought 
 Comes to me o'er and o'er ; 
 I 'm nearer home to-day 
 
 Than I Ve ever been before ; 
 
 Nearer my Father's house 
 
 Where the many mansions be ; 
 Nearer the Great White Throne, 
 
 Nearer the Jasper Sea ; 
 
 Nearer that bound of life, 
 
 Where we lay our burdens down 
 
 Nearer leaving the cross, 
 Nearer gaining the crown. 
 
 But lying dimly between, 
 
 Winding down through the night, 
 Lies the dark and uncertain stream 
 
 That leads us at length to the light. 
 
 Closer and closer my steps 
 
 Come to the dark abysm, 
 Closer Death to my lips 
 
 Presses the awful chrism ; 
 
 1 Note 5. , 2 , 
 
 <L^> 
 
 TO 
 
fearless Xanfc. 
 
 Father, perfect my trust ! 
 
 Strengthen my feeble faith ! 
 Let me feel as I would when I stand 
 
 On the shores of the river of death 
 
 Feel as I would, were my feet 
 
 Even now slipping over the brink ; 
 For it may be I 'm nearer home, 
 
 Nearer now, than I think ! 
 
 Phoebe Gary. 
 
 EVERYWHERE NEAR. 
 
 Nor from Jerusalem alone 
 To heaven the path ascends ; 
 As near, as sure, as straight the way 
 That leads to the celestial day, 
 From farthest realms extends, 
 Frigid or torrid zone. 
 
 What matters how or whence we start ? 
 One is the crown to all ; 
 
 One is the hard but glorious race, 
 Whatever be our starting-place. 
 Rings round the earth the call 
 That says, Arise, depart ! 
 
 From the balm-breathing, sun-loved isles 
 Of the bright Southern Sea, 
 
 From the dead north's cloud-shadowed pole, 
 We gather to one gladsome goal, 
 One common home in thee, 
 City of sun and smiles ! 
 
 124 
 
(Sate of Deaven* 
 
 The cold rough billow hinders none, 
 Nor helps the calm, fair main ; 
 
 The brown rock of Norwegian gloom, 
 The verdure of Tahitian bloom, 
 The sands of Mizraim's plain 
 Or peaks of Lebanon. 
 
 As from the green lands of the vine, 
 So from the snow-wastes pale, 
 We find the ever open road 
 To the dear city of our God, 
 From Russian steppe, or Burman vale, 
 Or terraced Palestine. 
 
 Not from swift Jordan's sacred stream 
 Alone we mount above ; 
 
 Indus or Danube, Thames or Rhone, 
 Rivers unsainted and unknown, 
 From each the home of love 
 Beckons with heavenly gleam. 
 
 Not from gray Olivet alone 
 We see the gates of light ; 
 
 From Morven's heath or Jungfrau's snow, 
 We welcome the descending glow 
 Of pearl and chrysolite, 
 And the unsetting sun. 
 
 Not from Jerusalem alone 
 The Church ascends to God ; 
 
 Strangers of every tongue and clime, 
 Pilgrims of every land and time, 
 Throng the well-trodden road 
 That leads up to the throne. 
 
 Horatius Bonar* 
 
fearless Xanfc. 
 
 THE OTHER WORLD. 
 
 IT lies around us like a cloud, 
 A world we do not see ; 
 Yet the sweet closing of an eye 
 May bring us there to be. 
 
 Its gentle breezes fan our cheek ; 
 
 Amid our worldly cares 
 Its gentle voices whisper love, 
 
 And mingle with our prayers. 
 
 Sweet hearts around us throb and beat, 
 Sweet helping hands are stirred, 
 
 And palpitates the veil between 
 With breathings almost heard. 
 
 The silence awful, sweet, and calm 
 They have no power to break ; 
 
 For mortal words are not for them 
 To utter or partake. 
 
 So thin, so soft, so sweet they glide, 
 So near to press they seem, 
 
 They seem to lull us to our rest, 
 And melt into our dream. 
 
 And in the hush of rest they bring 
 
 'T is easy now to see 
 How lovely and how sweet a pass 
 
 The hour of death may be. 
 
 To close the eye, and close the ear, 
 Wrapped in a trance of bliss, 
 
 And gently dream in loving arms 
 To swoon to that from this, 
 
 126 
 
It 
 
 * 8 
 
 C r^ 
 
Gate of fbeavem 
 
 Scarce knowing if we wake or sleep, 
 
 Scarce asking where we are, 
 To feel all evil sink away, 
 
 All sorrow and all care. 
 
 Sweet souls around us ! watch us still, 
 
 Press nearer to our side, 
 Into our thoughts, into our prayers, 
 
 With gentle helpings glide. 
 
 Let death between us be as naught, 
 
 A dried and vanished stream : 
 Your joy be the reality, 
 
 Our suffering life the dream. 
 1860. Mrs.H.B.Stowe. 
 
 THE PARTING HOUR. 
 
 THE hour, the hour, the parting hour, 
 That takes from this dark world its power, 
 And lays at once the thorn and flower 
 
 On the same withering bier, my soul ! 
 The hour that ends all earthly woes, 
 And gives the wearied soul repose, 
 How soft, how sweet, that last long close 
 Of mortal hope and fear, my soul ! 
 
 How sweet, while on this broken lyre 
 
 The melodies of time expire, 
 
 To feel it strung with chords of fire 
 
 To praise the Immortal One, my soul ! 
 And while our farewell tears we pour 
 To those we leave on this cold shore, 
 To feel that we shall weep no more, 
 
 Nor dwell in heaven alone, my soul ! 
 127 
 
Meatless 3Lan&. 
 
 How sweet, while, waning fast away, 
 The stars of this dim world decay, 
 To hail, prophetic of the day, 
 
 The golden dawn above, my soul ! 
 To feel we only sleep to rise 
 In sunnier lands and fairer skies, 
 To bind again our broken ties 
 
 In ever-living love, my soul ! 
 
 The hour, the hour, so pure and calm, 
 That bathes the wounded soul in balm, 
 And round the pale brow twines the palm 
 
 That shuns this wintry clime, my soul ! 
 The hour that draws o'er earth and all 
 Its briers and blooms the mortal pall, 
 How soft, how sweet, that evening-fall 
 
 Of fears, and grief, and time, my soul ! 
 
 Anon. 
 
 DROPPING DOWN THE RIVER. 
 
 DROPPING down the troubled river, 
 To the tranquil, tranquil shore, 
 Dropping down the misty river, 
 Time's willow-shaded river, 
 
 To the spring-embosomed shore, 
 Where the sweet light shineth ever, 
 And the sun goes down no more ; 
 O wondrous, wondrous shore ! 
 
 Dropping down the winding river, 
 To the wide and welcome sea ; 
 
 128 
 
Gate of Ibeavem 
 
 Dropping down the narrow river, 
 Man's weary, wayward river, 
 
 To the blue and ample sea, 
 Where no tempest wrecketh ever, 
 
 Where the sky is fair and free ; 
 
 O joyous, joyous sea ! 
 
 Dropping down the noisy river, 
 
 To our peaceful, peaceful home ; 
 Dropping down the turbid river, 
 Earth's bustling, crowded river, 
 
 To our gentle, gentle home, 
 Where the rough roar riseth never, 
 
 And the vexings cannot come ; 
 
 O loved and longed-for home ! 
 
 Dropping down the eddying river, 
 
 With a Helmsman true and tried ; 
 Dropping down the perilous river, 
 Mortality's dark river, 
 
 With a sure and heavenly Guide, 
 Even Him who, to deliver 
 
 My soul from death, hath died ; 
 
 O Helmsman true and tried ! 
 
 Dropping down the rapid river, 
 
 To the dear and deathless land ; 
 Dropping down the well-known river, 
 Life's swollen and rushing river, 
 
 To the resurrection land, 
 Where the living live forever, 
 
 And the dead have joined the band ; 
 
 O fair and blessed land ! 
 
 Horatius Bonar. 
 129 
 
fearless XanD. 
 
 THE PILOT. 
 
 MY bark is wafted on the strand 
 By breath divine ; 
 
 And on the helm there rests a hand 
 Other than mine. 
 
 One who was known in storms to sail, 
 
 I have on board ; 
 Above the roaring of the gale, 
 
 I have my Lord. 
 
 He holds me when the billows smite ; 
 
 I shall not fall. 
 If sharp, 'tis short; if long, 'tis light- 
 
 He tempers all. 
 
 Safe to the land ! safe to the land ! 
 
 The end is this, 
 And then with Him go hand in hand 
 
 Far into bliss. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 THERE IS LIGHT BEYOND. 
 
 BEYOND the stars that shine in golden glory, 
 Beyond the calm sweet moon, 
 Up the bright ladder saints have trod before thee, 
 
 Soul, thou shalt venture soon. 
 Secure with Him who sees thy heartsick yearning, 
 
 Safe in his arms of love, 
 
 Thou shalt exchange the midnight for the morning 
 And thy fair home above. 
 
Oh ! it is sweet to watch the world's night wearing, 
 
 The Sabbath morn come on, 
 And sweet it were the vineyard labor sharing 
 
 Sweeter the labor done. 
 All finished ! all the conflict and the sorrow, 
 
 Earth's dream of anguish o'er ; 
 Deathless there dawns for thee a nightless morrow 
 
 On Eden's blissful shore. 
 
 Patience ! then, patience ! soon the pang of dying 
 
 Shall all forgotten be, 
 And thou, through rolling spheres rejoicing, flying 
 
 Beyond the waveless sea, 
 Shalt know hereafter where thy Lord doth lead thee, 
 
 His darkest dealings trace, 
 And by those fountains where his love will feed thee, 
 
 Behold him face to face. 
 
 Then bow thine head, and God shall give thee meekness, 
 
 Bravely to do his will ; 
 So shall arise his glory in thy weakness 
 
 Ob, struggling soul, be still ! 
 Dark clouds are his pavilion shining o'er thee ; 
 
 Thine heart must recognize 
 The veiled Shekinah moving on before thee, 
 
 Too bright to meet thine eyes. 
 
 Behold the wheel that straightly moves, and fleetly 
 
 Performs the sovereign Word ; 
 Thou know'st his suffering love ! then suffering meekly, 
 
 Follow thy loving Lord ! 
 Watch on the tower, and listen by the gateway, 
 
 Nor weep to wait alone ; 
 
Geartese Xanfc. 
 
 Take thou thy spices, and some angel straightway 
 Shall roll away the stone. 
 
 Then shalt thou tell thy living Lord hath risen, 
 
 And risen but to save ; 
 Tell of the might that breaks the Captive's prison, 
 
 And life beyond the grave ! 
 Tell how He met thee, all his radiance shrouded ; 
 
 How in thy sorrow came 
 His pitying voice breathing, when faith was clouded, 
 
 Thine own familiar name. 
 
 So at the grave's dark portal thou may'st linger, 
 
 And hymn some happy strain ; 
 The passing world may mock the feeble singer 
 
 Heed not, but sing again. 
 Thus wait, thus watch, till He the last link sever, 
 
 And changeless rest be won ; 
 Then in His glory thou shalt bask forever, 
 
 Fear not the clouds PRESS ON ! 
 
 Anon. 
 
 ACROSS THE BAR. 
 
 SUNSET and evening star, 
 And one clear call for me ; 
 And may there be no moaning of the bar 
 When I put out to sea, 
 
 But such a tide as moving seems asleep, 
 
 Too full for sound and foam, 
 When that which drew from out the boundless deep 
 
 Turns again home. 
 
 132 
 
<3ate of l>eaven, 
 
 Twilight and evening bell, 
 
 And after that the dark ! 
 And may there be no sadness of farewell 
 
 When I embark ; 
 
 For though from out our bourne of Time and Place 
 
 The flood may bear me far, 
 I hope to see my Pilot face to face 
 
 When I have crost the bar. 
 
 Alfred Tennyson. 
 
 EDEN'S DOOR. 
 
 'T'HE foe behind, the deep before, 
 * Our hosts have dared and passed the sea ; 
 And Pharaoh's warriors strew the shore, 
 And Israel's ransomed tribes are free. 
 Lift up, lift up your voices now ! 
 The whole wide world rejoices now ! 
 The Lord hath triumphed gloriously ! 
 The Lord shall reign victoriously ! 
 Happy morrow, 
 Turning sorrow 
 
 Into peace and mirth ! 
 
 Bondage ending, 
 Love descending 
 
 O'er the earth ! 
 Seals assuring, 
 Guards securing ; 
 
 Watch his earthly prison, 
 Seals are shattered, 
 Guards are scattered, 
 
 Christ hath risen ! 
 
Hbe fearless 
 
 No longer must the mourners weep, 
 
 Nor call departed Christians dead ; 
 For death is hallowed into sleep 
 And every grave becomes a bed. 
 
 Now once more 
 
 Eden's door 
 
 Open stands to mortal eyes ; 
 For Christ hath risen, and men shall rise : 
 
 Now at last, 
 
 Old things past, 
 
 Hope, and joy, and peace begin : 
 For Christ hath won, and men shall win. 
 
 It is not exile, rest on high : 
 
 It is not sadness, peace from strife : 
 To fall asleep is not to die : 
 
 To dwell with Christ is better life. 
 
 Where our banner leads us, 
 
 We may safely go : 
 Where our Chief precedes us, 
 
 We may face the foe. 
 His right arm is o'er us, 
 
 He will guide us through ; 
 Christ hath gone before us ; 
 
 Christians ! follow you ! 
 
 John Mason Neale, D.D. 
 
 THE VALEDICTION. 
 
 WHEN the death-dews dim my eyes, 
 And my bosom panting lies, 
 Ebbing life's receding sighs, 
 Shorter, fainter, growing ; 
 
 134 
 
 <U3 
 
Ere my spirit breaks her way, 
 Through her prison-walls of clay, 
 Into realms of endless day 
 
 The land to which I 'm going 
 
 May the dear familiar band 
 
 Of weeping friends that round me stand, 
 
 Watching the decreasing sand, 
 
 Fast and faster flowing, 
 Chant some low strain, blending well 
 With the solemn passing bell, 
 Of the holy home to tell 
 
 The land to which I 'm going. 
 
 Let them sing, " Dear suffering one, 
 
 Soon thy journey will be done, 
 
 Thy fight be fought, thy race be run : 
 
 Thy soul, with rapture glowing, 
 The everlasting hills shall see, 
 Where pain no more can come to thee, 
 And neither sin nor sorrow be 
 
 The land to which thou 'rt going. 
 
 " He, thy Saviour and thy guide, 
 For thy guilty sake that died, 
 Even now is by thy side, 
 
 Comfort thoughts bestowing. 
 Angelic forms their arms extend, 
 And smileth many a long-lost friend 
 Glad welcome to thy journey's end 
 
 The land to which thou ; rt going." 
 
 Then, as the burden of their song 
 In faint, sweet cadence dies along, 
 
 '35 
 
&be Cearless XanD* 
 
 One happy, radiant look among 
 
 That group of mourners throwing 
 Just as they faded from my view, 
 I fain would breathe one fond adieu, 
 Till in that land we meet anew 
 The land to which I 'm going. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 WHEN WE THINK NOT. 
 
 T T E will come perhaps at morning, 
 
 When simply to live is sweet, 
 When the arm is strong, unwearied 
 
 By the noonday toil and heat ; 
 When the undimmed eye looks tearless 
 
 Up the shining heights of life, 
 And the eagle soul is panting, 
 
 Yearning for some nobler strife. 
 
 He will come perhaps at noontide, 
 
 When the pulse of life throbs high, 
 When the fruits of toil are ripening, 
 
 And the harvest time is nigh ; 
 Then through all the full-orbed splendor 
 
 Of the sun's meridian blaze, 
 There may shine a strange new beauty 
 
 Of the Lord's transfigured face. 
 
 He will come perhaps at evening ; 
 
 Gray and somber is the sky, 
 Clouds around the sunset gather, 
 
 Full and dark the shadows lie ; 
 
 136 
 
 o 
 
Ube (Sate o( fteaven. 
 
 
 When we long for rest and slumber, 
 And some tender thoughts of home 
 
 Fill the heart with vague, sad yearning, 
 Then perhaps the Lord will come. 
 
 If He only find us ready, 
 
 In the morning's happy light, 
 In the strong and fiery noontide, 
 
 Or the coming of the night ; 
 If He only find us waiting, 
 
 Listening to his sudden call, 
 Then his coming when we think not, 
 
 Is the sweetest hope of all. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 
 THE CALYXES OF GOLD. 
 
 AND if some friend we love is lying low, 
 Where human kisses cannot reach her face, 
 Oh, do not blame the loving Father so, 
 
 But wear your sorrow with obedient grace ! 
 And you shall shortly know that lengthened breath 
 
 Is not the sweetest gift God sends his friend, 
 And that, sometimes, the sable pall of death 
 Conceals the fairest boon His love can send. 
 
 If we could push ajar the gates of life, 
 
 And stand within, and all God's workings see, 
 We could interpret all this doubt and strife, 
 
 And for each mystery find a key. 
 But not to-day. Then be content, poor heart ! 
 
 God's plans like lilies pure and white unfold. 
 We must not tear the close-shut leaves apart, 
 
 Time will reveal the calyxes of gold. 
 
 May Riley Smith. 
 
fearless 3LanD, 
 
 ONLY WAITING. 1 
 
 ONLY waiting till the shadows 
 Are a little longer grown ; 
 Only waiting till the glimmer 
 
 Of the day's last beam is flown ; 
 Till the night of earth is faded 
 
 From the heart once full of day ; 
 Till the stars of heaven are breaking 
 Through the twilight soft and gray. 
 
 Only waiting till the reapers 
 
 Have the last sheaf gathered home ; 
 For the summer-time is faded, 
 
 And the autumn winds have come. 
 Quickly, reapers, gather quickly 
 
 The last ripe hours of my heart, 
 For the bloom of life is withered, 
 
 And I hasten to depart. 
 
 Only waiting till the angels 
 
 Open wide the mystic gate, 
 At whose foot I long have lingered, 
 
 Weary, poor and desolate. 
 Even now I hear the footsteps, 
 
 And their voices, far away ; 
 If they call me, I am waiting, 
 
 Only waiting to obey. 
 
 Only waiting till the shadows 
 
 Are a little longer grown ; 
 Only waiting till the glimmer 
 
 Of the day's last beam is flown : 
 
 1 A very aged Christian, who was so poor as to be in an almshouse, when asked 
 what he was doing now, replied, " Only waiting." 
 
 138 
 
 cUX 
 
Then from out the gathered darkness, 
 Holy, deathless stars shall rise, 
 
 By whose light my soul shall gladly 
 Tread its pathway to the skies. 
 
IV. 
 
 There is a land immortal t 
 
 The beautiful of lands; 
 Beside its ancient portal 
 
 A silent sentry stands ; 
 He only can undo it, 
 
 And open wide the door ; 
 And mortals who pass through it 
 
 Are mortals never more. 
 
 Thomas MacKellar. 
 
 141 
 
 <U3 
 
 TO 
 
Thine eyes shall see the king in his beauty : they shall behold a 
 far stretching land. Isa. 33 : 77. 
 
 But now they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly : where- 
 fore God is not ashamed of them, to be called their God. Heb. 
 Ji : 16. 
 
 They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall 
 the sun strike upon them, nor any heat : for the Lamb which is in 
 the midst of the throne shall be their shepherd, and shall guide 
 them unto fountains of waters of life : and God shall wipe away 
 every tear from their eyes. Rev. ? : 16, 17. 
 
 142 
 
 <L*5 
 
THE LAND OF LOVE. 
 
 BEYOND these chilling winds and gloomy skies, 
 Beyond death's cloudy portal, 
 There is a land where beauty never dies, 
 And love becomes immortal, 
 
 A land whose light is never dimmed by shade, 
 
 Whose fields are ever vernal, 
 Where nothing beautiful can ever fade, 
 
 But bloom for aye eternal. 
 
 We may not know how sweet its balmy air, 
 
 How bright and fair its flowers ; 
 We may not hear the songs that echo there, 
 
 Through those enchanted bowers. 
 
 The city's shining towers we may not see 
 
 With our dim earthly vision ; 
 For death, the silent warder, keeps the key 
 
 That opens these gates elysian. 
 
 But sometimes, when adown the western sky 
 
 The fiery sunset lingers, 
 Its golden gates swing inward noiselessly, 
 
 Unlocked by silent fingers. 
 
 And while they stand a moment half ajar, 
 
 Gleams from the inner glory 
 Stream brightly through the azure vault afar, 
 
 And half reveal the story. 
 
 JO 
 
Meatless XanD, 
 
 O land unknown ! O land of love divine ! 
 
 Father all wise, eternal, 
 Guide, guide these wandering, wayworn feet of mine 
 
 Into those pastures vernal. 
 1860. Miss N. A. W. Priest. 
 
 PARADISE: IN A DREAM. 
 
 ONCE in a dream I saw the flowers 
 That bud and bloom in Paradise ; 
 More fair they are than waking eyes 
 Have seen in all this world of ours. 
 And faint the perfume-bearing rose, 
 
 And faint the lily on its stem, 
 And faint the perfect violet 
 
 Compared with them. 
 
 I heard the songs of Paradise : 
 Each bird sat singing in his place ; 
 A tender song so full of grace 
 
 It soared like incense to the skies. 
 
 Each bird sat singing to his mate 
 Soft cooing notes among the trees : 
 
 The nightingale herself were cold 
 To such as these. 
 
 I saw the fourfold River flow, 
 
 And deep it was, with golden sand ; 
 It flowed between a mossy land 
 
 Which murmured music grave and low. 
 
 It hath refreshment for all thirst, 
 
 For fainting spirits strength and rest : 
 
 Earth holds not such a draught as this 
 From east to west. 
 
 144 
 
 TO 
 
XanD* 
 
 The Tree of Life stood budding there, 
 Abundant with its twelvefold fruits ; 
 Eternal sap sustains its roots, 
 
 Its shadowing branches fill the air. 
 
 Its leaves are healing for the world, 
 Its fruit the hungry world can feed, 
 
 Sweeter than honey to the taste 
 And balm indeed. 
 
 I saw the gate called Beautiful ; 
 
 And looked, but scarce could look, within } 
 
 I saw the golden streets begin, 
 And outskirts of the glassy pool. 
 
 harps, O crowns of plenteous stars, 
 
 O green palm branches many-leaved 
 Eye hath not seen, nor ear hath heard, 
 Nor heart conceived. 
 
 1 hope to see these things again, 
 
 But not as once in dreams by night ; 
 To see them with my very sight, 
 And touch, and handle, and attain : 
 To have all heaven beneath my feet 
 
 For narrow way that once they trod ; 
 To have my part with all the saints, 
 And with my GOD. 
 
 Christina G. Rossetti. 
 
 THE INCORRUPTIBLE. 
 
 TV To joy is true, save that which hath no end ; 
 
 No life is true, save that which liveth ever ; 
 No health is sound, save that which God doth send ; 
 No love is real, save that which changeth never. 
 
fearless Xanfc. 
 
 Heaven were no heaven, if its dear light could fade; 
 
 If its fair glory could hereafter wane ; 
 If its sweet skies could suffer stain or shade, 
 
 Or its soft breezes waft one note of pain. 
 
 But now its beauty is forever vernal ; 
 
 Its glory is the glory of its King, 
 Undying, incorruptible, eternal; 
 
 And ever new the song its dwellers sing. 
 
 O heaven of heavens, how true thy life must be ! 
 
 O home of God, how excellent thy light ! 
 O long, long summer of eternity, 
 
 Bright noon of angels, ever clear and bright ! 
 
 Horatius Bonar. 
 
 THAT CLIME. 
 
 *"FHAT clime is not like this dull clime of ours ; 
 * All, all is brightness there ; 
 A sweeter influence breathes around its flowers, 
 
 And a benigner air. 
 
 No calm below is like that calm above, 
 No region here is like that realm of love ; 
 Earth's softest spring ne'er shed so soft a light, 
 Earth's brightest summer never shone so bright. 
 
 That sky is not like this sad sky of ours, 
 
 Tinged with earth's change and care ; 
 No shadow dims it, and no rain cloud lowers ; 
 
 No broken sunshine there : 
 One everlasting stretch of azure pours 
 Its stainless splendor o'er those sinless shores ; 
 For there Jehovah shines with heavenly ray, 
 And Jesus reigns, dispensing endless day. 
 
 146 
 
The dwellers there are not like those of earth, 
 
 No mortal stain they bear, 
 And yet they seem of kindred blood and birth ; 
 
 Whence and how came they there ? 
 Earth was their native soil ; from sin and shame, 
 Through tribulation, they to glory came ; 
 Bond-slaves delivered from sin's crushing load, 
 Brands plucked from burning by the hand of God. 
 
 Yon robes of theirs are not like those below ; 
 
 No angel 's half so bright ; 
 Whence came that beauty, whence that living glow, 
 
 And whence that radiant white ? 
 Washed in the blood of the atoning Lamb, 
 Fair as the light these robes of theirs became ; 
 And now, all tears wiped off from every eye, 
 They wander where the freshest pastures lie, 
 Through all the nightless day of that unfading sky ! 
 
 Anon. 
 
 THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY. 
 
 THE QUESTION. 
 
 COULD we but know 
 The land that ends our dark, uncertain travel, 
 Where lie those happier hills and meadows low \ 
 Ah ! if beyond the spirit's inmost cavil 
 
 Aught of that country could we surely know, 
 Who would not go ? 
 
 Might we but hear 
 
 The hovering angels' high imagined chorus, 
 Or catch, betimes, with wakeful eyes and clear 
 
 147 
 
 
3be fearless 3LanD, 
 
 One radiant vista of the realm before us, 
 With one rapt moment given to see and hear, 
 Ah, who would fear? 
 
 Were we quite sure 
 
 To find the peerless friend who left us lonely, 
 Or there, by some celestial stream as pure, 
 To gaze in eyes that here were lovelit only, 
 This weary mortal coil, were we quite sure, 
 Who would endure ? 
 
 Edmund Clarence Stedman. 
 
 THE ANSWER. 
 
 "Who would not go " 
 With buoyant steps, to gain that blessed portal, 
 
 Which opens to the land we long to know? 
 Where shall be satisfied the soul's immortal, 
 Where we shall drop the wearying and the woe 
 In resting so? 
 
 " Ah, who would fear? " 
 Since, sometimes through the distant pearly portal, 
 
 Unclosing to some happy soul a-near, 
 We catch a gleam of glorious light immortal, 
 And strains of heavenly music faintly hear, 
 Breathing good cheer ! 
 
 " Who would endure " 
 
 To walk in doubt and darkness with misgiving, 
 When he whose tender promises are sure 
 The Crucified, the Lord, the Ever-living 
 Keeps us those " mansions " evermore secure 
 By waters pure ? 
 148 
 
 JO 
 
O wondrous land ! 
 Fairer than all our spirit's fairest dreaming : 
 
 " Eye hath not seen," no heart can understand 
 The things prepared, the cloudless radiance streaming. 
 How longingly we wait our Lord's command 
 His opening hand ! 
 
 O dear ones there ! 
 Whose voices, hushed, have left our pathway lonely, 
 
 We come, erelong, your blessed home to share ; 
 We take the guiding hand, we trust it only 
 Seeing, by faith, beyond this clouded air, 
 That land so fair ! 
 
 Anon. 
 
 THE LAND OF WHICH I DREAM. 
 
 SURELY yon heaven, where angels see God's face, 
 Is not so distant as we deem 
 From this low earth ! 'T is but a little space, 
 The narrow crossing of a slender stream ; 
 'T is but a mist which winds might blow aside. 
 Yes, these are all that us of earth divide 
 From the bright dwellings of the glorified ; 
 The Land of which I dream. 
 
 These peaks are nearer heaven than earth below, 
 
 These hills are higher than they seem ; 
 'T is not the clouds they touch, nor the soft brow 
 
 Of the o'erbending azure, as we deem : 
 'T is the blue floor of heaven that they upbear, 
 And, like some old and wildly rugged stair, 
 They lift us to the land where all is fair, 
 
 The Land of which I dream. 
 
 149 
 
m 
 
 Gearle06 XanD. 
 
 These ocean waves, in their unmeasured sweep, 
 
 Are brighter, bluer than they seem ; 
 True image here of the celestial deep, 
 
 Fed from the fullness of the unfailing stream ; 
 Heaven's glassy sea of everlasting rest, 
 With not a breath to stir its silent breast, 
 The sea that laves the land where all are blest, 
 
 The Land of which I dream. 
 
 And these keen stars, the bridal gems of night, 
 
 Are purer, lovelier than they seem ; 
 Filled from the inner fountain of deep light, 
 
 They pour down heaven's own beam ; 
 Clear, sparkling, from their throne of glorious blue, 
 In accents ever ancient, ever new, 
 Of the glad home above, beyond my view, 
 
 The Land of which I dream. 
 
 This life of ours, these lingering years of earth, 
 
 Are briefer, swifter, than they seem ; 
 A little while, and the great second birth 
 
 Of Time shall come, the prophet's ancient theme. 
 Then he, the King, the Judge, at length shall come, 
 And from this desert, where we sadly roam, 
 Shall give the Kingdom, for our endless home, 
 
 The Land of which I dream. 
 
 Horatius Bonar. 
 
 THE SILENT LAND. 
 
 INTO the Silent Land ! 
 Ah, who shall lead us thither? 
 Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather, 
 
 150 
 
And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand. 
 Who leads us with a gentle hand 
 
 Thither, oh, thither, 
 Into the Silent Land? 
 
 Into the Silent Land ! 
 To you, ye boundless regions 
 Of all perfection ! Tender morning visions 
 
 Of beauteous souls ! The future's pledge and band ! 
 Who in life's battle firm doth stand 
 Shall bear hope's tender blossoms 
 Into the Silent Land ! 
 
 O Land ! O Land ! 
 For all the broken-hearted ! 
 The mildest herald by our fate allotted 
 
 Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand 
 To lead us with a gentle hand 
 
 Into the land of the great departed, 
 Into the Silent Land ! 
 
 Johann Gaudenz von Salis. Tr. by 
 H. W. Longfellow. 
 
 THE VOICEFUL LAND. 
 
 " Into the Silent Land ! 
 Ah, who shall lead us thither? " Longfellow. 
 
 is not a Silent Land ! 
 
 T 
 
 Tones of harmonic spheres, 
 Heard not by mortal ears, 
 Thither their echoes roll 
 Into the answering soul ; 
 Oh ! 't is a Voicefui Land ! 
 

 fearless Xanfc. 
 
 'T is not a Silent Land ! 
 Voices of angel throngs 
 Rain down their chorus- songs 
 Over ethereal hills, 
 Till the rapt spirit thrills ; 
 
 Oh ! 't is a Voiceful Land ! 
 
 'T is not a Silent Land ! 
 Harps, with their golden strings, 
 Dipped as in music springs, 
 Swept by the touch of love, 
 Ring in the realms above ! 
 
 Oh ! 't is a Voiceful Land ! 
 
 'T is not a Silent Land ! 
 Footsteps of spirits sound 
 All through the air profound, 
 Gently as wind-tones make 
 Ripples on stream and lake ; 
 
 Oh ! 't is a Voiceful Land ! 
 
 'T is not a Silent Land ! 
 Ever celestial wings, 
 Bathed in the amber springs 
 Deep of God's ocean light, 
 Fan the swift paths of flight ; 
 
 Oh ! 't is a Voiceful Land ! 
 
 'T is not a Silent Land ! 
 Psalm-breaths of joy arise, 
 Pulsing through inner skies, 
 When the sin-child returns 
 Whither Truth's incense burns ; 
 
 Oh ! 't is a Voiceful Land ! 
 
 152 
 
'T is not a Silent Land ! 
 Hosts of the pure and true, 
 
 Shouts of delight renew 
 Round the beloved, fled 
 Far from the speechless dead ) 
 Oh ! 't is a Voiceful Land 
 
 'T is not a Silent Land ! 
 Welcomes divine are given, 
 Whene'er, death's fetters riven, 
 Holy ones evermore 
 Step on the better shore ; 
 
 Oh ! 't is a Voiceful Land ! 
 
 'T is not a Silent Land ! 
 Far from the song-wrapt throne 
 Peals the unchanging tone, 
 Keying all notes above, 
 To the unisons of love ! 
 
 Oh ! 't is a Voiceful Land ! 
 
 C. H. A. Bulkley. 
 
 A LAND OF PURE DELIGHT. 
 
 THERE is a land of pure delight, 
 Where saints immortal reign ; 
 Infinite day excludes the night, 
 And pleasures banish pain. 
 
 There everlasting spring abides, 
 
 And never withering flowers ; 
 Death, like a narrow sea, divides 
 
 This heavenly land from ours. 
 
Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood 
 
 Stand dressed in living green : 
 So to the Jews old Canaan stood, 
 
 While Jordan rolled between. 
 
 But timorous mortals start and shrink 
 
 To cross this narrow sea, 
 And linger shivering on the brink, 
 
 And fear to launch away. 
 
 Oh, could we make our doubts remove, 
 
 These gloomy doubts that rise, 
 And see the Canaan that we love 
 
 With unbeclouded eyes, 
 
 Could we but climb where Moses stood, 
 
 And view the landscape o'er, 
 Not Jordan's stream, nor death's cold flood, 
 
 Should fright us from the shore. 
 
 Isaac Watts. 
 
 IMMANUEL'S LAND. 1 
 
 '"THE sands of time are sinking, 
 * The dawn of heaven breaks, 
 The summer morn I Ve sighed for, 
 
 The fair, sweet morn awakes ! 
 Dark, dark hath been the midnight, 
 
 But dayspring is at hand, 
 And glory glory dwelleth 
 
 In ImmanuePs land. 
 
 Note 6. 
 
 JO 
 
f>eavenlB HanD, 
 
 Oh, well it is for ever ! 
 
 Oh, well for evermore ! 
 My nest hung in no forest 
 
 Of all this death -doomed shore. 
 Yea, let the vain world vanish, 
 
 As from the ship the strand, 
 While glory glory dwelleth 
 
 In ImmanuePs land. 
 
 There the red Rose of Sharon 
 
 Unfolds its heartsome bloom, 
 And fills the air of heaven 
 
 With ravishing perfume : 
 Oh, to behold it blossom, 
 
 While by its fragrance fanned, 
 While glory glory dwelleth 
 
 In ImmanuePs land. 
 
 The King there, in his beauty, 
 
 Without a veil, is seen -, 
 It were a well-spent journey, 
 
 Though seven deaths lay between. 
 The Lamb, with his fair army, 
 
 Doth on Mount Zion stand, 
 And glory glory dwelleth 
 
 In ImmanuePs land. 
 
 Oh, Christ, he is the Fountain, 
 The deep, sweet well of love ! 
 
 The streams on earth I Ve tasted, 
 More deep I '11 drink above : 
 
 There, to an ocean fullness, 
 His mercy doth expand, 
 
tTbe fearless Xanfc. 
 
 And glory glory dwelleth 
 In Immanuel's land. 
 
 E'en Anworth was not heaven 
 
 E'en preaching was not Christ; 
 And in my sea-beat prison 
 
 My Lord and I held tryst : 
 And aye my murkiest storm cloud 
 
 Was by a rainbow spanned, 
 Caught from the glory dwelling 
 
 In Immanuel's land. 
 
 But that He built a heaven 
 
 Of his surpassing love, 
 A little New Jerusalem, 
 
 Like to the one above 
 " Lord, take me o'er the water," 
 
 Had been my loud demand, 
 " Take me to love's own country, 
 
 Unto Immanuel's land." 
 
 But flowers need night's cool darkness, 
 
 The moonlight and the dew ; 
 So Christ, from one who loved it, 
 
 His shining oft withdrew : 
 And then, for cause of absence, 
 
 My troubled soul I scanned 
 But glory, shadeless, shineth 
 
 In Immanuel's land. 
 
 The little birds at Anworth 
 I used to count them blest 
 
 Now, beside happier altars 
 I go to build my nest : 
 156 
 
O'er these there broods no silence, 
 No graves around them stand ; 
 
 For glory, deathless, dwelleth 
 In ImmanuePs land. 
 
 Fair Anworth by the Solway, 
 
 To me thou still art dear ! 
 E'en from the verge of heaven 
 
 I drop for thee a tear. 
 Oh, if one soul from Anworth 
 
 Meet me at God's right hand, 
 My heaven will be t\vo heavens 
 
 In ImmanuePs land. 
 
 I Ve wrestled on toward heaven, 
 
 'Gainst storm, and wind, and tide 
 Now, like a weary traveler, 
 
 That leaneth on his guide, 
 Amid the shades of evening, 
 
 While sinks life's lingering sand, 
 I hail the glory dawning 
 
 From ImmanuePs land. 
 
 Deep waters crossed life's pathway, 
 
 The hedge of thorns was sharp : 
 Now, these lie all behind me 
 
 Oh, for a well-tuned harp ! 
 Oh, to join hallelujah 
 
 With yon triumphant band, 
 Who sing, where glory dwelleth, 
 
 In ImmanuePs land. 
 
 With mercy and with judgment 
 My web of time He wove, 
 
Meatless XanS. 
 
 And aye the dews of sorrow 
 Were lustered with his love : 
 
 I '11 bless the Hand that guided, 
 I '11 bless the Heart that planned, 
 
 When throned where glory dwelleth, 
 la Immanuel's land. 
 
 Soon shall the sup of glory 
 
 Wash down earth's bitterest woes, 
 Soon shall the desert's brier 
 
 Break into Eden's rose ; 
 The curse shall change to blessing 
 
 The name on earth that 's banned, 
 Be graven on the white stone 
 
 In Immanuel's land. 
 
 Oh, I am my Beloved's 
 
 And my Beloved is mine ! 
 He brings a poor vile sinner 
 
 Into his " house of wine " ! 
 I stand upon his merit, 
 
 I know no safer stand, 
 Not e'en where glory dwelleth 
 
 In Immanuel's land. 
 
 I shall sleep sound in Jesus, 
 
 Filled with his likeness rise, 
 To live and to adore him, 
 
 To see him with these eyes : 
 'Tween me and resurrection 
 
 But Paradise doth stand ; 
 Then then for glory dwelling 
 
 In Immanuel's land. 
 
 158 
 
The bride eyes not her garments, 
 
 But her dear bridegroom's face \ 
 I will not gaze at glory, 
 
 But on my King of grace 
 Not at the crown he giveth, 
 
 But on his pierced hand : 
 The Lamb is all the glory 
 
 Of Immanuel's land. 
 
 I have borne scorn and hatred, 
 
 I have borne wrong and shame ; 
 Earth's proud ones have reproached me, 
 
 For Christ's thrice blessed name : 
 Where God's seal set the fairest, 
 
 They 've stamped their foulest brand ; 
 But judgment shines like noonday 
 
 In Immanuel's land. 
 
 Anne R. Cousin. 
 
 A BEAUTIFUL LAND BY THE SPOILER 
 UNTROD. 
 
 '"FHERE 's a Beautiful Land by the Spoiler untrod, 
 
 Unpolluted by sorrow or care ; 
 It is lighted alone by the presence of God, 
 
 Whose throne and whose temple are there. 
 Its crystalline streams, with a murmuring flow, 
 
 Meander through valleys so green, 
 And its mountains of jasper are bright in the glow 
 
 Of a splendor no mortal hath seen. 
 
 And throngs of glad singers with jubilant breath 
 Make the air with their melodies rife ; 
 
 159 
 
And one known on earth as the Angel of Death 
 
 Shines here as the Angel of Life ! 
 An infinite tenderness beams from his eyes ; 
 
 On his brow is an infinite calm, 
 
 And his voice, as it thrills through the depths of the 
 skies, 
 
 Is as sweet as the Seraphim's psalm. 
 
 Through the amaranth groves of the Beautiful Land 
 
 Walk the souls who were faithful in this ; 
 And their foreheads, star- crowned, by zephyrs are fanned, 
 
 That evermore murmur of bliss ; 
 They taste the rich fruitage that hangs from the trees, 
 
 And breathe the sweet odors of flowers 
 More fragrant than ever were kissed by the breeze 
 
 In Araby's loveliest bowers. 
 
 Old prophets, whose words were a spirit of flame 
 
 Blazing out o'er the darkness of Time ; 
 And martyrs, whose courage no tortures could tame, 
 
 Nor turn from their purpose sublime ; 
 And Saints and Confessors, a numberless throng, 
 
 Who were loyal to Truth and to Right, 
 And left, as they walked through the darkness of Wrong, 
 
 Their footprints encircled with light ; 
 
 And the dear little children, who went to their rest 
 
 Ere their lives had been sullied by sin, 
 While the Angel of Morning still tarried a guest, 
 
 Their spirit's pure temple within, 
 All are there all are there in the Beautiful Land, 
 
 The land by the Spoiler untrod. 
 And their foreheads, star-crowned, by zephyrs are fanned, 
 
 That blow from the Gardens of God ! 
 1 60 
 
l)eax>enl XanD* 
 
 My soul hath looked in through the gateway of dreams, 
 - On the city all paven with gold, 
 And though it still waits on this desolate strand, 
 
 A Pilgrim and stranger on earth, 
 Yet it knew in that glimpse of the Beautiful Land, 
 That it gazed on the home of its birth. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 161 
 
Soon where beauty blinds not, 
 
 No excess of brilliance palls, 
 Salem, city of the holy, 
 
 We shall be within thy walls. 
 There beside the crystal river, 
 
 There beneath life's wondrous tree % 
 There with naught to sever, 
 
 Ever with the Lamb to be. 
 Heir of glory, 
 
 That shall be for thee and me / 
 
 Rev. Horatiw Bonar, DJ>. 
 
 163 
 
He looked for the city which hath the foundations, whose builder 
 and maker is God. Heb. n : 10. 
 
 He hath prepared for them a city. Heb. n : 16. 
 
 And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of 
 heaven from God, made ready as a bride adorned for her husband. 
 Rev. 21 : 2. 
 
 And he carried me away in the Spirit to a mountain great and 
 high, and showed me the holy city Jerusalem, coming down out of 
 heaven from God, having the glory of God. Rev. 21 : 10, n. 
 
 164 
 
 o 
 

 f>eavenl 
 
 JERUSALEM, THE HOLY. 
 
 JERUSALEM, the holy ! 
 Jerusalem, the blest ! 
 From highest heav'n descending 
 
 In bridal beauty drest : 
 Bride of the Lamb ! thy glory, 
 
 The light of God alone, 
 Shines through thee clear as crystal, 
 And like a jasper stone. 
 
 Thy walls are great and glorious ; 
 
 Twelve pearls are thy twelve gates, 
 By every gate an angel 
 
 For holy service waits : 
 And names thereon are written, 
 
 Angelic hands inscribe 
 The tribes of Israel's children, 
 
 On every pearl a tribe. 
 
 And twelve are thy foundations, 
 
 All precious stones most fair, 
 The names of the apostles 
 
 Are ever in them there : 
 Of pure gold is the city, 
 
 And golden is the street, 
 Like to clear glass transparent 
 
 Beneath the saved ones' feet 
 165 
 
Geatle66 Xanfc. 
 
 And therein is no temple, 
 
 No place apart for prayer, 
 For the Lord Almighty, and 
 
 The Lamb thy temple are : 
 No need of sun to lighten, 
 
 No need of moon to shine, 
 Thy sunshine is God's glory, 
 
 The Lamb thy Light divine. 
 
 The nations of the savd 
 
 Do walk there in thy light, 
 Thy gates by day unclosed, 
 
 Within thy walls no night : 
 The kings of earth their glory, 
 
 The queens their state do bring, 
 And lay them down in homage 
 
 Before the glorious King. 
 
 There shall in no wise enter 
 
 The things that do defile, 
 That work abomination, 
 
 And spoil God's truth with guile. 
 But those whose names are written 
 
 In the Lamb's Book of Life, 
 They only shall be in thee, 
 
 Thou spotless Bride and Wife. 
 
 Jerusalem, the holy ! 
 
 My spirit longs to be 
 Within thy walls of jasper, 
 
 Thy gates of pearl to see ; 
 And through the sunless 
 
And in thy moonless beauty 
 God's glory to behold. 
 
 Give me, O Lord, the patience 
 
 To labor and endure, 
 And, that I may behold thee, 
 
 Give me a heart that 's pure : 
 Write thine own Name upon it, 
 
 That, after earth's long strife, 
 My name may be found written 
 
 In the Lamb's Book of Life. 
 
 /. S. B. MonselL 
 
 ZION, CITY OF OUR GOD. 
 
 Isa. 33 : 20, 21. 
 
 LORIOUS things of thee are spoken, 
 
 Zion, city of our God ! 
 He, whose word cannot be broken, 
 Formed thee for his own abode : 
 On the Rock of Ages founded, 
 
 What can shake thy sure repose ? 
 With salvation's wall surrounded, 
 Thou may'st smile at all thy foes. 
 
 See, the streams of living waters, 
 
 Springing from eternal love, 
 Well supply thy sons and daughters, 
 
 And all fears of want remove : 
 Who can faint while such a river 
 
 Ever flows their thirst t' assuage ? 
 Grace, which like the Lord, the giver, 
 
 Never fails from age to age. 
 
 167 
 
 
dbe fearless XanD. 
 
 1779. 
 
 Round each habitation hovering, 
 
 See the fire and cloud appear, 
 For a glory and a covering, 
 
 Showing that the Lord is near. 
 Thus deriving from their banner 
 
 Light by night, and shade by day, 
 Safe they feed upon the manna 
 
 Which he gives them when they pray. 
 
 Blest inhabitants of Zion, 
 
 Washed in the Redeemer's blood ! 
 Jesus, whom their souls rely on, 
 
 Makes them kings and priests to God. 
 'T is his love his people raises 
 
 Over self to reign as kings, 
 And as priests, his solemn praises 
 
 Each for a thank-offering brings. 
 
 Saviour, if of Zion's city 
 
 I through grace a member am, 
 Let the world deride or pity, 
 
 I will glory in thy name. 
 Fading is the worldling's pleasure, 
 
 All his boasted pomp and show ; 
 Solid joys and lasting treasure 
 
 None but Zion's children know. 
 
 John Newton, 
 
 THE CITY GOD HATH MADE. 
 
 DAILY, daily sing the praises 
 Of the city God hath made ; 
 In the beauteous fields of Eden 
 Its foundation stones are laid. 
 
 1 68 
 
 <i>0 
 
tlbe 1>ea\>eni 
 
 CHORUS : Oh, that I had wings of angels 
 
 Here to spread and heavenward fly, 
 I would seek the gates of Zion 
 Far beyond the starry sky. 
 
 All the walls of that dear city 
 
 Are of bright and burnished gold ; 
 
 It is matchless in its beauty, 
 And its treasures are untold. 
 
 In the midst of that dear city, 
 Christ is reigning on his seat, 
 
 And the angels swing their censers 
 In a ring about his feet. 
 
 From the throne a river issues, 
 Clear as crystal, passing bright, 
 
 And it traverses the city 
 
 Like a sudden beam of light. 
 
 Where it waters leafy Eden, 
 Rolling over silver sands, 
 
 Sit the angels softly chiming 
 
 On the harps between their hands. 
 
 There the meadows, green and dewy, 
 Shine with lilies wondrous fair, 
 
 Thousand, thousand are the colors 
 Of the waving flowers there. 
 
 There the forests ever blossom, 
 Like our orchards here in May ; 
 
 There the gardens never wither, 
 But eternally are gay. 
 
 169 
 
 <u> 
 
 JO 
 
fearless Xano. 
 
 1867. 
 
 There are roses and carnations, 
 
 There the honeysuckles twine ; 
 There, along the river edges, 
 
 Golden jonquils ever shine. 
 
 There the water lilies open, 
 
 Lying on the sea of glass ; 
 There the yellow crocus glimmers 
 
 Like a flame amidst the grass. 
 
 There the wind is sweetly fragrant, 
 
 And is laden with the song 
 Of the seraphs and the elders 
 
 And the great redeemed throng. 
 
 Oh, I would my ears were open 
 
 Here to catch that happy strain ! 
 Oh, I would my eyes some vision 
 
 Of that Eden could attain ! 
 
 Sabine Baring- Gould. 
 
 THE FAIRER LIGHT. 
 
 " The city hath no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine 
 in it : for the glory of God did lighten it." 
 
 O RIGHT sun ! thou dost blessedly shine ; 
 * ' Fair earth doth rejoice in thy light ; 
 She draweth her beauty from thine : 
 
 Thou makest her gladsome and bright 
 We bless thy strong splendor at noon, 
 
 We bless thy sweet radiance at even, 
 And welcome the soft-shining moon 
 
 When earth to her bright sway is given. 
 
 170 
 
But fairer, but fuller the light 
 
 Through the Heavenly City that streams ; 
 Jerusalem shineth all bright, 
 
 But not with the sun's golden beams : 
 Your smile, sun and moon, she can spare 
 
 Ye bear in his glory no part : 
 Thou only, dear Lord, beamest there ; 
 
 Her glory, her sunshine thou art. 
 
 Her smile from thy beams she doth take ; 
 
 Her light in thy light she doth see ; 
 Her music and mirth thou dost make ; 
 
 Her beauty she borrows from thee. 
 All bathed in the Glory Divine, 
 
 Still, still she abides in thy light ; 
 Her Sun never ceaseth to shine, 
 
 Her day never yieldeth to night. 
 
 Here bright are the beams of thy sun : 
 Here sweet are the rays of thy grace : 
 
 But there both the glories are one, 
 
 ' Are one in the Light of thy face. 
 
 The Sun in their souls that did glow, 
 Now bright on thy saints doth arise ; 
 
 The joy of their hearts here below 
 Becomes the delight of their eyes. 
 
 They look on the Lord of their love, 
 The Lamb that was slain they behold ; 
 
 He maketh the glory above ; 
 He lighteth the city of gold. 
 
 They gaze on their Sun and grow bright j 
 His beauty, his splendor they wear ; 
 
 171 
 
They see the ineffable sight : 
 
 The unspeakable glory they share 
 
 Lord ! here in my heart dost thou shine? 
 
 Art thou my soul's sunlight below ? 
 O then in that City Divine, 
 
 Full, full on mine eyes thou wilt glow. 
 For me as for all the glad throng 
 
 Thou makest Jerusalem bright ; 
 And still the glad stream of our song 
 
 Flows on midst the bliss of thy light. 
 
 Thomas H. GilL 
 
 THE CITY OF REST. 
 
 " And the name of that city is rest." 
 
 O BIRDS from out the east, O birds from out the west, 
 Have ye found that happy city in all your weary 
 
 quest ? 
 Tell me, tell me, from earth's wandering may the heart 
 
 find glad surcease, 
 
 Can ye show me as an earnest any olive branch of peace ? 
 I am weary of life's troubles, of its sin and toil and 
 
 care; 
 I am faithless, crushing in my heart so many a fruitless 
 
 prayer. 
 
 O birds from out the east, O birds from out the west, 
 Can ye tell me of that city the name of which is Rest ? 
 
 Say, doth a dreamy atmosphere that blessed city crown ? 
 Are there couches spread for sleeping softer than the 
 eider-down ? 
 
 172 
 
 <i-0> 
 
 70 
 
Does the silver sound of waters, falling 'twixt its marble 
 
 walls, 
 
 Hush its solemn silence even into stiller intervals ? 
 Doth the poppy shed its influence there, or doth the 
 
 fabled moly 
 With its leafy-laden Lethe, lade the eyes with slumber 
 
 holy ? 
 
 Do they never wake to sorrow, who, after toilsome quest, 
 Have entered in that city, the name of which is Rest ? 
 
 Doth the fancy wile not there for aye ? Is the restless 
 
 soul's endeavor 
 
 Hushed in a rhythm of solemn calm, forever and forever? 
 Are human natures satisfied of their intense desire ? 
 Is there no more good beyond to seek, or do they not 
 
 aspire ? 
 
 But weary, weary of the ore within its yellow sun, 
 Do they lie and eat its lotus leaves and dream life's toil 
 
 is done? 
 O tell me, do they there forget what here hath made 
 
 them blest, 
 Nor sigh again for home and friends, in the city named 
 
 Rest? 
 
 O little birds, fly east again, O little birds, fly west ; 
 Ye have found no happy city in all your weary quest. 
 Still shall ye find no spot of rest wherever ye may stray, 
 And still like you the human soul must wing its weary 
 
 way; 
 There sleepeth no such city within the wide earth's 
 
 bound, 
 Nor hath the dreaming fancy yet its blissful portals 
 
 found. 
 
fearless XanD. 
 
 We are but children crying here upon a mother's breast, 
 For life and peace and blessedness, and for eternal 
 Rest! 
 
 Bless God, I hear a still, small voice above life's clamor- 
 
 ous din, 
 
 Saying, Faint not, O weary one, thou yet mayst enter in ; 
 That city is prepared for those who well do win the fight, 
 Who tread the wine-press till its blood hath washed their 
 
 garments white. 
 
 Within it is no darkness, nor any baleful flower 
 Shall there oppress thy weeping eyes with stupefying 
 
 power. 
 It lieth calm within the light of God's peace-giving 
 
 breast ; 
 Its walls are called Salvation, the city's name is Rest ! 
 
 Household Words. 
 
 IN YONDER REALMS OF LIGHT 
 
 HIGH in yonder realms of light, 
 Far above these lower skies, 
 Fair, and exquisitely bright, 
 
 Heaven's unfading mansions rise. 
 Built of pure and massy gold, 
 
 Strong and durable are they, 
 Decked with gems of worth untold, 
 Subjected to no decay. 
 
 Glad within these blest abodes 
 Dwell the raptured saints above, 
 
 Where no anxious care corrodes, 
 Happy in Immanuel's love ; 
 
 174 
 
I hear a still, small voice, 
 
 saying, "Faint not." Page 174. 
 
 THE IMMORTAL HOPE. 
 
Once, indeed, like us below, 
 Pilgrims in this vale of tears, 
 
 Torturing pain, and heavy woe, 
 Gloomy doubts, distressing fears, 
 
 These, alas, full well they knew, 
 
 Sad companions of their way ; 
 Oft on them the tempest blew 
 
 Through the long and cheerless day. 
 Oft their vileness they deplored ; 
 
 Wills perverse, and hearts untrue, 
 Grieved they could not love their Lord, 
 
 Love him as they wished to do. 
 
 Oft the big, unbidden tears, 
 
 Stealing down the furrowed cheek, 
 Told, with eloquence sincere, 
 
 Tales of woe they could not speak ; 
 But these days of weeping o'er, 
 
 Past this scene of toil and pain, 
 They shall know distress no more, 
 
 Never, never weep again. 
 
 Mid the chorus of the skies, 
 
 Mid the angelic lyres above, 
 Hark, their songs melodious rise, 
 
 Songs of praise to Jesus' love. 
 Happy spirits ! ye are fled 
 
 Where no grief can entrance find, 
 Lulled to rest the aching head, 
 
 Soothed the sorrows of the mind. 
 
Gbe fearless Xanfc. 
 
 There no cloud can intervene, 
 
 There no angry tempest blows. 
 Every tear is wiped away ; 
 
 Sighs no more shall heave the breast, 
 Night is lost in endless day, 
 
 Sorrow in eternal rest. 
 
 Thomas Raffles. 
 
 BATHED IN UNFALLEN SUNLIGHT. 
 
 BATHED in un fallen sunlight, 
 Itself a sun-born gem, 
 Fair gleams the glorious city, 
 The new Jerusalem ! 
 City fairest, 
 Splendor rarest, 
 
 Let me gaze on thee ! 
 
 Calm in her queenly glory, 
 
 She sits, all joy and light; 
 Pure in her bridal beauty, 
 Her raiment festal-white ! 
 Home of gladness, 
 Free from sadness, 
 Let me dwell in thee ! 
 
 Shading her golden pavement 
 
 The tree of life is seen, 
 Its fruit-rich branches waving, 
 Celestial evergreen. 
 Tree of wonder, 
 Let me under 
 Thee forever rest ! 
 
 176 
 
Tbeavenlg Cits* 
 
 Fresh from the throne of Godhead, 
 
 Bright in its crystal gleam, 
 Bursts out the living fountain, 
 Swells on the living stream. 
 Blessed river, 
 Let me ever 
 
 Feast my eye on thee ! 
 
 Streams of true life and gladness, 
 Spring of all health and peace ; 
 No harps by thee hang silent, 
 Nor happy voices cease. 
 Tranquil river, 
 Let me ever 
 
 Sit and sing by thee ! 
 
 River of God, I greet thee, 
 Not now afar, but near ; 
 My soul to thy still waters 
 Hastes in its thirstings here. 
 Holy river, 
 Let me ever 
 
 Drink of only thee ! 
 
 Horatius Sonar. 
 
 177 
 
 >0 
 
VI. 
 
 Ibome, 
 
 O sweet and blessed country, 
 
 The home of the elect, 
 O sweet and blessed country, 
 
 That eager hearts expect: 
 Jesus, in mercy bring us 
 
 To that dear land of rest, 
 Who art with God the Father, 
 
 And Spirit, ever blest. 
 
 Bernard of Cluny. 
 
Let not your heart be troubled : ye believe in God, believe also in 
 me. In my Father's house are many mansions; if it were not so, I 
 would have told you; for I go to prepare a place for you. And if 
 I go and prepare a place for you, I come again, and will receive you 
 unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also. John 14 : 1-3. 
 
 For we know that if the earthly house of our tabernacle be dis- 
 solved, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, 
 eternal, in the heavens. 2 Cor. 5 . /. 
 
 180 
 
Gbe 
 
 Ibome. 
 
 BLESSED 
 
 HOME. 
 
 '"FHERE is a blessed home 
 
 Beyond this land of woe, 
 Where trials never come, 
 
 Nor tears of sorrow flow ; 
 Where faith is lost in sight, 
 
 And patient hope is crowned, 
 And everlasting light 
 
 Its glory throws around. 
 
 There is a land of peace, 
 
 Good angels know it well, 
 Glad songs that never cease 
 
 Within its portals swell ; 
 Around its glorious throne 
 
 Ten thousand saints adore 
 Christ, with the Father one 
 
 And Spirit evermore. 
 
 O joy all joys beyond, 
 
 To see the Lamb who died, 
 And count each sacred wound 
 
 In hands and feet and side ; 
 To give to him the praise 
 
 Of every triumph won, 
 And sing through endless days 
 
 The great things he hath done. 
 181 
 
Gbe fearless Xanfc, 
 
 1861. 
 
 Look up, ye saints of God, 
 
 Nor fear to tread below 
 The path your Saviour trod 
 
 Of daily toil and woe ; 
 Wait but a little while 
 
 In uncomplaining love, 
 His own most gracious smile 
 
 Shall welcome you above. 
 
 Sir Henry Williams Baker. 
 
 WHERE THE STARS ARE BURNING. 
 
 UPWARD, where the stars are burning, 
 Silent, silent in their turning 
 Round the never-changing pole ; 
 Upward, where the sky is brightest, 
 Upward, where the blue is lightest, 
 Lift I now my longing soul ! 
 
 Far above that arch of gladness, 
 Far beyond those clouds of sadness, 
 
 Are the many mansions fair ! 
 Far from pain, and sin, and folly, 
 In that palace of the holy, 
 
 I would find my mansion there ! 
 
 Where the glory brightly dwelleth, 
 Where the new song sweetly swelleth, 
 
 And the discord never comes ; 
 Where life's stream is ever laving, 
 And the palm is ever waving 
 
 That must be the home of homes ! 
 182 
 
 JO 
 
Cbe Ibeavenlg ibome. 
 
 Where the Lamb on high is seated, 
 By ten thousand voices greeted, 
 
 Lord of lords, and King of kings ! 
 Son of man, they crown, they crown him ! 
 Son of God, they own, they own him ! 
 
 With his name the palace rings ! 
 
 Blessing, honor, without measure, 
 Heavenly riches, earthly treasure, 
 
 Lay we at his blesse'd feet ! 
 Poor the praise that now we render ; 
 Loud shall be our voices yonder, 
 
 When before his throne we meet ! 
 
 Horatius Bonar. 
 
 A HOME IN HEAVEN. 
 
 A HOME in heaven ! what a joyful thought, 
 *"*. As the poor man toils in his weary lot ! 
 His heart opprest, and with anguish driven, 
 From his home below, to his home in heaven. 
 
 A home in heaven ! as the sufferer lies 
 On his bed of pain, and uplifts his eyes 
 To that bright home ; what a joy is given, 
 With the blessed thought of his home in heaven 
 
 A home in heaven ! when our pleasures fade, 
 And our wealth and fame in the dust are laid ; 
 And strength decays, and our health is riven, 
 We are happy still with our home in heaven. 
 
 A home in heaven ! when the faint heart bleeds, 
 By the Spirit's stroke, for its evil deeds ; 
 
 183 
 
fearless Xanfc. 
 
 Oh. then what bliss in that heart forgiven, 
 Does the hope inspire of a home in heaven ! 
 
 A home in heaven ! when our friends are fled 
 To the cheerless gloom of the mouldering dead ; 
 We wait in hope on the promise given ; 
 We will meet up there in our home in heaven. 
 
 A home in heaven ! when the wheel is broke, 
 And the golden bowl by the terror-stroke ; 
 When life's bright sun sinks in death's dark even, 
 We will then fly up to our home in heaven. 
 
 Our home in heaven ! oh, the glorious home ! 
 And the Spirit, join'd with the Bride, says " Come ! " 
 Come, seek his face, and your sins forgiven, 
 And rejoice in hope of your home in heaven ! 
 
 William Hunter. 
 
 A DWELLING PLACE ABOVE. 
 
 THERE is a dwelling place above ; 
 Thither, to meet the God of love, 
 The poor in spirit go : 
 There is a paradise of rest ; 
 For contrite hearts and souls distrest 
 Its streams of comfort flow. 
 
 There is a goodly heritage, 
 
 Where earthly passions cease to rage ; 
 
 The meek that haven gain : 
 There is a board, where they who pine, 
 Hungry, athirst, for grace divine, 
 
 May feast, nor crave again. 
 
 184 
 
 JO 
 
t>ome, 
 
 There is a voice to mercy true ; 
 To them who mercy's path pursue 
 
 That voice shall bliss impart : 
 There is a sight from man concealed j 
 That sight, the face of God revealed, 
 
 Shall bless the pure in heart. 
 
 There is a name, in heaven bestowed ; 
 That name, which hails them sons of God, 
 
 The friends of peace shall know : 
 There is a kingdom in the sky, 
 Where they shall reign with God on high, 
 
 Who serve him best below. 
 
 Lord ! be it mine like them to choose 
 The better part, like them to use 
 
 The means thy love hath given ; 
 Be holiness my aim on earth, 
 That death be welcome as a birth 
 
 To life and bliss in heaven ! 
 1 83 1 . Bishop R. Mant. 
 
 THE SAFE NEST. 
 
 T BUILT my nest by a pleasant stream, 
 
 * That glided on with a smile in its gleam, 
 
 Bringing me gold that was sumless ; 
 Ah me ! but the floods came drowning one day, 
 And swept my nest with its wealth away ; 
 
 I in the world was homeless ! 
 
 I built my nest in a gay green tree, 
 And the summer of life went merrily 
 
 With us ; we were birds of a feather ! 
 
XTbe fearless OLanD. 
 
 But the leaves soon fell, and my pretty ones flew, 
 And through my nest the bitter winds blew ; 
 T was bare in the wildest weather. 
 
 I built my nest under heaven's high eaves ; 
 No rising of floods, no falling of leaves, 
 
 Can mock my heart's endeavor ; 
 Waters may wash, and breezes may blow, 
 In the bosom of Rest I shall smile, I shall know 
 
 My nest is safe forever. 
 
 Gerald Massey. 
 
 SAFE HOME IN PORT. 
 
 O AFE home ! safe home in port ! 
 ^ Rent cordage, shattered deck, 
 Torn sails, provisions short, 
 
 And only not a wreck : 
 But oh ! the joy upon the shore, 
 To tell our voyage-perils o'er ! 
 
 The prize ! the prize secure ! 
 
 The athlete nearly fell ; 
 Bare all he could endure, 
 
 Arid bare not always well : 
 But he may smile at troubles gone 
 Who sets the victor-garland on ! 
 
 No more the foe can harm : 
 
 No more of leaguered camp, 
 And cry of night-alarm, 
 
 And need of ready lamp : 
 And yet how nearly he had failed, 
 How nearly had that foe prevailed ! 
 186 
 
1bome. 
 
 The lamb is in the fold, 
 
 In perfect safety penned : 
 The lion once had hold, 
 
 And thought to make an end ; 
 But One came by with wounded side, 
 And for the sheep the Shepherd died. 
 
 The exile is at home ! 
 
 O nights and days of tears, 
 O longings not to roam, 
 
 O sins, and doubts, and fears, 
 What matter now, when (so men say) 
 The King has wiped those tears away ? 
 
 O happy, happy Bride ! 
 
 Thy widowed hours are past, 
 The Bridegroom at thy side, 
 
 Thou all his own at last ! 
 The sorrows of thy former cup 
 In full fruition swallowed up. 
 
 Joseph of the Studium. 
 
 Tr. by 
 
 John Mason Neale. 
 
 THE LAND WHERE MY NESTLINGS BE. 
 A SONG of a boat : 
 
 ** There was once a boat on a billow, 
 Lightly she rocked to her port remote, 
 And the foam was white in her wake like snow, 
 And her frail mast bowed when the breeze would blow, 
 And bent like wand of willow. 
 
 I shaded mine eyes one day when a boat 
 
 Went courtesying over a billow ; 
 I marked her course, till, a dancing mote, 
 
 187 
 
fearless Xano. 
 
 She faded out on the moonlit foam, 
 And I stayed behind, in the dear, loved home : 
 And my thoughts all day were about the boat, 
 And my dream upon a pillow. 
 
 I pray you hear my song of a boat, 
 
 For it is but short ; 
 My boat, you shall find nothing fairer afloat, 
 
 In river or port. 
 Long I looked out for the lad she bore, 
 
 On the open, desolate sea, 
 And I think he sailed to the heavenly shore, 
 
 For he came not back to me ! 
 
 Ah, me ! 
 A song of a nest : 
 
 There was once a nest in a hollow, 
 Down in the mosses and knot-grass pressed, 
 Soft and warm, and full to the brim ; 
 Vetches leaned over it purple and dim, 
 
 With buttercup buds to follow. 
 
 I pray you hear my song of a nest, 
 
 For it is not long ; 
 You shall never light, in a summer quest 
 
 The bushes among 
 Shall never light on a prouder sitter, 
 
 A fairer nestful, nor ever know 
 A softer sound than their tender twitter, 
 
 That wind-like did come and go. 
 
 I had a nestful once of my own, 
 
 Ah, happy, happy I ! 
 Right dearly I loved them : but when they were grown 
 
 They spread out their wings to fly 
 188 
 
 I 
 
:<fe 
 
 1bome. 
 
 Oh, one after one they flew away, 
 
 Far up to the heavenly blue, 
 To the better country, the upper day, 
 
 And I wish I was going too. 
 
 I pray you, what is the nest to me 
 
 My empty nest ? 
 And what is the shore, where I stood to see 
 
 My boat sail down to the west ? 
 Can I call that home where I anchor yet, 
 
 Though my good man has sailed ? 
 Can I call that home where my nest was set, 
 
 Now all its hopes have failed ? 
 Nay, but the port where my sailor went, 
 
 And the land where my nestlings be : 
 There is the home where my thoughts are sent 
 
 The only home for me 
 
 Ah, me 1 
 
 Jean Ingelow. 
 
VII. 
 
 Reunions in Ibeavem 
 
 We are quite sure 
 That He will give them back, 
 
 Bright, pure and beautiful ; 
 We know that He will but keep 
 Our own and His until we fall asleep; 
 We know that He does not mean 
 To break the strands reaching between 
 
 The Here and There; 
 He does not mean, though heaven be fair t 
 To change the spirits entering there t 
 
 That they forget* 
 
 Anon. 
 
 191 
 
 cU^ 
 
 JO 
 
But we would not have you ignorant, brethren, concerning them 
 that fall asleep; that ye sorrow not, even as the rest, which have no 
 hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so 
 them also that are fallen asleep in Jesus will God bring with him. 
 / Thess. 4 : 13, 14. 
 
 For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven, with a shout, 
 with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God : and 
 the dead in Christ shall rise first : then we that are alive, that are 
 left, shall together with them be caught up in the clouds, to meet 
 the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord. 
 Wherefore comfort one another with these words. / Thess. 4: 
 26-18. 
 
 192 
 
Reunions in Ibeaven. 
 
 THE MEETING-PLACE. 
 
 \WHERE the faded flower shall freshen, 
 
 * * Freshen never more to fade ; 
 Where the shaded sky shall brighten, 
 
 Brighten never more to shade ; 
 Where the sun-blaze never scorches ; 
 
 Where the star-beams cease to chill ; 
 Where no tempest stirs the echoes 
 
 Of the wood, or wave, or hill ; 
 Where the morn shall wake in gladness, 
 
 And the noon the joy prolong ; 
 Where the daylight dies in fragrance 
 
 Mid the burst of holy song 
 Brother, we shall meet and rest 
 Mid the holy and the blest. 
 
 Where no shadow shall bewilder ; 
 
 Where life's vain parade is o'er ; 
 Where the sleep of sin is broken, 
 
 And the dreamer dreams no more ; 
 Where the bond is never severed 
 
 Partings, claspings, sobs, and moan, 
 Midnight waking, twilight weeping, 
 
 Heavy noontide all are done ; 
 Where the child has found its mother, 
 
 Where the mother finds the child ; 
 Where dear families are gathered 
 
 That were scattered on the wild 
 
 JO 
 
Cbe fearless 
 
 Brother, we shall meet and rest 
 Mid the holy and the blest. 
 
 Where the hidden wound is healed $ 
 
 Where the blighted rose re-blooms } 
 Where the smitten heart the freshness 
 
 Of its buoyant youth resumes ; 
 Where the love that here we lavish 
 
 On the withering leaves of time, 
 Shall have fadeless flowers to fix on, 
 
 In an ever spring-bright clime ; 
 Where we find the joy of loving, 
 
 As we never loved before ; 
 Loving on unchilled, unhindered, 
 
 Loving once and evermore 
 Brother, we shall meet and rest 
 Mid the holy and the blest. 
 
 Where a blasted world shall brighten 
 
 Underneath a bluer sphere, 
 And a softer, gentler sunshine 
 
 Shed its healing splendor here ; 
 Where earth's barren vales shall blossom, 
 
 Putting on their robe of green, 
 And a purer, fairer Eden 
 
 Be where only wastes have been ; 
 Where a King, in kingly glory 
 
 Such as earth has never known, 
 Shall assume the righteous scepter, 
 
 Claim and wear the heavenly crown 
 Brother, we shall meet and rest 
 Mid the holy and the blest. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 194 
 
Reunions in tbeaven, 
 
 OVER THE RIVER THEY BECKON TO ME. 
 
 OVER the river they beckon to me, 
 Loved ones who 've crossed to the further side, 
 The gleam of their snowy robes I see, 
 
 But their voices are lost in the dashing tide. 
 There 's one with ringlets of sunny gold, 
 
 And eyes the reflection of heaven's own blue, 
 He crossed in the twilight gray and cold, 
 
 And the pale mist hid him from mortal view ; 
 We saw not the angels who met him there, 
 
 The gates of the city we could not see ; 
 Over the river, over the river, 
 
 My brother stands waiting to welcome me. 
 
 Over the river the boatman pale 
 
 Carried another, the household pet ; 
 Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale, 
 
 Darling Minnie ! I see her yet. 
 She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands, 
 
 And fearlessly entered the phantom bark, 
 We felt it glide from the silver sands, 
 
 And all our sunshine grew strangely dark ; 
 We know she is safe on the further side, 
 
 Where all the ransomed and angels be ; 
 Over the river, the mystic river, 
 
 My childhood's idol is waiting for me. 
 
 For none return from those quiet shores, 
 Who cross with the boatman cold and pale ; 
 
 We hear the dip of the golden oars, 
 And catch a gleam of the snowy sail ; 
 
 And lo ! they have passed from our yearning hearts, 
 They cross the stream and are gone for aye. 
 
{Tearless XanD. 
 
 We may not sunder the veil apart 
 
 That hides from our vision the gates of day, 
 We only know that their barks no more 
 
 May sail with us o'er life's stormy sea ; 
 Yet somewhere I know on the unseen shore, 
 
 They watch, and beckon, and wait for me. 
 
 And I sit and think when the sunset's gold 
 
 Is flushing river and hill and shore, 
 I shall one day stand by the water cold 
 
 And list for the sound of the boatman's oar ; 
 I shall watch for a gleam of the flapping sail, 
 
 I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand, 
 I shall pass from sight with the boatman pale, 
 
 To the better shore of the spirit land. 
 I shall know the loved who have gone before, 
 
 And joyfully sweet will the meeting be, 
 When over the river, the peaceful river, 
 
 The Angel of Death shall carry me. 
 
 Nancy A. W. Priest. 
 
 HOUSEHOLD VOICES. 
 
 T LONG for household voices gone, 
 " For vanished smiles I long, 
 But God hath led my dear ones on, 
 And he can do no wrong. 
 
 I know not what the future hath 
 
 Of marvel or surprise, 
 Assured alone that life and death 
 
 His mercy underlies. 
 
IReunione in f>eaven, 
 
 And if my heart and flesh are* weak 
 
 To bear an untried pain, 
 The bruise" d reed he will not break, 
 
 But strengthen and sustain. 
 
 And so beside the Silent Sea 
 
 I wait the muffled oar ; 
 No harm from him can come to me 
 
 On ocean and on shore. 
 
 I know not where his islands lift 
 
 Their fronded palms in air ; 
 I only know I cannot drift 
 
 Beyond his love and care. 
 
 John Greenleaf Whittier. 
 
 FUTURITY. 
 
 A ND, O beloved voices, upon which 
 ** Ours passionately call, because erelong 
 Ye brake off in the middle of that song 
 We sang together softly, to enrich 
 The poor world with the sense of love, and witch 
 The heart out of things evil, I am strong, 
 Knowing ye are not lost for aye among 
 The hills, with last year's thrush. God keeps a niche 
 In heaven to hold our idols : and albeit 
 He brake them to our faces, and denied 
 That our close kisses should impair their white, 
 I know we shall behold them raised, complete, 
 The dust swept from their beauty, glorified 
 New Memnons singing in the great God- light. 
 
 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
 
 197 
 
 d>0> 
 
tTbe Gearlese XanD* 
 
 THE GATHERING PLACE. 
 
 IKNOW not where, beneath, above, 
 The gathering place so wonderful, 
 But all who fill our life with love, 
 Go forth to make it beautiful. 
 Oh, rich with all the wealth of grace, 
 Oh, bright with many a holy face, 
 Is that exalted meeting place ! 
 
 With passing months it comes more near, 
 
 It grows more real day by day ; 
 Not strange or cold, but very dear, 
 
 The glad homeland not far away ! 
 Where no sea toucheth, making moan, 
 Where none are poor, or sick, or lone, 
 The place where we shall find our own. 
 
 And as we think of all we knew, 
 
 Who there have met, and part no more, 
 
 Our longing hearts desire home, too, 
 With all the strife and trouble o'er. 
 
 So poor this world, now they have gone, 
 
 We scarcely dare to think upon 
 
 The years before our rest is won. 
 
 And yet our Father knoweth best, 
 
 The joy or sadness that we need, 
 The time when we may take our rest 
 And be from sin and sorrow freed. 
 So we will wait with patient grace, 
 Till in that blessed gathering place 
 We meet our friends, and see His face. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 198 
 
 <u> 
 
IReunions in Ibeavetu 
 
 GOD GIVES WHAT HE GIVES. 
 
 D lent him and takes him," you sigh ! 
 
 Nay, there let me break with your pain 
 God 's generous in giving, say I : 
 And the thing which he gives, I deny 
 That he ever can take back again. 
 
 He 's ours and forever. Believe, 
 
 O father ! O mother ! look back 
 To the first love's assurance. To give 
 Means with God not to tempt or deceive 
 With a cup thrust in Benjamin's sack. 
 
 He gives what he gives. Be content ! 
 
 He resumes nothing given be sure ! 
 God lend ? Where the usurers lent 
 In his temple, indignant he went 
 
 And scourged away all those impure. 
 
 He lends not ; but gives to the end, 
 As he loves to the end. If it seem 
 
 That he draws back a gift, comprehend 
 
 'T is to add to it rather, amend, 
 And finish it up to your dream ; 
 
 Or keep, as a mother may toys 
 
 Too costly, though given by herself, 
 
 Till the room shall be stiller from noise, 
 
 And the children more fit for such joys, 
 
 Kept over their heads on the shelf. 
 
 So look up, friends ! you, who indeed 
 
 Have possessed in your house a sweet piece 
 
 199 
 
Cbe Gearless 
 
 Of the heaven which men strive for, must need 
 Be more earnest than others are speed 
 Where they loiter, persist where they cease. 
 
 You know how one angel smiles there. 
 
 Then courage ! 'T is easy for you 
 To be drawn by a single gold hair 
 Of that curl, from earth's storm and despair 
 
 To the safe place above us. Adieu. 
 
 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
 
 MY DEAD. 
 
 1 CANNOT think of them as dead 
 Who walk with me no more ; 
 Along the path of life I tread 
 They have but gone before. 
 
 The Father's house is mansioned fair 
 
 Beyond my vision dim ; 
 All souls are his, and here or there 
 
 Are living unto him. 
 
 And still their silent ministry 
 Within my heart hath place, 
 
 As when on earth they walked with me 
 And met me face to face. 
 
 Their lives are made forever mine ) 
 What they to me have been 
 
 Hath left henceforth its seal and sign 
 Engraven deep within. 
 
 200 
 
f 
 
 1 
 
 
 Mine are they "by an ownership 
 
 Nor time nor death can free ; 
 For God hath given to Love to keep 
 
 Its own eternally. 
 
 Frederick L. Hosmer. 
 
 LOVED ONCE. 
 
 I CLASSED, appraising once, 
 Earth's lamentable sounds ; the welladay, 
 The jarring yea and nay, 
 The fall of kisses on unanswering clay, 
 The sobbed farewell, the welcome mournfuller ; 
 
 But all did leaven the air 
 With a less bitter leaven of pure despair, 
 
 Than these words "I loved ONCE." 
 
 And who saith, " I loved ONCE " ? 
 Not angels, whose clear eyes, love, love, foresee, 
 
 Love through eternity, 
 And by To Love do apprehend To Be. 
 Not God, called LOVE, his noble crown-name, casting 
 
 A light too broad for blasting ! 
 The great God, changing not from everlasting, 
 
 Saith never, " I loved ONCE." 
 
 Oh, never is " Loved ONCE," 
 Thy word, thou Victim-Christ, misprized friend 
 
 Thy cross and curse may rend ; 
 But having loved thou lovest to the end ! 
 It is man's saying man's. Too weak to move 
 
 One sphered star above, 
 Man desecrates the eternal God-word Love 
 
 With his No More, and Once. 
 
 I 
 
 J 
 
fearless 
 
 How say ye, " We loved ONCE," 
 Blasphemers ? Is your earth not cold enow, 
 
 Mourners, without that snow? 
 Ah, friends ! and would ye wrong each other so ? 
 And could ye say of some whose love is known, 
 
 Whose prayers have met your own, 
 Whose tears have fallen for you, whose smiles have shone 
 
 So long, " We loved them ONCE " ? 
 
 Could ye, " We loved her ONCE," 
 Say calm of me, sweet friends, when out of sight ? 
 
 When hearts of better right 
 Stand in between me and your happy light ? 
 And when, as flowers kept too long in the shade, 
 
 Ye find my colors fade, 
 And all that is not love in me, decayed ? 
 
 Such words " Ye loved me ONCE ! ' 
 
 Could ye, " We loved her ONCE," 
 Say cold of me when further put away 
 
 In earth's sepulchral clay ? 
 When mute the lips which deprecate to-day ? 
 Not so ! not then least then ! When life is shriven, 
 
 And Death's full joy is given, 
 Of those who sit and love you up in heaven, 
 
 Say not, " We loved them ONCE." 
 
 Say never, ye loved ONCE ! 
 God is too near above, the grave, beneath, 
 
 And all our moments breathe 
 Too quick in mysteries of life and death, 
 For such a word. The eternities avenge 
 
 Affections light of range 
 
 202 
 
 <tO> 
 
There comes no change to justify that change, 
 Whatever comes loved ONCE ! 
 
 And yet that same word ONCE 
 Is humanly acceptive ! Kings have said, 
 
 Shaking a discrowned head, 
 
 " We ruled once," dotards, " We once taught and led," 
 Cripples once danced i' the vines and bards approved, 
 
 Were once by scornings moved : 
 But love strikes one hour LOVE. Those never loved, 
 
 Who dream that they loved ONCE. 
 
 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
 
 THE WAITING GREETING. 
 
 CLEAR in memory's silent reaches 
 Lie the pastures I have seen, 
 Greener than the sunlit spaces 
 
 Where the May has flung her green : 
 Needs no sun and needs no starlight 
 
 To illume these fields of mine, 
 For the glory of dead faces 
 Is the sun, the stars, that shine. 
 
 More thrm one I count my pastures 
 
 As my life-path groweth long ; 
 By their quiet waters straying 
 
 Oft I lay me, and am strong. 
 And I call each by its giver, 
 
 And the dear names bring to them 
 Glory as from shining faces 
 
 In some New Jerusalem. 
 203 
 
fearless Xanfc. 
 
 Yet, oh, well I can remember, 
 
 Once I called my pastures Pain, 
 And their waters were a torrent 
 
 Sweeping through my life amain ! 
 Now I call them Peace and Stillness, 
 
 Brightness of all Happy Thought, 
 Where I linger for a blessing 
 
 From my faces that are nought. 
 
 Nought ? I fear not. If the Power 
 
 Maketh thus his pastures green, 
 Maketh thus his quiet waters, 
 
 Out of waste his heavens serene, 
 I can trust the mighty Shepherd 
 
 Loseth none he ever led ; 
 Somewhere yet a greeting waits me 
 
 On the faces of my dead ! 
 
 William C. Gannett. 
 
 NOT LOST, BUT GONE BEFORE. 
 
 SAY, why should friendship grieve for those 
 Who safe arrive on Canaan's shore ? 
 Released from all their hurtful foes, 
 They are not lost, but gone before. 
 
 How many painful days on earth 
 
 Their fainting spirits numbered o'er ! 
 
 Now they enjoy a heavenly birth ; 
 They are not lost, but gone before. 
 
 Dear is the spot where Christians sleep, 
 And sweet the strain which angels pour; 
 
 Oh, why should we in anguish weep ? 
 They are not lost, but gone before. 
 204 
 
iReumons fn Ibeavetu 
 
 Secure from every mortal care, 
 By sin and sorrow vexed no more, 
 
 Eternal happiness they share 
 
 Who are not lost, but gone before. 
 
 To Zion's peaceful courts above 
 In faith triumphant may we soar, 
 
 Embracing in the arms of love 
 The friends not lost, but gone before. 
 
 On Jordan's bank, whene'er we come, 
 And hear the swelling waters roar, 
 
 Father, convey us safely home 
 
 To friends not lost, but gone before. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 LIFTED OVER. 
 
 As tender mothers guiding baby steps, 
 When places come at which the tiny feet 
 Would trip, lift up the little ones in arms 
 Of love, and set them down beyond the harm, 
 So did our Father watch the precious boy, 
 Led o'er the stones by me, who stumbled oft 
 Myself, but strove to help my darling on : 
 He saw the sweet limbs faltering, and saw 
 Rough ways before us, where my arms would fail ; 
 So reached from heaven, and lifting the dear child, 
 Who smiled in leaving me, he put him down 
 Beyond all hurt, beyond my sight, and bade 
 Him wait for me ! Shall I not then be glad, 
 And, thanking God, press on to overtake ? 
 
 Helen Hunt Jackson. 
 
L 
 
 fearless 
 
 A TREASURE IN HEAVEN. 
 
 THE happy winds are all astir, 
 And softly falls the snow, 
 As when my arms were holding her 
 
 In the winters long ago. 
 So long ago ! and yet so late 
 
 I seem to feel her feet 
 Within my palms the while I wait 
 Her singing low and sweet. 
 
 Whither she strays I may not know ; 
 
 What flowers her fingers find 
 To fasten in her raiment's flow 
 
 Or shake out on the wind, 
 I cannot tell ; but this I feel, 
 
 Tho' fashioned so divine 
 That all the angels round her kneel, 
 
 She loves me and is mine. 
 
 She hath not found, in all the land 
 
 Her presence lightens so, 
 Forgetfulness of the poor hand 
 
 She clung to long ago ; 
 And often when the day is done, 
 
 Ere sleep my senses hold, 
 I feel her kisses one by one, 
 
 Just as I did of old. 
 
 Something divides us ! It may be 
 
 A sky of duller gray, 
 A little heavier cross for me 
 
 To bear o'er bleaker way, 
 
 206 
 
Reunions in fbeaven. 
 
 A dearer duty for love's sake, 
 
 Or yet a rosier dawn ; 
 Whate'er it may be, when I wake 
 
 Some morning, 't will be gone. 
 
 So, happily my pulses stir 
 
 What time I watch the snow, 
 As when my arms were holding her 
 
 In the winters long ago. 
 So long ago ! and yet so late 
 
 I seem to feel her feet 
 Within my palms the while I wait, 
 
 Her singing low and sweet. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 MUCH THE BEST. 
 
 MOTHER, I see you with your nursery light, 
 Leading your babies, all in white, 
 To their sweet rest \ 
 
 Christ, the Good Shepherd, carries mine to-night, 
 And that is best. 
 
 I cannot help tears, when I see them twine 
 Their fingers in yours, and their bright curls shine 
 
 On your warm breast ; 
 But the Saviour's is purer than yours or mine ; 
 
 He can love best ! 
 
 You tremble each hour because your arms 
 Are weak ; your heart is wrung with alarms, 
 
 And sore opprest ; 
 My darlings are safe, out of reach of harms, 
 
 And that is best. 
 
 207 
 
 <i-0> 
 
fearless 3Lant>. 
 
 You know over yours may hang even now 
 Pain and disease, whose fulfilling slow 
 
 Naught can arrest ; 
 Mine in God's gardens run to and fro, 
 
 And that is best. 
 
 You know that of yours, your feeblest one 
 And dearest may live long years alone, 
 
 Unloved, unblest 
 Mine are cherished of saints around God's throne, 
 
 And that is best. 
 
 You must dread for yours the crime that sears, 
 Dark guilt unwashed by repentant tears, 
 
 And unconfessed ; 
 Mine entered spotless on eternal years, 
 
 Oh, how much the best ! 
 
 But grief is selfish ; I cannot see 
 Always why I should so stricken be, 
 
 More than the rest ; 
 But I know that, as well as for them, for me 
 
 God did the best ! 
 
 Helen Hunt Jackson. 
 
 THE LONESOME ROAD. 
 
 A WHEN the crickets chirp in the evening, 
 
 * * And the stars flash out in the sky, 
 I sit in my lonely doorway 
 
 And watch the children go by. 
 I look at their fresh young faces, 
 And hark to each merry word, 
 For to me, a child's own language 
 Is the sweetest e'er was heard. 
 208 
 
I think that the Angels have found her 
 
 And, loving her better than we, 
 Have begged the Good Father to keep her 
 
 Right on, through Eternity. Page 2og 
 (From Painting by K. I v aurent) 
 
 IMMORTAL HOPE. 
 
' * 
 
"Keunfons (n Deaven, 
 
 And so, I sit in my doorway 
 
 In the hour that I love the best, 
 And think, as I see them passing, 
 
 My child will come with the rest : 
 Think, when I hear the clicking 
 
 Of the little garden gate, 
 My darling's hand is upon it 
 
 Oh, why has she come so late ? 
 
 But the days have been slowly weaving 
 
 Their warp of toil in my life ; 
 The weeks have rolled on me their burden 
 
 Of waiting and patience and strife ; 
 The flowers that came with the summer 
 
 Have finished their errand so sweet, 
 And autumn is drooping her harvests 
 
 Mellow and ripe at my feet. 
 
 And yet my little girl comes not, 
 
 And I think she has missed her way, 
 And strayed from this cold, dark country 
 
 To one of perpetual day. 
 I think that the angels have found her, 
 
 And, loving her better than we, 
 Have begged the Good Father to keep her 
 
 Right on, through eternity. 
 
 Perhaps. But I long to enfold her, 
 
 To tangle my hand in her hair, 
 To feast my starved mouth on her kisses, 
 
 To hear her light foot on the stair. 
 I am but a poor, selfish mother, 
 
 And mother-hearts starve, though they know 
 209 
 
fearless XanD. 
 
 Their children are drinking the nectar 
 From lilies in heaven that blow. 
 
 Some day I am sure I shall find her, 
 
 But the road is so lonesome between, 
 My spirit grows sick and impatient 
 
 For a glimpse of the pastures so green ; 
 Till then I shall sit in the doorway, 
 
 In the hour that my heart loves best, 
 And think, when the children pass homeward, 
 
 My child will come with the rest. 
 
 May Riley Smith. 
 
 THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS. 
 
 '"THERE is a reaper whose name is Death, 
 1 And, with his sickle keen. 
 He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, 
 And the flowers that grow between. 
 
 " Shall I have nought that is fair," saith he ; 
 
 " Have nought but the bearded grain ? 
 Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, 
 
 I will give them all back again." 
 
 He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, 
 
 He kissed their drooping leaves ; 
 It was for the Lord of Paradise 
 
 He bound them in his sheaves. 
 
 " My Lord has need of these flow'rets gay," 
 
 The reaper said, and smiled ; 
 " Dear tokens of the earth are they, 
 
 Where he was once a child. 
 
 210 
 
 >O> 
 
 JO 
 
Reunions in Deavem 
 
 " They shall all bloom in fields of light, 
 
 Transplanted by my care, 
 And saints upon their garments white 
 These sacred blossoms wear." 
 
 And the mother gave in tears and pain, 
 
 The flowers she most did love ; 
 She knew she should find them all again 
 
 In the fields of light above. 
 
 Oh, not in cruelty, not in wrath, 
 
 The reaper came that day : 
 'T was an angel visited the green earth, 
 
 And took the flowers away. 
 
 H. W.Longfellow. 
 
 HEARTS UNITED. 
 
 "That they may be one, even as we are one." 
 
 THIS world is bright and fair, we know : 
 The skies are arched in glory ; 
 The stars shine on, the sweet flowers blow, 
 And tell their blessed story. 
 
 But softer than the summer's breath, 
 
 And fairer than its roses, 
 Will be the clime afar, when Death 
 
 The pearly gate uncloses, 
 
 The land where broken ties shall twine, 
 
 And fond hearts will not sever ; 
 Where love's pure light shall brighter shine, 
 
 Forever and forever. 
 
 Albert Laighton* 
 
 
MID the pastures green of the blessed isle, 
 Where never is heat or cold, 
 Where the light of life is the Shepherd's smile, 
 
 Are the lambs of the Upper Fold. 
 Where the lilies blossom in fadeless spring, 
 
 And never a heart grows old, 
 Where the glad new song is the song they sing, 
 Are the lambs of the Upper Fold. 
 
 OF THE UPPER 
 
 There are tiny mounds where the hopes of earth 
 
 Were laid 'neath the tear-wet mould, 
 But the light that paled at the stricken hearth 
 
 Was joy to the Upper Fold : 
 Oh, the white stone beareth a new name now, 
 
 That never on earth was told, 
 And the tender Shepherd doth guard with care 
 
 The lambs of the Upper Fold. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 THE CIRCLE COMPLETE. 
 
 OURS is the grief, who still are left in this far wilderness 
 Which will at times, now they are gone, seem 
 
 blank and comfortless. 
 For moments spent with loving hearts are breezes from 
 
 the hills, 
 And the balm of Christian brotherhood like Eden's dew 
 
 distils : 
 And we whose footsteps and whose hearts so often fail 
 
 and faint, 
 Seem ill to spare the cheering voice of one departed 
 
 saint. 
 
 212 
 
IReunions fn tbeaveru 
 
 But oh, we sorrow not like those whom no bright hopes 
 
 sustain, 
 For them who sleep in Jesus, God will with him bring 
 
 again. 
 
 Love craves the presence and the sight of all its well- 
 beloved, 
 And therefore weep we in the homes whence they are far 
 
 removed ; 
 Love craves the presence and the sight of each beloved 
 
 one, 
 And therefore Jesus spake the word which caught them 
 
 to his throne : 
 " Father, I will that all my own, which thou hast granted 
 
 me, 
 Be with me where I am to share my glory's bliss with 
 
 thee." 
 
 Thus heaven is gathering, one by one, in its capacious 
 
 breast, 
 
 All that is pure and permanent, and beautiful and blest ; 
 The family is scatter'd yet, though of one home and 
 
 heart, 
 
 Part militant in earthly gloom, in heavenly glory part. 
 But who can speak the rapture, when the circle is 
 
 complete, 
 And all the children sunder'd now around one Father 
 
 meet? 
 One fold, one Shepherd, one employ, one everlasting 
 
 home : 
 " Lo ! I come quickly." " Even so, Amen : Lord Jesus, 
 
 come." 
 
 Edward Hemy Bickersteth, 
 
 213 
 
 
TTbe fearless 
 
 OH, GIVE THEM AGAIN TO ME. 
 
 " Bather, I will that they also, whom thou hast given me, may be with 
 me where I am." 
 
 I AM pressing on to the slippery shore 
 With my sore and weary feet, 
 But a little while and I hope to stand 
 
 At the edge of the golden street. 
 But I pray this prayer from amid the deep 
 
 O Saviour of sinners, bring 
 Those whom I love to abide with me 
 In the presence of the King. 
 
 There are warm young hearts in the household band ; 
 
 There are brightly beaming eyes ; 
 There are voices sweet that I fain would hear 
 
 Mid the anthems of the skies : 
 Thou knowest, O Jesus, how closely here 
 
 The bonds of love entwine ; 
 I count them o'er in the gloaming hour, 
 
 And remember these words of thine. 
 
 There are trembling fingers and silvery hairs, 
 
 And eyes that are growing dim, 
 And voices less strong than in days of yore, 
 
 Swelling the evening hymn. 
 I would not miss them at home in heaven ; 
 
 O Jesus, who gave them me, 
 May I have them again in the land of peace, 
 
 In the home by the glassy sea? 
 
 When the golden crowns at my feet are cast, 
 
 May they be among the band ; 
 When the hymn is swelling o'er heavenly hills, 
 
 Let them with the harpers stand. 
 214 
 
Reunions fn Ibeaven. 
 
 It cannot be that the dearest ones 
 
 Shall depart in the day of strife ; 
 It cannot be that the loves of earth 
 
 Shall die in the day of life. 
 
 I would that my dear ones might all be brought 
 
 To the feet of the Crucified ; 
 Might be carried to him when borne away 
 
 By the coldly rolling tide. 
 But man is weak, although love be strong, 
 
 And I can but look to thee, 
 And pray as thou prayedst in thine agony, 
 
 Oh, give them again to me ! 
 
 Marianne Farningham. 
 
 UNITED BY DEATH. 
 
 " TTiLL Death us part," 
 
 So speaks the heart, 
 When each to each repeats the words of doom ; 
 
 Through blessing and through curse, 
 
 For better and for worse, 
 We will be one, till that dread hour shall come. 
 
 Life with its myriad grasp, 
 
 Our yearning souls shall clasp, 
 By ceaseless love and still expectant wonder : 
 
 In bonds that shall endure, 
 
 Indissolubly sure, 
 Till God in death shall part our path asunder. 
 
 " Till Death us join:' 
 O voice yet more divine ! 
 That to the broken heart breathes hope sublime. 
 
 215 
 
fearless 
 
 Through lonely hours 
 And shattered powers 
 We still are one, despite of change and time. 
 
 Death, with his healing hand, 
 
 Shall once more knit the band 
 Which needs but that one link which none may sever ; 
 
 Till, through the only Good, 
 
 Heard, felt, and understood, 
 Our life in God shall make us one forever. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 SOON WITH THEE. 
 
 OUR beloved have departed, 
 While we tarry, broken-hearted, 
 In the dreary, empty house ; 
 They have ended life's brief story ; 
 They have reached the home of glory, 
 Over death victorious ! 
 
 Hush that sobbing ; weep more lightly ; 
 On we travel, daily, nightly, 
 
 To the rest that they have found ; 
 Are we not upon the river, 
 Sailing fast to meet forever 
 
 On more holy, happy ground ? 
 
 Whilst with bitter tears we 're mourning, 
 Thought to buried loves returning, 
 
 Time is hasting us along, 
 Downward to the grave's dark dwelling, 
 Upward to the fountain welling 
 
 With eternal life and song ! 
 
 216 
 
See ye not the breezes hying, 
 Clouds along in hurry flying? 
 
 But we haste more swiftly on, 
 Ever changing our position, 
 Ever tossed in strange transition, 
 
 Here to-day, to-morrow gone. 
 
 Every hour that passes o'er us 
 Speaks of comfort yet before us, 
 
 Of our journey's rapid rate ; 
 And, like passing vesper bells, 
 The clock of time its chiming tells 
 
 At eternity's broad gate. 
 
 On we haste to home invited, 
 There with friends to be united 
 
 In a surer bond than here, 
 Meeting soon, and met forever ; 
 Glorious hope ! forsake us never, 
 
 For thy glimmering light is dear. 
 
 Ah, the way is shining clearer, 
 As we journey, ever nearer 
 
 To the everlasting home ; 
 Friends who there await our landing, 
 Comrades round the throne now standing, 
 
 We salute you, and we come ! 
 
 From the German of J. Lange. 
 
 THE FAMILY IN HEAVEN AND EARTH. 
 "T 1 is but one family, the sound is balm, 
 A A seraph-whisper to the wounded heart, 
 It lulls the storm of sorrow to a calm, 
 
 And draws the venom from the avenger's dart. 
 
Gbe fearless Hand. 
 
 T is but one family, the accents come 
 
 Like light from heaven to break the night of woe, 
 
 The banner-cry, to call the spirit home, 
 The shout of victory o'er a fallen foe. 
 
 Death cannot separate is memory dead ? 
 
 Has thought, too, vanished, and has love grown chill ? 
 Has every relic and memento fled, 
 
 And are the living only with us still ? 
 
 No ! in our hearts the lost we mourn remain, 
 
 Objects of love and ever- fresh delight ; 
 And fancy leads them in her fairy train, 
 
 In half-seen transports past the mourner's sight. 
 
 Yes ! in ten thousand ways, or far or near, 
 The called by love, by meditation brought, 
 
 In heavenly visions yet they haunt us here, 
 The sad companions of our sweetest thought. 
 
 Death never separates ; the golden wires 
 That ever trembled to their names before, 
 
 Will vibrate still, though every form expires, 
 And those we love, we look upon no more. 
 
 No more indeed in sorrow and in pain, 
 
 But even memory's need erelong will cease, 
 
 For we shall join the lost of love again, 
 In endless bands, and in eternal peace. 
 
 James Edmeston. 
 
 THE OLD VOICES. 
 T FEEL the unutterable longing, 
 
 The hunger of the heart is mine ; 
 I reach and grasp for hands in darkness, 
 My ear grows sharp for voice or sign. 
 218 
 
IReunfons in "fceaven. 
 
 O friend, no proof beyond this yearning, 
 This outstretch of our hearts, we need ; 
 
 God will not mock the hope he giveth, 
 No love he prompts shall vainly plead. 
 
 Then let us stretch our hands in darkness, 
 And call our loved ones o'er and o'er ; 
 
 Some day their arms shall close about us, 
 And the old voices speak once more. 
 
 John Greenleaf Whittier. 
 
 ; 
 
 A YEAR IN HEAVEN. 
 
 ONE year among the angels, beloved, thou hast been ; 
 One year has heaven's white portal shut back the 
 sound of sin : 
 And yet no voice, no whisper, comes floating down from 
 
 thee, 
 To tell us what glad wonder a year of heaven may be. 
 
 Our hearts before it listen, the beautiful closed gate : 
 The silence yearns around us ; we listen and we wait. 
 It is thy heavenly birthday, on earth thy lilies bloom ; 
 In thine immortal garland canst find for these no room ? 
 
 Thou lovedst all things lovely when walking with us here : 
 Now, from the heights of heaven, seems earth no longer 
 
 dear? 
 
 We cannot paint thee moving in white-robed state afar, 
 Nor dream our flower of comfort a cool and distant star. 
 
 Heaven is but life made richer : therein can be no loss ; 
 To meet our love and longing thou hast no gulf to cross ; 
 No adamant between us uprears its rocky screen ; 
 A veil before us only ; thou in the light serene. 
 
 219 
 
fearless XanD. 
 
 That veil 'twixt earth and heaven a breath might waft 
 
 aside ; 
 
 We breathe one air, beloved, we follow one dear Guide : 
 Passed in to open vision, out of our mists and rain, 
 Thou seest how sorrow blossoms; how peace is won 
 
 from pain. 
 
 And half we feel thee leaning from thy deep calm of bliss, 
 
 To say of earth, " Beloved, how beautiful it is ! 
 
 The lilies in this splendor, the green leaves in this 
 
 dew; 
 Oh, earth is also heaven, with God's light clothed anew ! " 
 
 So, when the sky seems bluer, and when the blossoms 
 
 wear 
 
 Some tender, mystic shading we never knew was there, 
 We '11 say, " We see things earthly by light of sainted 
 
 eyes; 
 She bends where we are gazing, to-day, from Paradise." 
 
 Because we know thee near us, and nearer still to Him, 
 
 Who fills thy cup of being with glory to the brim, 
 
 We will not stain with grieving our fair, though fainter 
 
 light, 
 But cling to thee in spirit as if thou wert in sight. 
 
 And as in waves of beauty the swift years come and go, 
 Upon celestial currents our deeper life shall flow, 
 Hearing, from that sweet country where blighting never 
 
 came, 
 Love chime the hours immortal, in earth and heaven the 
 
 same. 
 
 Lucy Larcom. 
 
 220 
 
 TO 
 
IReunions in f>eavem 
 
 INVITATIONS FROM HEAVEN. 
 
 COME to the land of peace ! 
 Come where the tempest hath no longer sway, 
 The shadow passes from the soul away, 
 The sounds of weeping cease ! 
 
 Fear hath no dwelling there ! 
 Come to the mingling of repose and love, 
 Breathed by the silent spirit of the dove 
 
 Through the celestial air ! 
 
 Come to the bright and blest, 
 And crowned forever midst the shining band, 
 Gathered to heaven's own wreath from every land, 
 
 Thy spirit shall find rest ! 
 
 Thou hast been long alone ; 
 Come to thy mother ! on the Sabbath shore, 
 The heart that rocked thy childhood back once more 
 
 Shall take its wearied one. 
 
 In silence wert thou left, 
 Come to thy sisters ! joyously again 
 All the home-voices, blest in one sweet strain, 
 
 Shall greet their long bereft. 
 
 Over thine orphan head 
 
 The storm hath swept, as o'er a willow's bough ; 
 Come to thy father ! it is finished now ; 
 
 Thy tears have all been shed. 
 
 In thy divine abode 
 
 Change finds no pathway, memory no dark trace ; 
 And, O bright victory ! death by love no place ! 
 
 Come, spirit, to thy God ! 
 
 Anon. 
 
 221 
 
Sbe fearless fcanfc. 
 
 F 
 
 THAT HAPPIER SPHERE. 
 'RIEND, after friend, departs ; 
 
 Who hath not lost a friend? 
 There is no union here of hearts 
 
 That finds not here an end : 
 Were this frail world our only rest, 
 Living or dying, none were blest. 
 
 Beyond the flight of time, 
 
 Beyond this vale of death, 
 There surely is some blessed clime, 
 
 Where life is not a breath, 
 Nor life's affections transient fire, 
 Whose sparks fly upwards to expire. 
 
 There is a world above, 
 
 Where parting is unknown ; 
 A whole eternity of love, 
 
 Formed for the good alone : 
 And faith beholds the dying here 
 Translated to that happier sphere. 
 
 Thus star by star declines 
 Till we are passed away, 
 As morning high and higher shines 
 
 To pure and perfect day ; 
 Nor sink those stars in empty night ; 
 They hide themselves in heaven's own light. 
 1824. James Montgomery. 
 
 "GOOD-BY TILL MORNING." 
 OOD-BY, till morning come again," 
 
 We part, but not with aught of pain, 
 The night is short, and hope is sweet, 
 
 222 
 
Reunions in fbeaven. 
 
 It fills our hearts, and wings our feet ; 
 And so we sing the glad refrain, 
 " Good-by, till morning come again." 
 
 " Good-by, till morning come again," 
 The shade of death brings thought of pain, 
 But could we know how short the night 
 That falls, and hides them from our sight, 
 Our hearts would sing the glad refrain, 
 " Good-by, till morning come again." 
 
 Anon. 
 
 i 
 
 223 
 
 cUX 
 
 JO 
 
VIII. 
 
 Rest in Ibeaven, 
 
 Blessed fold ! no foe can enter, 
 
 And no friend departeth thence; 
 Jesus is their sun and center. 
 
 And their shield, Omnipotence. 
 Blessed ; for the Lamb shall feed them, 
 
 All their tears shall wipe away, 
 To the living fountains lead them, 
 
 Till fruitioris perfect day. 
 
 Josiah Conder 
 
And I heard a voice from heaven saying, Write, Blessed are the 
 dead which die in the Lord from henceforth : yea, saith the Spirit, 
 that they may rest from their labors; for their works follow with 
 them. Rev. 14 : TJ. 
 
 There remaineth therefore a sabbath rest for the people of God. 
 For he that is entered into his rest hath himself also rested from his 
 works, as God did from his. Heb. 4:9, 10. 
 
 226 
 
 TO 
 
IRest in Ibeaven* 
 
 IN HEAVEN ALONE IS REST. 
 
 IV TOT in this weary world of ours 
 * ^ Can perfect rest be found ; 
 Thorns mingle with its fairest flowers, 
 
 Even on cultured ground. 
 A brook to drink of by the way, 
 
 A rock its shade to cast, 
 May cheer our path from day to day, 
 
 But such not long can last ; 
 Earth's pilgrim still his loins must gird 
 
 To seek a lot more blest ; 
 And this must be his onward word, 
 
 " In heaven alone is rest." 
 
 This cannot be our resting-place, 
 
 Though now and then a gleam 
 Of lovely nature, heavenly grace, 
 
 May on thee briefly beam ; 
 Grief's pelting shower, care's darkening shroud, 
 
 Still falls, or hovers near ; 
 And sin's pollutions often cloud 
 
 The light of life while here ; 
 Nor till it shuffle off the coil " 
 
 In which it lies depressed, 
 Can the pure spirit cease from toil : 
 i heaven alone is re 
 
tlearless 
 
 Rest to the weary, anxious soul, 
 
 That on life's toilsome road 
 Bears onward to the destined goal 
 
 Its heavy, galling load ; 
 Rest unto eyes that often weep 
 
 Beneath the day's broad light, 
 Or oftener painful vigils keep 
 
 Through the dark hours of night ; 
 But let us bear with pain and care, 
 
 As ills to be redressed, 
 Relying on the promise fair, 
 
 " In heaven there will be rest." 
 
 Anon. 
 
 REST FOR THE TOILING HAND. 
 
 REST for the toiling hand, 
 Rest for the anxious brow, 
 Rest for the weary, wayworn feet, 
 Rest from all labor now. 
 
 Rest for the fevered brain, 
 
 Rest for the throbbing eye : 
 Through these parched lips of thine, no more 
 
 Shall pass the moan or sigh. 
 
 Soon shall the trump of God 
 
 Give out the welcome sound 
 That shakes thy silent chamber-walls, 
 
 And breaks the turf-sealed ground. 
 
 Ye dwellers in the dust, 
 
 Awake ! come forth and sing ! 
 Sharp has your frost of winter been, 
 
 But bright shall be your spring. 
 228 
 
fleet fn Deaven. 
 
 'T was sown in weakness here : 
 
 'T will then be raised in power : 
 That which was sown an earthly seed 
 
 Shall rise a heavenly flower. 
 
 Horatius Bonar. 
 
 THE DEEPER REST. 
 
 WHEN round the earth the Father's hands 
 Have gently drawn the dark ; 
 Sent off the sun to fresher lands, 
 
 And curtained in the lark ; 
 'T is sweet, all tired with glowing day, 
 
 To fade with fading light ; 
 To lie once more, the old weary way, 
 Upfolded in the night. 
 
 If mothers o'er our slumbers bend, 
 
 And unripe kisses reap, 
 In soothing dreams with sleep they blend, 
 
 Till even in dreams we sleep. 
 And if we wake while night is dumb, 
 
 'T is sweet to turn and say, 
 " It is an hour ere dawning come, 
 
 And I will sleep till day." 
 
 n. 
 There is a dearer, warmer bed, 
 
 Where one all day may lie, 
 Earth's bosom pillowing the head, 
 And let the world go by. 
 229 
 
Searlcss XanD. 
 
 There come no watching mother's eyes ; 
 
 The stars instead look down ; 
 Upon it breaks, and silent dies 
 
 The murmur of the town. 
 
 The great world, shouting, forward fares ) 
 
 This chamber, hid from none, 
 Hides safe from all, for no one cares 
 
 For him whose work is done. 
 Cheer thee, my friend ; bethink thee how 
 
 A certain unknown place, 
 Or here or there, is waiting now, 
 
 To rest thee from thy race. 
 
 III. 
 Nay, nay, not there the rest from harms, 
 
 The slow composed breath ! 
 Not there the folding of the arms ! 
 
 Not there the sleep of death ! 
 It needs no curtained bed to hide 
 
 The world with all its wars ; 
 No grassy cover to divide 
 
 From sun and moon and stars. 
 
 There is a rest that deeper grows 
 
 In midst of pain and strife ; 
 A mighty, conscious, willed repose, 
 
 The death of deepest life. 
 To have and hold the precious prize 
 
 No need of jealous bars ; 
 But windows open to the skies, 
 
 And skill to read the stars. 
 230 
 
 <U> 
 
"Rest in "fceaven. 
 
 rv. 
 Who dwelleth in that secret place, 
 
 Where tumult enters not, 
 Is never cold with terror base, 
 
 Never with anger hot. 
 For if an evil host should dare 
 
 His very heart invest, 
 God is his deeper heart, and there 
 
 He enters into rest. 
 
 When mighty sea-winds madly blow, 
 
 And tear the scattered waves, 
 Peaceful as summer woods, below 
 
 Lie darkling ocean caves : 
 The wind of words may toss my heart, 
 
 But what is that to me ? 
 T is but a surface storm Thou art 
 
 My deep, still, resting sea. 
 
 George Macdonald. 
 
 THE HEAVENLY REST. 
 
 T^HERE is an hour of peaceful rest, 
 To mourning wanderers given ; 
 There is a joy for souls distrest, 
 A balm for every wounded breast, 
 T is found above, in heaven. 
 
 There is a soft, a downy bed, 
 
 'T is fair as breath of even ; 
 A couch for weary mortals spread, 
 Where they may rest the aching head, 
 
 And find repose in heaven. 
 231 
 
fearless Xanfc. 
 
 There is a home for weary souls 
 
 By sin and sorrow driven ; 
 When tossed on life's tempestuous shoals, 
 Where storms arise, and ocean rolls, 
 
 And all is drear but heaven. 
 
 There, faith lifts up her cheerful eye, 
 
 To brighter prospects given ; 
 And views the tempest passing by, 
 The evening shadows quickly fly, 
 
 And all serene in heaven. 
 
 There, fragrant flowers, immortal, bloom, 
 
 And joys supreme are given ; 
 There, rays divine disperse the gloom : 
 Beyond the confines of the tomb 
 
 Appears the dawn of heaven. 
 
 William Bingham Tapfan. 
 
 IN COELO QUIES. 
 
 SHOULD sorrow o'er thy brow 
 Its darkened shadow fling, 
 And hopes that cheer thee now 
 
 Die in their early spring ; 
 Should pleasure at its birth 
 
 Fade, like the hues of even, 
 Turn thou away from earth ; 
 There 's rest for thee in heaven. 
 
 If ever life shall seem 
 
 To thee a toilsome way, 
 And gladness cease to beam 
 
 Upon its clouded day ; 
 
 232 
 
 TO 
 
IRest tn Ibeavetu 
 
 
 
 If, like the weary dove, 
 
 O'er shoreless ocean driven, 
 Raise thou thine eye above ; 
 
 There 's rest for thee in heaven. 
 
 But oh, if thornless flowers 
 
 Throughout thy pathway bloom, 
 And gayly fleet the hours, 
 
 Unstained by earthly gloom, 
 Still let not every thought 
 
 To this poor world be given, 
 Nor always be forgot 
 
 Thy better rest in heaven. 
 
 When sickness pales thy cheek 
 
 And dims thy lustrous eye, 
 And pulses low and weak 
 
 Tell of a time to die, 
 Sweet Hope shall whisper then, 
 
 " Though thou from earth be riven, 
 There 's bliss beyond thy ken, 
 
 There 's rest for thee in heaven." 
 
 J. Huntington Bright. 
 
 THE SLEEP. 
 
 He giveth His beloved sleep. Psalm 127 .-2. 
 I. 
 
 OF all the thoughts of God that are 
 Borne inward unto souls afar, 
 Along the Psalmist's music deep, 
 Now tell me if that any is, 
 For gift or grace, surpassing this 
 " He giveth His beloved sleep"? 
 
 233 
 
n. 
 
 What would we give to our beloved ? 
 The hero's heart, to be unmoved, 
 The poet's star-tuned harp, to sweep, 
 The patriot's voice, to teach and rouse, 
 The monarch's crown, to light the brows ?- 
 He giveth His beloved sleep." 
 
 in. 
 
 What do we give to our beloved ? 
 
 A little faith all undisproved, 
 
 A little dust to overweep, 
 
 And bitter memories to make 
 
 The whole earth blasted for our sake, 
 
 " He giveth His beloved sleep." 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Sleep soft, beloved ! " we sometimes say, 
 
 But have no tune to charm away 
 
 Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep : 
 
 But never doleful dream again 
 
 Shall break the happy slumber when 
 
 " He giveth His beloved sleep." 
 
 v. 
 
 O earth, so full of dreary noises ! 
 O men, with wailing in your voices ! 
 O delved gold, the wailers heap ! 
 O strife, O curse, that o'er it fall ! 
 God strikes a silence through you all, 
 And "giveth His beloved sleep." 
 
 234 
 
 T> 
 
IRest in Ibeaven. 
 
 VI. 
 
 His dew drops mutely on the hill, 
 His cloud above it saileth still, 
 Though on its slope men sow and reap. 
 More softly than the dew is shed, 
 Or cloud is floated overhead, 
 " He giveth His beloved sleep." 
 
 VII. 
 
 Ay, men may wonder while they scan 
 A living, thinking, feeling man, 
 Confirmed in such a rest to keep ; 
 But angels say and through the word 
 I think their happy smile is heard 
 " He giveth His beloved sleep." 
 
 VIII. 
 
 For me, my heart that erst did go 
 
 Most like a tired child at a show, 
 
 That sees through tears the mummers leap, 
 
 Would now its wearied vision close, 
 
 Would childlike on His love repose, 
 
 Who " giveth His beloved sleep ! " 
 
 DC. 
 
 And, friends, dear friends, when it shall be 
 That this low breath is gone from me, 
 And round my bier ye come to weep, 
 Let one, most loving of you all, 
 Say, " Not a tear must o'er her fall 
 ' He giveth His beloved sleep.' " 
 
 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
 
 235 
 
 <i>0> 
 
 JO 
 
fearless Xanfc. 
 
 THE TWO VILLAGES. 
 /"~\VER the river on the hill 
 V^ Lieth a village white and still ; 
 All around it the forest trees 
 Shiver and whisper in the breeze ; 
 Over it sailing shadows go 
 Of soaring hawk and screaming crow, 
 And mountain grasses, low and sweet, 
 Grow in the middle of every street. 
 
 Over the river under the hill 
 Another village lieth still ; 
 There I see in the cloudy night 
 Twinkling stars of household light, 
 Fires that gleam from the smithy's door, 
 Mists that curl on the river's shore ; 
 And in the roads no grasses grow, 
 For the wheels that hasten to and fro. 
 
 In that village on the hill 
 
 Never is sound of smithy or mill ; 
 
 The houses are thatched with grass and flowers, 
 
 Never a clock to tell the hours ; 
 
 The marble doors are always shut ; 
 
 You may not enter at hall or hut ; 
 
 All the village lie asleep ; 
 
 Never a grain to sow or reap ; 
 
 Never in dreams to moan or sigh, 
 
 Silent, and idle, and low they lie. 
 
 In that village under the hill, 
 When the night is starry and still, 
 Many a weary soul in prayer 
 Looks to the other village there, 
 
Rest in Deaven, 
 
 And weeping and sighing, longs to go 
 Up to that home, from this below ; 
 Longs to sleep by the forest wild, 
 Whither have vanished wife and child, 
 And heareth, praying, this answer fall 
 " Patience ! that village shall hold ye all ! " 
 
 Rose Terry Cooke. 
 
 AT EVENING-TIME. 
 
 '""THE light fades out of calme'd sea, 
 
 Dark shadows scar its lustrous breast ; 
 Flushed, like the petal of a flower, 
 The white sail melts into the west. 
 
 Far o'er the blue the weary winds 
 
 Have winged their flight, and swell no more 
 The waves' sad music o'er the shrill 
 
 Of ripples on the pebbly shore. 
 
 Rest comes at last ! o'er purple hills 
 The silvery sheep-bell tinkles clear, 
 
 Slowly the lowing kine descend 
 
 The homeward paths, and on the ear 
 
 Ring joyous echoes from afar 
 
 As reapers lay their sickles by. 
 Then all sound dies, and land and sea 
 
 Sleep calmly 'neath a silent sky. 
 
 Rest comes at last ! O weary heart, 
 Fevered and fainting, racked by care, 
 
 And toiling 'neath thy earthly cross 
 Too great for mortal strength to bear, 
 
 237 
 
fearless an<x 
 
 Take courage faint not, but endure ! 
 
 Soon shalt thou say, " The day is past ! 
 At eventide the end shall come, 
 
 And bring the quiet rest at last. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 238 
 
:SUes of Tbeaven. 
 
 The saints of God, their wanderings done> 
 
 No more their weary course they run ; 
 
 No more they faint, no more they fall ; 
 
 No foes oppress, no fears appall. 
 
 O happy saints, forever blest 
 
 In that dear home, how sweet your rest! 
 
 William >. Madagen. 
 
 CUSL 
 
 ?o 
 
And God himself shall be with them, and be their God : and he 
 shall wipe away every tear from their eyes; and death shall be no 
 more; neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain, any 
 more : the first things are passed away. Rev. 21 : j>, 4.. 
 
 And there shall be no curse any more; and the throne of God 
 and of the Lamb shall be therein : and his servants shall do him 
 service; and they shall see his face; and his name shall be on 
 their foreheads. And there shall be night no more; and they need 
 no light of lamp, neither light of sun; for the Lord God shall give 
 them light : and they shall reign for ever and ever. Rev. 22 : 3-5. 
 
 <ux 
 
 70 
 
BLESSED ARE THE DEAD. 1 
 
 (Selig sind die in dem Herrn sterben.) 
 
 OH, how blest are ye whose toils are ended ! 
 Who, through death, have unto God ascended ! 
 Ye have arisen 
 From the cares which keep us still in prison. 
 
 We are still as in a dungeon living, 
 
 Still oppressed with sorrow and misgiving ; 
 
 Our undertakings 
 
 Are tout toils, and troubles, and heartbreakings. 
 
 Ye, meanwhile, are in your chambers sleeping, 
 Quiet, and set free from all our weeping ; 
 No cross nor trial 
 Hinders your enjoyments with denial. 
 
 Christ has wiped away your tears forever ; 
 Ye have that for which we still endeavor. 
 To you are chanted 
 Songs which yet no mortal ear have haunted. 
 
 Ah 1 who would not, then, depart with gladness, 
 
 To inherit heaven for earthly sadness ? 
 
 Who here would languish 
 
 Longer in bewailing and in anguish ? 
 
 Note 7. 
 
 2 4 I 
 
 <U2> 
 
 JO 
 
Gearless Xanfc. 
 
 Come, O Christ, and loose the chains that bind us ! 
 Lead us forth, and cast this world behind us ! 
 With thee, the Anointed, 
 Finds the soul its joy and rest appointed. 
 
 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 
 
 THE WEDDING FEAST. 
 
 /"> OURAGE, O faithful heart ; 
 ^* Steadfast forever ! 
 In the eternal love 
 
 Faltering never : 
 Courage, O downcast eyes, 
 
 Bitter tears shedding ; 
 Hark ! how the chimes ring out 
 
 Joy for the wedding ! 
 
 Open the golden doors ; 
 
 Through the high portal 
 Let the rich glory stream 
 
 Sea-like, immortal ! 
 Open the golden doors 
 
 Wide from the center ; 
 Countless the multitude 
 
 Hither must enter ! 
 
 Light up the palace halls, 
 
 From roof-tree to basement j 
 Bid the warm festal glow 
 
 Flood every casement : 
 Chant ye the bridal song 
 
 Solemn and holy, 
 Waking to Paradise 
 
 Souls that lie holy ; 
 
 242 
 
 ^O 
 
3Blte0 of tbeavem 
 
 But of old battlefields 
 
 No man remembers ; 
 Out of still village yards 
 
 And dank charnel chambers, 
 From the chill ocean graves 
 
 Under far waters, 
 And the dear sepulchers 
 
 Where sleep the martyrs ; 
 
 Dives and Lazarus, 
 
 One with the other ; 
 Peasant and emperor, 
 
 Foeman and brother \ 
 Men with long century-lives, 
 
 Braving death's shadow, 
 And sweet baby blossoms, fresh 
 
 As flower in the meadow : 
 
 Out of the million haunts 
 
 Where dead men lie idle, 
 Out of life's thousand ways : 
 
 Call to the bridal : 
 Open the golden doors 
 
 Wide from the center ! 
 For they that are ready 
 
 To glory shall enter. 
 
 W. E. Littlewood. 
 
 NO GRAVES ARE THERE. 
 
 are tnere " 
 
 No willow weeps above the grassy bed 
 Where sleeps the young, the fondly loved, the fair, 
 
 The early dead ! 
 
 243 
 
fearless XanD, 
 
 No funeral knell 
 
 Blends with the breeze of spring its mournful tone, 
 Bidding henceforth the balmy breezes tell 
 
 Of loved ones gone. 
 
 O'er the cold brow 
 No bitter tears of agony are shed ; 
 None o'er the still, pale form, in anguish bow. 
 
 Whence life has fled. 
 
 " No graves are there," 
 Nor sunny slope, green turf, or quiet grot, 
 Those sad mementoes of departure bear, 
 
 For death is not. 
 
 That fearful foe ! 
 
 Here, ever bearing from us those we love, 
 Resistless as his power is owned below, 
 
 Has none above. 
 
 No ! in the tomb 
 
 Ends his dominion ; there his power is o'er, 
 And they who safely tread its path of gloom 
 
 Shall die no more ! 
 
 " No graves are there ; " 
 Father, we thank thee that there is a clime 
 Guarded alike from death, and grief, and care, 
 
 Untouched by Time. 
 
 We praise Thy name 
 
 That from the dust and darkness of the tomb 
 We can look up in faith, and humbly claim 
 
 Our future home. 
 
 244 
 
 JO 
 
:fi3lfss of Ibeaven. 
 
 Hasten the day 
 
 When, passing death's dark vale without a fear, 
 We, as we reach that heavenly home, may say 
 
 No graves are here ! 
 
 R.A.Rhees. 
 
 THE ONE GLAD DAY. 
 
 *"FHERE is no night in heaven ; 
 
 * In that blest world above 
 
 Work never can bring weariness, 
 
 For work itself is love. 
 There is no night in heaven ; 
 
 Yet nightly round the bed 
 Of every Christian wanderer 
 
 Faith hears an angel tread. 
 
 There is no grief in heaven ; 
 
 For life is one glad day, 
 And tears are of those former things 
 
 Which all have passed away. 
 There is no grief in heaven ; 
 
 Yet angels from on high 
 On golden pinions earthward glide, 
 
 The Christian's tears to dry. 
 
 There is no sin in heaven ; 
 
 Behold that blessed throng, 
 All holy in their spotless robe, 
 
 All holy in their song. 
 There is no sin in heaven ; 
 
 Here, who from sin is free ? 
 Yet angels aid us in our strife 
 
 For Christ's true liberty. 
 
 245 
 
fearless %an&. 
 
 There is no death in heaven ; 
 
 For they who gain that shore 
 Have won their immortality, 
 
 And they can die no more. 
 There is no death in heaven ; 
 
 But when the Christian dies, 
 The angels 'wait his parted soul, 
 
 And waft it to the skies. 
 
 Frederick D. Huntington. 
 
 O HEAVENLY JERUSALEM. 
 
 " Coelestis O Jerusalem." 
 
 O HEAVENLY Jerusalem, 
 Of everlasting halls, 
 Thrice blessed are the people 
 Thou storest in thy walls. 
 
 Thou art the golden mansion, 
 Where saints forever sing ; 
 
 The seat of God's own chosen, 
 The palace of the King. 
 
 There God forever sitteth, 
 Himself of all the crown ; 
 
 The Lamb, the Light that shineth, 
 And never goeth down. 
 
 Nought to this seat approacheth, 
 Their sweet peace to molest ; 
 
 They sing their God forever, 
 Nor day nor night they rest. 
 
of f>eavetu 
 
 1839. 
 
 Sure Hope doth thither lead us ; 
 
 Our longings hither tend ; 
 May short-lived toil ne'er daunt us 
 
 For joys that cannot end. 
 
 To Christ, the Sun that lightens 
 
 His Church above, below ; 
 To Father and to Spirit, 
 
 All things created bow. 
 
 Isaac Williams. 
 
 NO NIGHT SHALL BE IN HEAVEN. 
 
 No night shall be in heaven, no gathering gloom 
 Shall o'er that glorious landscape ever come ; 
 No tears shall fall in sadness o'er those flowers 
 That breathe their fragrance through celestial bowers. 
 
 No night shall be in heaven, no dreadful hour 
 Of mental darkness or the tempter's power ; 
 Across those skies no envious cloud shall roll, 
 To dim the sunlight of the enraptured soul. 
 
 No night shall be in heaven. Forbid to sleep, 
 These eyes no more their mournful vigils keep ; 
 Their fountains dried, their tears all wiped away, 
 They gaze undazzled on eternal day. 
 
 No night shall be in heaven, no sorrow's reign, 
 No secret anguish, no corporeal pain, 
 No shivering limbs, no burning fever there, 
 No soul's eclipse, no winter of despair. 
 
 247 
 
fearless XanD. 
 
 No night shall be in heaven, but endless noon ; 
 No fast-declining sun, nor waning moon ; 
 But there the Lamb shall yield perpetual light, 
 Mid pastures green and waters ever bright. 
 
 No night shall be in heaven, no darkened room, 
 No bed of death, nor silence of the tomb ; 
 But breezes ever fresh with love and truth 
 Shall brace the frame with an immortal youth. 
 
 No night shall be in heaven. But night is here 
 The night of sorrow and the night of fear ; 
 I mourn the ills that now my steps attend, 
 And shrink from others that may yet impend. 
 
 No night shall be in heaven. Oh, had I faith 
 To rest in what the faithful Witness saith, 
 That faith should make these hideous phantoms flee, 
 And leave no night henceforth on earth to me ! 
 
 Thomas Raffles. 
 
 NO TROUBLES THERE. 
 
 o sickness there 
 
 No weary wasting of the frame away, 
 No fearful shrinking from the midnight air, 
 No dread of summer's bright and fervid ray ! 
 
 N' 
 
 No hidden grief, 
 
 No wild and cheerless vision of despair ; 
 No vain petition for a swift relief, 
 No tearful eye, no broken heart are there ! 
 
 248 
 
 <iO 
 
1 
 
 Care has no home 
 
 Within that realm of ceaseless praise and song 
 Its surging billows toss and melt in foam, 
 Far from the mansions of the spirit- throng. 
 
 The storm's black wing 
 Is never spread athwart celestial skies ; 
 Its wailings blend not with the voice of Spring, 
 As some too tender flow'ret fades and dies. 
 
 No night distills 
 
 Its chilling dews upon the tender frame ; 
 No morn is needed there ! the light which fills 
 The land of glory, from its Maker came. 
 
 No parted friends 
 
 O'er mournful recollections have to weep 
 No bed of death enduring love attends, 
 To watch the coming of a pulseless sleep ! 
 
 No withered flower, 
 
 Or blasted bud, celestial gardens know ! 
 No scorching blast or fierce descending shower 
 Scatters destruction like a ruthless foe. 
 
 No battle- word 
 
 Startles the sacred hosts with fear and dread ; 
 The song of Peace, Creation's morning heard, 
 Is sung wherever angel footsteps tread ! 
 
 Let us depart, 
 
 If home like this await the weary soul ! 
 Look up, thou stricken one ! Thy wounded heart 
 Shall bleed no more at sorrow's stern control. 
 
With Faith our guide, 
 
 White-robed and innocent, to tread the way, 
 Why fear to plunge in Jordan's rolling tide, 
 And find the haven of eternal day? 
 
 Anon 
 
 NO MORE SEA. 
 
 Rev. 21 : i. 
 
 "\ 1 ZHEN tempests toss, and billows roll, 
 * * And lightnings rend from pole to pole ; 
 
 Sweet is the thought to me, 
 That one day it shall not be so : 
 In the bright world to which I go, 
 The tempest shall forget to blow : 
 
 There shall be no more sea. 
 
 My little bark has suffered much 
 From adverse storms ; nor is she such 
 
 As once she seemed to be : 
 But I shall shortly be at home, 
 No more a mariner to roam ; 
 When once I to the port am come, 
 
 There will be no more sea. 
 
 Then let the waves run mountains high, 
 Confound the deep, perplex the sky, 
 
 This shall not always be : 
 One day the sun will brightly shine 
 With life, and light, and heat divine ; 
 And when that glorious land is mine, 
 
 There will be no more sea. 
 
Gbe ;)Blte8 of Ibeaven. 
 
 My Pilot tells me not to fear, 
 But trust entirely to his care, 
 
 And he will guarantee, 
 If only I depend on him, 
 To land me safe in his good time, 
 In yonder purer, happier clime, 
 
 Where shall be no more sea. 
 
 Frederick Fysh. 
 
 N' 
 
 NO SHADOWS. 
 
 [o shadows gather 
 
 Where undimm'd eyes gaze on the Father 
 There the thick veil of sin is rent, 
 And the dark night of woe is spent ; 
 There, souls mid clouds of darkness are not groping, 
 And vainly hoping ! 
 
 There is no yearning, 
 No deep unrest, no spirit burning, 
 
 No arms outstretched, to clasp the air ; 
 No breaking hearts j no wild, wild prayer ; 
 No grim despair to blight the mind with madness : 
 No sin, no sadness ! 
 
 There is no sorrow, 
 No storm-winds wail of ill to-morrow ; 
 But clear, smooth waters' flow, 
 And music soft and low ; 
 
 And peace-words from God's fount of love are gushing, 
 All sorrow hushing ! 
 
 251 
 
fearless %anD. 
 
 There is no sighing 
 O'er the unloving or the dying : 
 
 There eloquent smiles the fond lips wreathe ; 
 There hearts of deathless friendship breathe ; 
 There, where love tokens evermore are thronging, 
 Is no more longing ! 
 
 Home of the weary, 
 
 Of all the tempest-wrecked and dreary ; 
 God, guide us to thy brilliant shore, 
 Where wild waves swelling high no more 
 Sorrow and sighing shade the spirit never 
 Flown, flown forever ! 
 
 Marianne Farningham. 
 
 NO TOSSING OF THE BURNING HEAD. 
 
 No tossing of the burning head 
 After the long day's closing ; 
 No weary night-long watches where 
 
 The spirit is reposing. 
 Hot little hands shall no more stretch 
 
 Imploringly before us ; 
 We shall not weep in hopelessness 
 When God's own house is o'er us. 
 
 No crying of the little ones, 
 
 Waking our feeble pity ; 
 No groans arise at eventide 
 
 Within the golden city ; 
 For God's own hand has wiped the tears 
 
 From all that band of weepers, 
 And only music soft and low 
 
 Awakes the peaceful sleepers. 
 
 252 
 
No aching limbs lie helplessly, 
 
 Waiting the Saviour's healing ; 
 For all are whole in that blest home, 
 
 And perfect every feeling. 
 No sighs, and sobs, and wild distress, 
 
 No dread of storm or riot ; 
 But perfect health, unbroken peace, 
 
 Amid the sacred quiet. 
 
 There shall be no more pain ! O home 
 
 So far from danger dreary ! 
 O holy, happy resting-place 
 
 For all the worn and weary ! 
 God guide our feeble halting feet 
 
 Safe to the blissful haven ! 
 God give us all his healing touch, 
 
 And bring us all to heaven ! 
 
 Marianne Farningham. 
 
 THE BLESSED DEAD. 
 
 TJusH ! blessed are the dead 
 A A i n Jesus' arms who rest, 
 And lean their weary head 
 
 For ever on His breast. 
 O beatific sight ! 
 
 No darkling veil between, 
 They see the Light of light, 
 
 Whom here they loved unseen. 
 
 For them the wild is 
 
Them the Good Shepherd leads, 
 
 Where storms are never rife, 
 In tranquil dewy meads 
 
 Beside the Fount of Life. 
 
 Ours only are the tears, 
 
 Who weep around their tomb, 
 The light of bygone years 
 
 And shadowing years to come : 
 Their voice, their touch, their smile, 
 
 Those love-springs flowing o'er, 
 Earth for its little while 
 
 Shall never know them more. 
 
 O tender hearts and true, 
 
 Our long last vigil kept, 
 We weep and mourn for you ; 
 
 Nor blame us ; Jesus wept. 
 But soon at break of day 
 
 His calm Almighty voice, 
 Stronger than death, shall say, 
 
 Awake ! weep not ! rejoice ! 
 
 Edward Henry Bickersteth. 
 
 O HEAVEN! SWEET HEAVEN! 
 
 HEAVEN ! sweet heaven ! the home of the blest, 
 Where hearts once in trouble are ever at rest ; 
 Where eyes that could see not rejoice in the light, 
 And beggars made princes are walking in white. 
 
 O heaven ! sweet heaven ! the mansion of love, 
 Where Christ in his beauty shines forth from above, 
 
 254 
 
His calm Almighty voice, saying 
 Awake! weep not ! rejoice! Page 254 
 
 THK IMMORTAL HOPE. 
 
Bliss of t&eaven, 
 
 The Lamb with his scepter, to charm and control, 
 And love is the sea that encircles the whole. 
 
 O heaven ! sweet heaven ! where purity reigns, 
 Where error disturbs not, and sin never stains ; 
 Where holiness robes in its garments so fair 
 The great multitude that is worshiping there. 
 
 O heaven ! sweet heaven ! where music ne'er dies, 
 But rich pealing anthems of glory arise ; 
 Where saints with one feeling of rapture are stirred, 
 And loud hallelujahs forever are heard. 
 
 O heaven ! sweet heaven ! where friends never part, 
 But cords of true friendship bind firmly the heart ; 
 Where farewell shall nevermore fall on the ear, 
 Nor eyes that have sorrowed be dimmed with a tear. 
 1862. Edwin H. Nevin. 
 
 HEAVEN AT LAST. 
 A NGEL voices sweetly singing, 
 
 t\ 
 
 Echoes through the blue dome ringing, 
 
 News of wondrous gladness bringing ; 
 Ah, 't is heaven at last ! 
 
 Now, beneath us all the grieving, 
 
 All the wounded spirit's heaving, 
 
 All the woe of hopes deceiving ; 
 
 Ah, 't is heaven at last ! 
 
 Sin forever left behind us, 
 Earthly visions cease to blind us, 
 Fleshly fetters cease to bind us ; 
 Ah, 't is heaven at last ! 
 
 O 
 
On the jasper threshold standing, 
 Like a pilgrim safely landing, 
 See the strange bright scene expanding ! 
 Ah, 't is heaven at last ! 
 
 What a city ! what a glory ! 
 Far beyond the brightest story 
 Of the ages old and hoary ; 
 Ah, 't is heaven at last ! 
 
 Christ himself the living splendor, 
 Christ the sunlight mild and tender ; 
 Praises to the Lamb we render ; 
 Ah, 't is heaven at last ! 
 
 Anon. 
 
X. 
 
 Xort) of Ibeavem 
 
 Father, glorious with all splendor, 
 
 But with holiness most bright ! 
 Son, in whom all sweet and tender, 
 
 Dwelt on earth that blessed light! 
 Spirit, through whose grace and sweetness, 
 
 Into sinful souls is poured! 
 In this strain what mighty meetness, 
 
 Holy, holy, holy Lord! 
 
 Thomas H. Gill. 
 
 257 
 
After these things I saw, and behold, a great multitude, which no 
 man could number, out of every nation, and of all tribes and 
 peoples and tongues, standing before the throne and before the 
 Lamb, arrayed in white robes, and palms in their hands; and they 
 cry with a great voice, saying, Salvation unto our God which sitteth 
 on the throne, and unto the Lamb. Rev. J : 9, 10, 
 
 And a voice came forth from the throne, saying, Give praise to 
 our God, all ye his servants, ye that fear him, the small and the 
 great. And I heard as it were the voice of a great multitude, and 
 as the voice of many waters, and as the voice of mighty thunders, 
 saying, Hallelujah : for the Lord our God, the Almighty, reigneth. 
 Let us rejoice and be exceeding glad, and let us give the glory unto 
 him. Rev. 19 .'5-7. 
 
 258 
 
 <OL 
 
 'JO 
 

 Xorfc of Ibeaven, 
 
 THE SERAPH'S SONG. 
 
 " On his head were many crowns." Rev. 19 : 12. 
 
 CROWN Him with many crowns, 
 The Lamb upon his throne ! 
 Hark, how the heavenly anthem drowns 
 All music but its own ! 
 
 Awake, my soul, and sing 
 
 Of him who died for thee ; 
 And hail him as thy matchless King 
 
 Through all eternity. 
 
 Crown him, the Virgin's Son ! 
 
 The God incarnate born, 
 Whose arms those crimson trophies won 
 
 Which now his brow adorn. 
 
 Fruit of the mystic rose, 
 
 As of that rose the stem ; 
 The root whence mercy ever flows, 
 
 The Babe of Bethlehem. 
 
 Crown him the Lord of love ! 
 
 Behold his hands and side, 
 Rich wounds, yet visible above, 
 
 In beauty glorified. 
 
 No angel in the sky 
 
 Can fully bear that sight, 
 But downward bends his wondering eye 
 
 At mysteries so bright. 
 259 
 
fearless Xano* 
 
 1847. 
 
 Crown him the Lord of peace ! 
 
 Whose power a scepter sways 
 From pole to pole, that wars may cease, 
 
 Absorbed in prayer and praise. 
 
 His reign shall know no end ; 
 
 And round his pierced feet 
 Fair flowers of paradise extend 
 
 Their fragrance ever sweet. 
 
 Crown him the Lord of years, 
 
 The Potentate of time, 
 Creator of the rolling spheres, 
 
 Ineffably sublime ! 
 
 Glassed in a sea of light 
 
 Whose everlasting waves 
 Reflect his form the Infinite, 
 
 Who lives and loves and saves. 
 
 Crown him the Lord of heaven ! 
 
 One with the Father known, 
 And the blest Spirit, through him given 
 
 From yonder Triune throne ! 
 
 All hail ! Redeemer, hail ! 
 
 For thou hast died for me : 
 Thy praise shall never, never fail 
 
 Throughout eternity. 
 
 Matthew Bridges. 
 
 SOON AND FOREVER. 
 
 OON and forever ! " 
 
 Such promise our trust, 
 Though ashes to ashes, 
 And dust unto dust, 
 
 260 
 
All hail ! Redeemer, hail ! Page 260. 
 
 THK IMMORTAL HOPB. 
 
Soon and forever 
 
 Our union shall be 
 Made perfect, our glorious 
 
 Redeemer, in thee. 
 When the sins and the sorrows 
 
 Of time shall be o'er, 
 Its pangs and its partings 
 
 Remembered no more, 
 When life cannot fail, 
 
 And when death cannot sever, 
 Christians with Christ shall be 
 
 Soon and forever. 
 
 Soon and forever 
 
 The breaking of day 
 Shall drive all the night-clouds 
 
 Of sorrow away. 
 Soon and forever 
 
 We '11 see as we 're seen, 
 And learn the deep meaning 
 
 Of things that have been ; 
 When fightings without us, 
 
 And fears from within, 
 Shall weary no more 
 
 In the warfare of sin ; 
 Where tears, and where fears, 
 
 And where death shall be never, 
 Christians with Christ shall be 
 
 Soon and forever. 
 
 Soon and forever 
 
 The work shall be done, 
 
 261 
 
 
Seatlese 
 
 The warfare accomplished, 
 
 The victory won j 
 Soon and forever 
 
 The soldier lay down 
 His sword for a harp, 
 
 And his cross for a crown. 
 Then droop not in sorrow, 
 
 Despond not in fear ; 
 A glorious to-morrow 
 
 Is brightening and near, 
 When, blessed reward 
 
 Of each faithful endeavor, 
 Christians with Christ shall be 
 
 Soon and forever. 
 
 /. S. B. MonselL 
 
 NONE IN HEAVEN BUT THEE. 
 
 LORD of earth 1 thy bounteous hand 
 Well this glorious frame hath planned 
 Woods that wave, and hills that tower, 
 Ocean rolling in his power, 
 All that strikes the gaze unsought, 
 All that charms the lonely thought ; 
 Friendship, gem transcending price ; 
 Love, a flower of Paradise ; 
 Yet, amid this scene so fair, 
 Should I cease Thy smile to share, 
 What were all its joys to me ? 
 "Whom have I in heaven but Thee?" 
 
 Lord of heaven ! beyond our sight 
 Rolls a world of purer light ; 
 
 262 
 
 cUb 
 
There, in Love's unclouded reign, 
 Parted hands shall join again ; 
 Martyrs there, and prophets high, 
 Blaze, a glorious company ; 
 While immortal music rings 
 From unnumbered seraph strings ; 
 Oh, that scene is passing fair ! 
 Yet shouldst Thou be absent there 
 What were all its joys to me ? 
 " Whom have I in heaven but Thee?" 
 
 Lord of earth and heaven ! my breast 
 Seeks in thee its only rest ; 
 I was lost thy accents mild 
 Homeward lured thy wandering child ; 
 I was blind thy healing ray 
 Charmed the long eclipse away ; 
 Source of every joy I know, 
 Solace of my every woe ; 
 Yet should once thy smile divine 
 Cease upon my soul to shine, 
 What were heaven on earth to me ? 
 " Whom have I in heaven but Thee ? " 
 
 Sir Robert Grant. 
 
 THRONE AND TEMPLE. 
 
 SINCE o'er thy footstool here below 
 Such radiant gems are strewn, 
 Oh, what magnificence must glow, 
 
 My God, about thy throne ! 
 So brilliant here those drops of light 
 Where the full ocean rolls, how bright ! 
 
 263 
 
fearless OLanD. 
 
 If night's blue curtain of the sky, 
 
 With thousand stars inwrought, 
 Hung like a glittering canopy 
 
 With royal diamonds fraught, 
 Be, Lord, thy temple's outer veil, 
 What splendor at the shrine must dwell ! 
 
 The dazzling sun, at noontide hour, 
 
 Forth from his flaming vase 
 Flinging o'er earth the golden shower 
 
 Till vale and mountain blaze, 
 But shows, O Lord, one beam of thine, 
 What, then, the Day, where thou dost shine ! 
 
 Oh, how shall these dim eyes endure 
 
 That noon of living rays ; 
 Or how my spirit, so impure, 
 
 Upon Thy glory gaze ? 
 Anoint, O Lord, anoint my sight, 
 And robe me for that world of light ! 
 
 W.A. Muhlenberg. 
 
 WHOM MY SOUL ADORETH. 
 T KNOW the walls are jasper, 
 
 The palaces are fair, 
 And to the sounds of harpings 
 The saints are singing there ; 
 I know that living waters 
 
 Flow under fruitful trees ; 
 But oh, to make my heaven, 
 It needeth more than these ! 
 
 Read in the sacred story, 
 What more doth it unfold, 
 
 264 
 
Beside the pearly gateways 
 
 And streets of shining gold ? 
 No temple hath that city, 
 
 For none is needed there, 
 No sun nor moon enlighteneth ; 
 
 Can darkness then be fair ? 
 
 Ah, now the bright revealing, 
 
 The crowning joy of all ! 
 What need of other sunshine 
 
 Where God is all in all? 
 He fills the wide ethereal 
 
 With glory all his own, 
 He, whom my soul adoreth, 
 
 The Lamb amidst the throne ! 
 
 Oh, heaven without my Saviour 
 
 Would be no heaven to me ; 
 Dim were the walls of jasper, 
 
 Rayless the crystal sea. 
 He gilds earth's darkest valleys 
 
 With light and joy and peace ; 
 What then must be the radiance 
 
 When night and death shall cease ! 
 
 Speed on, O lagging moments ! 
 
 Come, birthday of the soul ! 
 How long the night appeareth, 
 
 The hours, how slow they roll ! 
 How sweet the welcome summons 
 
 That greets the willing bride ! 
 And when mine eyes behold him, 
 
 " I shall be satisfied." 
 
 Helen M. Parmlee. 
 265 
 
bc vlearlcss XanD. 
 
 DWELLING IN LIGHT. 
 
 His scepter is the rod of Righteousnesse, 
 With which He bruseth all his foes to dust, 
 And the great dragon strongly doth represse, 
 Under the rigour of his iudgment iust ; 
 His seate is Truth, to which the faithfull trust, 
 From whence proceed her beames so pure and bright, 
 That all about Him sheddeth glorious light. 
 
 But that immortall light which there doth shine 
 Is many thousand times more bright, more cleare, 
 
 More excellent, more glorious, more divine, 
 Through which to God all mortall actions here, 
 And even the thoughts of men, do plaine appeare ; 
 
 For from th' Eternall Truth it doth proceed, 
 
 Through heavenly vertue which her beames doe breed. 
 
 With the great glorie of that wondrous light 
 His throne is all encompassed around, 
 
 And hid in his owne brightnesse from the sight 
 Of all that look thereon with eyes unsound ; 
 And underneath his feet are to be found 
 
 Thunder, and lightning, and tempestuous fyre, 
 
 The instruments of his avenging yre. 
 
 There, in his bosome, Sapience doth sit, 
 The soveraine dearling of the Deity, 
 
 Clad like a queene, in royall robes most fit 
 For so great powre and peerelesse majesty, 
 And all with gemmes and iewels gorgeously 
 
 Adorned, that brighter than the starres appeare, 
 
 And make her native brightnesse seem more cleare. 
 
 266 
 
 L 
 
 <ux 
 
And on her head a crown of purest gold 
 
 Is set, in signe of highest soverainty ; 
 And in her hand a scepter she doth hold, 
 
 With which she rules the house of God on hy, 
 
 And menageth the ever-moving sky, 
 And in the same these lower creatures all 
 Subiected to her powre imperiall. 
 
 Edmund Spenser. 
 
 THE GLORY THAT EXCELS. 
 
 OH, fair the gleams of glory, 
 And bright the scenes of mirth, 
 That lighten human story 
 
 And cheer this weary earth ; 
 But richer far the treasure 
 
 With whom the Spirit dwells, 
 Ours, ours in heavenly measure, 
 The glory that excels. 
 
 The lamplight faintly gleameth 
 
 Where shines the noonday ray ; 
 From Jesus' face there beameth 
 
 Light of the sevenfold day ; 
 And earth's pale lights, all faded, 
 
 The Light from heaven dispels ; 
 But shines for aye unshaded 
 
 The glory that excels. 
 
 No broken cisterns need they 
 
 Who drink from living rills ; 
 No other music heed they 
 
 Whom God's own music thrills. 
 
 *o 
 
fearless XanD. 
 
 Earth's precious things are tasteless ; 
 
 Its boisterous mirth repels, 
 Where flows in measure wasteless 
 
 The glory that excels. 
 
 Since on our life descended 
 
 Those beams of light and love, 
 Our steps have heavenward tended, 
 
 Our eyes have looked above, 
 Till through the clouds concealing 
 
 The home where glory dwells, 
 Our Jesus comes revealing 
 
 The glory that excels. 
 
 Rev. Charles Innes Cameron. 
 
 M 
 
 THE PRINCE OF PEACE. 
 Y soul, there is a countrie 
 
 Afar beyond the stars, 
 Where stands a winged sentrie, 
 All skillful in the wars. 
 
 There, above noise and danger, 
 
 Sweet peace sits crowned with smiles, 
 
 And One born in a manger 
 Commands the beauteous files. 
 
 He is thy gracious Friend, 
 
 And (O my soul, awake !) 
 Did in pure love descend 
 
 To die here for thy sake. 
 
 If thou canst get but thither, 
 There grows the flowre of peace, 
 
 The rose that cannot wither, 
 Thy fortresse and thy ease. 
 268 
 
i68i. 
 
 Leave, then, thy foolish ranges, 
 
 For none can thee secure 
 But One, who never changes, 
 
 Thy God, thy Life, thy Cure. 
 
 Henry Vaughan. 
 
 ALONE UPON THAT SHORE. 
 
 ALONE ! to land alone upon that shore, 
 With no one sight that we have seen before 
 Things of a different hue, 
 And the sounds all new, 
 And fragrances so sweet, the soul may faint. 
 Alone ! O that first hour of being a saint ! 
 
 Alone ! to land alone upon that shore, 
 On which no wavelets lisp, no billows roar ; 
 
 Perhaps no shape of ground, 
 
 Perhaps no sight or sound ; 
 No forms of earth our fancy to arrange, 
 But to begin alone that mighty change. 
 
 Alone ! to land alone upon that shore, 
 Knowing so well we can return no more ; 
 
 No voice or face of friend, 
 
 None with us to attend 
 Our disembarking on that awful strand, 
 But to arrive alone in such a land ! 
 
 Alone ! to land alone upon that shore ; 
 To begin alone to live for evermore ; 
 
 To have no one to teach 
 
 The manners or the speech 
 Of that new life, or put us at our ease 
 Oh, that we might die in pairs or companies ! 
 269 
 
Alone ? No ! God hath been there long before 
 Eternally hath waited on that shore 
 
 For us who were to come 
 
 To our eternal home, 
 And he hath taught his angels to prepare 
 In what way we are to be welcomed there. 
 
 Like one that waits and watches, He hath sate 
 As if there were none else for whom to wait ; 
 
 Waiting for us, for us 
 
 Who keep him waiting thus, 
 And who bring less to satisfy his love 
 Than any other of the souls above. 
 
 Alone ? The God we know is on that shore, 
 The God of whose attractions we know more 
 
 Than of those who may appear 
 
 Nearest and dearest here ; 
 Oh, is He not the life-long Friend we know 
 More privately than any friend below ? 
 
 Alone ? The God we trust is on that shore, 
 The Faithful One whom we have trusted more, 
 
 In trials and in woes, 
 
 Than we have trusted those 
 On whom we leaned most in our earthly strife ; 
 Oh, we shall trust Him more in that new life ! 
 
 Alone ? The God we love is on that shore, 
 Love not enough, yet whom we love far more, 
 
 And whom we Ve loved all through, 
 
 And with a love more true 
 
 Than other loves, yet now shall love him more 
 True love of Him begins upon that shore. 
 270 
 
 cUX 
 
 70 
 
Ebe SLorD ot tbeaven. 
 
 So not alone we land upon that shore ; 
 
 T will be as though we had been there before. 
 
 We shall meet more we know 
 
 Than we can meet below, 
 And find our rest like some returning dove, 
 And be at home at once with our Eternal Love ! 
 
 F. W.Faber. 
 
 PALM-BEARERS. 
 
 PALMS of glory, raiment bright, 
 Crowns that never fade away, 
 Gird and deck the saints in light ; 
 
 Priests, and kings, and conquerors they. 
 
 Yet the conquerors bring their palms 
 To the Lamb amidst the throne, 
 
 And proclaim, in joyful psalms, 
 Victory through His cross alone. 
 
 Kings for harps their crowns resign, 
 Crying, as they strike the chords, 
 
 " Take the kingdom, it is thine, 
 
 King of kings, and Lord of lords ! " 
 
 Round the altar priests confess, 
 If their robes are white as snow, 
 
 'T was the Saviour's righteousness, 
 And his blood, that made them so. 
 
 Who were these ? On earth they dwelt, 
 Sinners once of Adam's race ; 
 
 Guilt, and fear, and suffering felt, 
 But were saved by sovereign grace. 
 271 
 
fearless Xanfc* 
 
 They were mortal, too, like us ; 
 
 Ah ! when we like them must die, 
 May our souls, translated thus, 
 
 Triumph, reign, and shine on high ! 
 
 James Montgomery. 
 
 THE FIRST MARTYR. 
 
 HTEN thousand times ten thousand sung 
 
 Loud anthems round the throne, 
 When, lo ! one solitary tongue 
 Began a song unknown, 
 A song unknown to angel ears, 
 A song that told of banished fears, 
 Of pardoned sins and dried-up tears. 
 
 Not one of all the heavenly host 
 Could these high notes attain ; 
 But spirits from a distant coast 
 
 United in the strain, 
 Till he who first began the song, 
 To sing alone not suffered long, 
 Was mingled with a countless throng. 
 
 And still, as hours are fleeting by, 
 
 The angels ever bear 
 Some newly-ransomed soul on high, 
 
 To join the chorus there ; 
 And so the song will louder grow, 
 Till all, redeemed by Christ below, 
 To that fair world of rapture go. 
 
 272 
 
 70 
 
E 
 
 S a 
 
 2 
 
XorD of Ibeaven. 
 
 Oh, give me, Lord, my golden harp, 
 
 And tune my broken voice, 
 That I may sing of troubles sharp 
 
 Exchanged for endless joys ; 
 The song that ne'er was heard before, 
 A sinner reached the heavenly shore, 
 But now shall sound for evermore. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 THAT HOLY SABBATH DAY. 1 
 
 PART I. 
 
 OH, what shall be, oh, when shall be 
 That holy Sabbath day, 
 Which heavenly care shall ever keep, 
 
 And celebrate alway ; 
 When rest is found for weary limbs, 
 
 When labor hath reward, 
 When everything, for evermore, 
 Is joyful in the Lord ? 
 
 The true Jerusalem above, 
 
 The holy town is there, 
 Whose duties are so full of joy, 
 
 Whose joys so free from care ; 
 Where disappointment cometh not 
 
 To check the longing heart, 
 And where the soul in ecstasy 
 
 Hath gained her better part. 
 
 There, there, secure from every ill, 
 
 In freedom we shall sing 
 The songs of Zion, hindered here 
 
 By days of suffering ; 
 
 Note 8. 273 
 
fearless XanD* 
 
 And unto Thee, our gracious Lord, 
 
 Our praises shall confess 
 That all our sorrow hath been good, 
 
 And Thou by pain canst bless. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 O glorious King ! O happy State ! 
 
 O Palace of the Blest ! 
 O sacred peace, and holy joy, 
 
 And perfect heavenly rest ! 
 To thee aspire thy citizens 
 
 In glory's bright array, 
 And what they feel and what they know 
 
 They strive in vain to say. 
 
 But while we wait and long for home, 
 
 It shall be ours to raise 
 Our songs and chants and vows and prayers 
 
 In that dear country's praise ; 
 And from these Babylonian streams 
 
 To lift our weary eyes, 
 And view the city that we love 
 
 Descending from the skies. 
 
 There Sabbath day to Sabbath day 
 
 Shed on a ceaseless light ; 
 Eternal pleasure of the saints 
 
 Who keep that Sabbath bright ; 
 Nor shall the chant ineffable 
 
 Decline, nor ever cease, 
 Which we with all the angels sing 
 
 In that sweet realm of peace. 
 Tr. 1883. Peter Abelard. Tr. by 
 
 Rev. S. W. Duffieid. 
 274 
 
 70 
 
HIS NAME SHALL BE IN THEIR FOREHEADS. 
 
 WHEN I shall go where my Redeemer is, 
 In the far city on the other side, 
 And at the threshold of his palaces 
 
 Shall loose my sandals, ever to abide ; 
 I know my heavenly King will smiling wait 
 To give me welcome as I touch the gate. 
 
 Oh, joy ! oh, bliss ! for I shall see his face, 
 And wear his blessed name upon my brow ! 
 
 The name that stands for pardon, love, and grace, 
 The name before which every knee 'shall bow. 
 
 No music half so sweet can ever be 
 
 As that dear name which he shall write for me ! 
 
 Crowned with his royal signet, I shall walk 
 
 With lifted forehead through the eternal street ; 
 
 And with a holier mien, and gentler talk, 
 Will tell my story to the friends I meet 
 
 Of how the King did stoop his name to write 
 
 Upon my brow, in characters of light ! 
 
 Then, till I go to meet my Father's smile, 
 
 I '11 keep my forehead smooth from passion's scars, 
 
 From angry frowns that trample and defile, 
 And every sin that desecrates or mars ; 
 
 That I may lift a face unflushed with shame, 
 
 Whereon my Lord may write his holy name. 
 
 May Riley Smith. 
 
 THE PALACE O' THE KING. 
 
 IT 's a bonnie, bonnie warP that we 're livin' in the noo ; 
 Aften sunny is the Ian' that here we pilgrims traivel 
 throo, 
 
 275 
 
fearless XanD. 
 
 But in vain we look for something here to which oor 
 
 herts may cling, 
 For its beauty is as naething to the Palace o' the King. 
 
 We like the gilded simmer, wi' its merry, merry tread, 
 And we sigh when hoary Winter lays its beauties wi' the 
 
 dead; 
 For tho' bonnie are the snawflakes an' the down on 
 
 Winter's wing, 
 It 's fine to ken he daurna touch the Palace o' the King. 
 
 Then again, I 've juist been thinkin' that when a' thing 
 
 here 's sae bright, 
 The sun in a' its grandeur, an' the mune wi' quiv'rin' 
 
 light, 
 
 The ocean i' the simmer, or the woodlan' in the spring, 
 What maun it be oop yonner i' the Palace o' the King ! 
 
 It 's here we hae oor trials, and it 's here that He prepares 
 His chosen for the raiment which the ransomed sinner 
 
 wears ; 
 An' it 's here that He wad hear us mid oor tribulations 
 
 sing, 
 "We'll trust the God wha' reigneth i' the Palace o' the. 
 
 King." 
 
 Oh, it 's honor heaped on honor, that His courtiers should 
 
 be ta'en 
 Frae the wand'rin' anes he died for i' this warF of sin 
 
 and pain, 
 An' it's fu'est love an' service that the Christians aye 
 
 should bring 
 To the feet of Him wha reigneth i' the Palace o' the 
 
of Ibeavetu 
 
 The time for sawin' seed, it 's a wearin', wearin' dune, 
 An' the time for winnin' souls will be ower very sune, 
 Then lat us a' be active, if a fruit-sheaf we wad bring 
 To adorn the royal table i' the Palace o' the King. 
 
 Then lat us trust him better than we 've ever dune afore, 
 
 For the King will feed his servants frae his ever boun- 
 teous store ; 
 
 Lat us keep a closer grup o' him, for the time is on the 
 wing, 
 
 An' sune he '11 come an' take us tae the Palace o' the 
 King. 
 
 Its iv'ry halls are bonnie upon which the rainbows shine, 
 An' its Eden bowers are trellised wi' a never leafless 
 
 Vine; 
 An' the pearly gates of heaven do a glorious radiance 
 
 fling 
 On the starry floor that shimmers i' the Palace o' the 
 
 King. 
 
 Nae nicht shall be in heaven, an' nae desolatin' sea, 
 An' nae tyrant hoofs shall trample in the city of the free ; 
 There 's everlastin' daylight, an' a never fadin' spring, 
 Where the Lamb is a' the glory i' the Palace o' the King. 
 
 We see oor friens await us ower yonner at his gate ; 
 Then lat us a' be ready, for ye ken it 's gettin' late ; 
 Lat oor lamps be brichtly burnin' ; lat us raise oor voice 
 
 and sing, 
 
 For sune we '11 meet to pairt no more i' the Palace o' the 
 King. 
 
 William Mitchell. 
 277 
 
 ?o 
 
fearless %anD. 
 
 AT HOME WITH JESUS. 
 
 SWEET home-echo on the pilgrim's way, 
 
 Thrice welcome message from a land of light ! 
 As through a clouded sky the moonbeams stray, 
 
 So on eternity's deep shrouded night 
 Streams a mild radiance, from that cheering word : 
 " So shall we be forever with the Lord." 
 
 At home with Jesus ? He who went before, 
 For his own people mansions to prepare ; 
 
 The soul's deep longings stilled, its conflicts o'er, 
 All rest and blessedness with Jesus there. 
 
 What home like this can the wide earth afford ? 
 " So shall we be forever with the Lord." 
 
 With him all gathered ! To that blessed home, 
 Through all its windings, still the pathway tends ; 
 
 While ever and anon bright glimpses come 
 Of that fair city where the journey ends. 
 
 Where all of bliss is centered in one word : 
 " So shall we be forever with the Lord." 
 
 Here, kindred hearts are severed far and wide, 
 By many a weary mile of land and sea, 
 
 Or life's all varied cares and paths divide ; 
 But yet a joyful gathering shall be, 
 
 The broken links repaired, the lost restored, 
 " So shall we be forever with the Lord." 
 
 And is there ever perfect union here ? 
 
 Ah, daily sins, lamented and confessed, 
 They come between us and the friends most dear, 
 
 They mar our blessedness and break our rest. 
 
 278 
 
What home like this can the wide earth afford. Page 278. 
 
 THE IMMORTAL HOPE. 
 
Gbe TLorD of Ibeavetu 
 
 With life we leave the evils long deplored : 
 " So shall we be forever with the Lord." 
 
 All prone to error, none set wholly free 
 
 From the old serpent's soul-ensnaring chain, 
 
 The truths one child of God can clearly see, 
 He seeks to make his brother feel in vain ; 
 
 But all shall harmonize in heaven's full chord j 
 " So shall we be forever with the Lord." 
 
 O blessed promise ! mercifully given, 
 
 Well may it hush the wail of earthly woe ; 
 O'er the dark passage to the gates of heaven 
 The light of hope and resurrection throw ! 
 Thanks for the blessed, life-inspiring word : 
 " So shall we be forever with the Lord." 
 
 Mrs. Meta Heusser-Schweizer. 
 
 Tr. by Jane Borthwick. 
 
 279 
 
motes. 
 
 Note i. " The Celestial Country," p. 31. 
 
 The original of this poem was written by Bernard, a monk of Cluny r 
 about A.D. 1145, and consists in the Latin of some three thousand lines. 
 It was dedicated to Peter the Venerable, General of the Order to which 
 Bernard belonged. It is found in the Bodleian Library in a thirteenth- 
 century MS. 
 
 The poem was evidently inspired by the closing chapters of the book 
 of Revelation on the one side and by the evil condition of the world on 
 the other. It was called by its author " De Contemptu Mundi," be- 
 cause of the fact that it expressed his disgust with this world. It is in 
 fact a severe satire on the corruptions of the times, which are so con- 
 trasted with the glories and the joys of heaven as to make this life 
 appear hardly worth the living. It is known also by the name " Laus 
 Patrise Coelestis," that being the caption given by Archbishop Trench to 
 the cento of about one hundred lines which he took from various por- 
 tions of the poem. 
 
 The poem was written in a rhythm " of intense difficulty." It is a 
 dactylic hexameter, with the leonine and tailed rhyme, after the manner 
 of the monkish efforts in the Middle Ages. The embarrassments of the 
 effort can readily be seen from the following initial lines, broken up for 
 ease of scanning : 
 
 Hora novissima || tempora pessima || sunt: vigilemus! 
 Ecce menaciter || imminet arbiter || ille supremus! 
 Imminet, imminet || ut mala terminet [| aequa coronet 
 Recta remuneret || unxia liberet || aethera donet. 
 
 Referring in his introduction to the complications to be overcome in 
 such a meter, the author naively says that the two most eminent versi- 
 fiers of his day, Hildebert of Lavardin and Wichard, Canon of Lyons, 
 had attempted but little in it because of its impracticability, and adds : 
 " I may then assert, not in ostentation, but with humble confidence, that 
 if I had not received directly from on high the gift of inspiration and 
 intelligence, I had not dared to attempt an enterprise so little accorded 
 to the powers of the human mind." It may safely be said that such a 
 task could have been accomplished only in the leisure and retirement 
 of a cloister. 
 
 281 
 
 JO 
 
fearless 
 
 Of course the arduousness of the meter has been a hindrance to its 
 literal translation. What was hard for the author is tenfold more diffi- 
 cult for the translator, inasmuch as he has not the privilege of yielding 
 to the leadings of the rhyme. Yet the task has been attempted in two 
 instances, and with fair results. The translation by Gerard Moultrie, 
 published in The Church Times and in Lyra Mystica in 1865, is praised 
 by Archbishop Trench as metrically close and beautiful. Though a 
 remarkable achievement, it is faulty in that it omits the double rhyme. 
 That by Rev. Samuel W. Duffield, published in 1867 in a booklet called 
 "The Heavenly Land," is faithful in every particular to the original. 
 Mr. Duffield was peculiarly fitted for such an undertaking, being him- 
 self a ready and apt versifier. The whole translation is too long for 
 reproduction here, but two quotations are given for the purpose of show- 
 ing both the metrical difficulties of the original and how fairly Mr. 
 Duffield succeeded in overcoming them in the translation : 
 
 Land of delightfulness, safe from all spitefulness, safe from all trouble 
 
 Thou shall be filled again, Israel built again, joy shall redouble. 
 
 Land all beneficent, country magnificent, succored from dangers, 
 
 Given thou art to be and there have part in thee home-born and strangers; 
 
 While upon men around, glory shall then abound, vision supernal 
 
 Of that great dignity, full of benignity, peace, pure, eternal 
 
 Peace without wickedness, peace without wretchedness, peace without quarrel, 
 
 Goal to all wanderings, rest to all ponderings, conquest and laurel. 
 
 Portion shall then be mine in the dear Lord divine ; I shall distinguish 
 
 Him the Sole Beautiful, whom the true dutiful never relinquish. 
 
 Jacob with Israel and Leah with Rachel then change condition; 
 
 Then Sion's palace halls rise where no malice falls, lift to completion. 
 
 Thou hast no wave or strand, thou hast no grave or band rill and yet river ! 
 Sweet wines there flow for us, jewels there glow for us, radiant ever. 
 Laurels and golden toys better than olden joys thou there shalt gather: 
 Yet in thy deference Jesus hath preference, his art thou rather. 
 Lilies like driven snow, gems set in even row, wait for thy wearing. 
 The Lamb is still with thee, that Spouse is still with thee, clear light declaring. 
 No occupation there, no aspiration there, save but the sweet singing, 
 Telling of life preserved granted for grief deserved, gratitude bringing. 
 
 City of luster rare, none but the just are there, thou shalt not crumble; 
 Proud hearts are stupefied, and, from the Crucified, learn to be humble. 
 Naught I know, naught I know, what joys then ought to grow, what rays shine 
 
 o'er thee, 
 
 How deep thy pleasures are, how rare thy treasures are, in years before thee! 
 When I have tried thy praise, wonder denied my lays, foiled I desisted. 
 O best of any light ! in thee does any sight fail unassisted. 
 
 282 
 
Notes. 
 
 Sion, majestic place, mansion of mystic grace, heaven-built o'er me, 
 
 Now I rejoice in thee, now does my voice in me fail I long for thee ! 
 
 Thee, though my flesh be weak, strive I afresh to seek by my heart's yearning; 
 
 But through my earthiness and earth's unworthiness, faint in my learning: 
 
 No one discloseth yet, no one exposeth yet, unto us mortals 
 
 Where are thy walls of light, on which there falls no night, or where are thy 
 
 portals. 
 
 Thou dost each soul oppress with thy fair holiness, Sion the peaceful! 
 City where time is not, praise though my rhyme is not aught but disgraceful. 
 O thou secure from sin, whom tears endure not in thou without striving; 
 Land of the rarest grace, country of fairest face ever surviving ! 
 
 Though Mr. Duffield succeeded so well, yet he himself regarded his 
 rendering as more curious than useful. In that conclusion we must 
 reluctantly agree, though there are not a few lines, as shown in the quo- 
 tations, that will linger in the memory. The reproduction which will 
 live is the one by Rev. John Mason Neale, D.I). He paraphrased but a 
 portion of the poem, making use of the ballad measure, instead of the 
 involved meter of the original. This left him comparatively free frona 
 the entanglements of rhyme and meter to reproduce the spirit and the 
 thoughts of the poem. It must be said that Dr. Neale more than caught 
 the spirit of the author. While faithful to his thought, it must be the 
 verdict of those who compare the original with the translation, that he 
 has so worked it all over that the result is almost as much his own as 
 though he had originally conceived it. From his paraphrase have been 
 taken those familiar and much prized hymns, which can never be dis- 
 lodged from the hearts of true worshipers : 
 
 " The world is very evil." 
 " Brief life is here our portion." 
 " For thee, O dear, dear country." 
 " Jerusalem the golden." 
 
 Note 2. " O Mother dear, Jerusalem," p. 46. " Jerusalem, my happy 
 Home," p. 59. 
 
 This hymn, which is but a portion of the original, is ascribed to Rev. 
 David Dickson, and came into use about 1650-1670. He, however, 
 evidently was not the author, but appears to have made up his verses 
 from W. Prid's hymn, which has the same beginning, and from " A 
 Song," by F. B. P., both of which in turn seem to have been drawn from 
 the same source, inasmuch as they have some stanzas which are much 
 alike. The latter has been regarded as a free translation of 
 
 Urbs beata Hierusalem 
 Dicta pacis visio, 
 
 vfc v 
 
fearless 
 
 which was written in the seventh century, with the exception of the con- 
 clusion, Angulare fundamentum, which probably is an addition of the 
 same or the succeeding century. Urbs beata, vera pads is a recast of 
 this dedication hymn. On the title-page of Prid's hymn, however, is 
 stated the fact that his poem is " faithfully translated (out of S. Augus- 
 tine his booke, intituled Speculum peccatoris)." If the two came from 
 the same source, this would definitely indicate the origin. Prid's hymn 
 was published in London by John Windet, in 1585. The first stanza is 
 as follows : 
 
 O Mother deare Hierusalem, 
 Jehouas throne on hie : 
 
 O Sacred Citie, Queene and Wife, 
 Of Christ eternally. 
 
 The greater interest attaches to the song of F. B. P., from which 
 comes the larger portion of our modern " O Mother dear, Jerusalem," 
 and which has given to us the hymn, " Jerusalem, my happy Home." 
 It is preserved in a thin quarto, numberedl 15,225, in the British Museum, 
 and is indorsed on the back, " Queen Elizabeth." The quarto contains 
 several other pieces of poetry, evidently by Roman Catholics. This one 
 is there recorded as follows : 
 
 A SONG MAD BY F: B: P: 
 
 To the tune of Diana. 
 " i Hierusalem my happie home 
 When shall I come to thee 
 When shall my sorrowes haue an end 
 
 Thy ioyes when shall I see 
 "20 happie harbour of God's saints 
 
 O sweete and pleasant soyle 
 In thee noe sorrow may be founde 
 Noe greefe, noe care, noe toyle 
 " 3 In thee noe sicknesse may be scene 
 
 Noe hurt , noe ache, noe sore 
 There is no death, nor uglie devill 
 
 There is life for euermore 
 " 4 Noe dampish mist is scene in thee 
 Noe could, nor darksome night 
 There everie soule shines as the sunne 
 
 There god himself gives light 
 " 5 There lust and lukar cannot dwell 
 
 There envie beares noe sway 
 There is no hunger heate nor coulde 
 But pleasure everie way 
 
 284 
 
 CU3 
 
 JO 
 
Botes* 
 
 "6 Hierusalem: Hierusalem 
 
 God grant I once may see 
 Thy endlesse ioyes and of the same 
 
 Partaker aye to bee. 
 ** 7 Thy wales are made of precious stones 
 
 Thy bulwarks Diamondes square 
 Thy gates are of right orient pearle 
 
 Exceedinge riche and rare 
 " 8 Thy terrettes and thy pinacles 
 
 With carbuncles doe shine 
 Thy verie streetes are paued with gould 
 
 Surpassinge cleare and fine 
 " 9 Thy houses are of Ivorie 
 
 Thy windoes cristale cleare 
 Thy tyles are mad of beaten gould 
 
 O god that I were there 
 " 10 Within thy gates nothinge doeth come 
 
 That is not passinge cleane 
 Noe spiders web, noe durt noe dust 
 
 Noe nlthe may there be scene 
 " ii Ah my sweete home Hierusaleme 
 
 Would god I were in thee 
 Would god my woes were at an end 
 
 Thy ioyes that I might see 
 " 12 Thy saints are crownd with glorie great 
 
 They see god face to face 
 They triumph still, they still reioyce 
 
 Most happie is their case 
 " 13 We that are heere in banishment 
 
 Continuallie doe mourne 
 We sighe and sobbe, we weepe and weale 
 
 Perpetually we groane 
 " 14 Our sweete is mixt with bitter gaule 
 
 Our pleasure is but paine 
 Our ioyes scarce last the lookeing on 
 
 Our sorrowes still remaine 
 " 15 But there they Hue in such delight 
 
 Such pleasure and such play 
 As that to them a thousand yeares 
 
 Doth seeme as yeaster day 
 *' 16 Thy viniardes and thy orchardes are 
 
 Most beutifull and faire 
 Full furnished with tree and fruits 
 Most wonderfull and rare 
 
 285 
 
Cbe fearless XanD. 
 
 " 17 Thy gardens and thy gallant walkes 
 
 Continually are greene 
 
 There groes such sweete and pleasant flowers 
 As noe where eles are scene 
 
 " 18 There is nector and ambrosia made 
 
 There is muske and civette sweete 
 There many a faire and daintie drugge 
 Are troden under feete 
 
 *' ig There cinomen there sugar groes 
 There narde and balme abound 
 What tounge can tell or hart conceue 
 
 The ioyes that there are founde 
 " 20 Quyt through the streetes with siluer sound 
 
 The flood of life doe flowe 
 Upon whose bankes on everie syde 
 
 The wood of life doth growe 
 " 21 There trees for euermore beare fruite 
 
 And euermore doe springe 
 There euermore the Angels sit 
 
 And euermore doe singe 
 " 22 There David standes with harpe in hand 
 
 As master of the Queere 
 Tenne thousand times that man were blest 
 
 That might this musicke hear 
 " 23 Our Ladie singes magnificat 
 
 With tune surpassinge sweete 
 And all the virginns beare their parts 
 
 Sittinge aboue her feete 
 " 24 Te Deum doth Sant Ambrose singe 
 
 Saint Augustine dothe the like 
 Ould Simeon and Zacharie 
 
 Haue not their songes to seeke 
 " 25 There Magdalene hath left her mone 
 
 And cheerfullie doth singe 
 With blessed Saints whose harmonie 
 
 In everie streete doth ringe 
 " 26 Hierusalem my happie home 
 Would god I were in thee 
 Would god my woes were at an end 
 Thy ioyes that I might see 
 finis finis" 
 
 The initials " F. B. P." probably stand for Francis Baker, Priest Dr. 
 Neale quoted Daniel Sedgewick, who then was an authority in such 
 
 286 
 
 JO 
 
Iftotes. 
 
 matters, as attributing the poem to Francis Baker Porter, but Dr. Neale 
 evidently misread Pater as Porter, an easy thing to do in handwriting. 
 The MS. is undated, but probably is to be assigned, like that of Prid's, 
 to the latter part of the sixteenth century. 
 
 Note 3. " Lead, Kindly Light," p. 78. 
 
 This exquisite lyric was written, as Cardinal Newman himself says, 
 while becalmed for a week in the Mediterranean in the Straits of Boni- 
 facio, between Sardinia and Corsica. At the time he had not gone over 
 to Catholicism, but was struggling with the depression caused by his 
 conviction that the Church of England was not equal to the correction 
 of the evils of the times. He believed that there was need of a second 
 Reformation. In broken health he went with two friends to the south 
 of Europe. He fell ill of a fever at Leonforte, on the island of Sicily, 
 and his servant thought him to be dying ; but he declared that he should 
 get well, for he had not sinned against light. At Castro-Giovanni he 
 was laid up for nearly three weeks. Towards the end of May, 1833, he 
 set off for Palermo. Before starting he sat down upon his bed and be- 
 gan to sob bitterly. When asked by his servant what ailed him, he 
 replied that he had a work to do in England. His belief that he had a 
 work, his impatience to get to it, but his ignorance of what it was, led 
 him to breathe forth the prayer of the hymn, which has been adopted 
 by so many in all branches of the Christian Church. The date of the 
 composition is fixed by himself as June, 1833. 
 
 The two closing lines are obscure, and a number of interpretations 
 have been put upon them. When appealed to for their meaning the 
 author humorously replied that after almost fifty years he was not bound 
 to remember what he did have in mind ! He has distinguished com- 
 pany in the matter of forgetting his own thought, for Coleridge and 
 Goethe and others have confessed to the same lapse of memory. 
 
 Note 4. " The Two Angels," p. 95. 
 
 In a letter to a correspondent, written April 25, 1855, Mr. Longfellow 
 says : " I have only time this morning to enclose you a poem which per- 
 haps you have not seen, as it is not in any volume. It was written on 
 the birth of my younger daughter and the death of the young and 
 beautiful wife of my neighbor and friend, the poet Lowell. It will serve 
 as an answer to one of your questions about life and its many mysteries. 
 To these dark problems there is no other solution possible, except the 
 one word Providence" The poem was written in March, 1854, and 
 published in Putnam's Magazine, April, 1854. 
 
 Note 5. " Nearer Home," p. 123. 
 
 This poem, the author says, was written in 1882, in a little back third- 
 
 287 
 
fearless XanD. 
 
 story bedroom one Sunday morning after returning from church. In the 
 year before her death she wrote of it, " It makes me happy to think 
 that any word I could say has done a little good in the world." 
 
 Note 6. " Immanuel's Land," p. 154'. 
 
 The refrain of this poem is the echo of the dying words of Rev. 
 Samuel Rutherford, a man of great learning and talents, who lived 
 1600-1661. He was first a professor in the University of Edinburgh, 
 then minister of the parish at Anworth, and subsequently professor of 
 theology at St. Andrews. His deathbed was remarkable for its triumph 
 of faith and trust. Mr. Fleming, who has preserved some of his final 
 utterances, says that " full of the Spirit, yea, as it were, overcome with 
 sensible enjoyment, he breathed out his soul, his last words being, 
 ' Glory, glory dwelleth in Immanuel's land.' " It is this expression of 
 which Mrs. Cousin has made such happy use in her remarkable poem. 
 
 Note 7. " Blessed are the Dead," p. 241. 
 
 Published in the "Poets and Poetry of Europe." See Miiller's 
 " Bibliothek deutscher Dichter des siebzehnten Jahrhunderts," vol. v, 
 p. 123. 
 
 Note 8. " That Holy Sabbath Day," p. 273. 
 
 From its first line this poem is known as " O quanta qualia sunt ilia 
 sabbata." It was written by Peter Abelard about 1134, when he was the 
 abbot of St. Gildas. It has been said that in the main his hymns are 
 didactic and cold, but this one is neither. Few poems equal it in devout 
 fervor. It is sufficient in itself to perpetuate his name, and to soften 
 somewhat the harsh judgment which is compelled by the uglier facts of 
 his previous life. The present translation was made by Rev. Samuel W. 
 Duffield in the alcoves of the Astor Library, New York, in 1883, when 
 he was making an examination of the hymns prepared by Abelard for 
 the abbess Heloise and her nuns. 
 
 Acknowledgment is herewith made to Houghton, Mifflin & Co. for permission, 
 to use " Two Angels, One of Life and One of Death," " Into the Silent Land," 
 " There is a Reaper Whose Name is Death," " O how blessed are ye Whose 
 Toils are ended," by Henry W. Longfellow; and " I long for Household 
 Voices gone " and " I feel the Unutterable Longing," by John G. Whittier. 
 Also to Roberts Brothers for the privilege of incorporating the following poems 
 by Susan Coolidge: "The Last Hour," "O Dear and Friendly Death," 
 " Through the Door." 
 
 2SS 
 
 <t-o> 
 
 70 
 
Xi0t of Butbors, 
 
 ABELARD, PETER, 273. 
 
 A monk of the twelfth century, abbot of St. Gildas, at the time of 
 writing the poem quoted from him. He was a controversialist and 
 was looked upon as a heretic. The blot upon his record is his 
 relations with Heloise, who became the abbess of Paraclee. 
 
 ALFORD (D.D.), REV. HENRY, 108. 
 
 1810-1871. Dean of Canterbury. The well-known Biblical scholar, 
 whose excellent edition (1841) of the Greek New Testament is still 
 in use. Author of a volume of poems (1835), " The School of the 
 Heart." 
 
 ARNOLD, EDWIN, 106. 
 
 1832-. Editor in chief of the London Telegraph. Author of the 
 poem, " The Light of Asia." Passed a portion of his early man- 
 hood in India, where he was principal of the government Sanscrit 
 college at Poonah in the Deccan. 
 
 BAKER, REV. HENRY WILLIAMS, 181. 
 
 1821-1877. Baronet ; vicar of Monkland, Hertfordshire, England. 
 Chairman of the forty clergymen who (1861) prepared " Hymns, 
 Ancient and Modern." 
 
 BARING-GOULD, REV. SABINE, 168. 
 
 1834-. Rector of an Episcopal church in Lew-Trenchard, Devon- 
 shire, England. His works, biographical, historical, sermonic, and 
 hymnal, are numerous. " Onward, Christian soldiers," is from his 
 pen. 
 
 BARTON, BERNARD, no. 
 
 1784-1849. Commonly known in England as " The Quaker Poet." 
 Forty years a clerk in Alexander's Bank, Woodbridge, England. 
 
 BERNARD OF CLUNY, 31. 
 
 A monk in the Abbey of Cluny during the time of Peter the Ven- 
 erable (1122-1156), the General of the Order to which he belonged. 
 Born at Morlaix in Brittany of English parents. The marvelous 
 poem, De Contemptu Mundi, a part of which, as translated by Dr. 
 John Mason Neale.is herein published under the title "The Celes- 
 tial Country," is the only one of his productions known. 
 
 d>0> 
 
BETHUNE (D.D.), REV. GEORGE WASHINGTON, 109. 
 
 1805-1862. An eminent divine of the Reformed Dutch Church of 
 America. Died suddenly after preaching in Florence, Italy, whither 
 he had gone for his health. 
 
 BlCKERSTETH (D.D.), REV. EDWARD HENRY, 75, 212, 253. 
 
 1825-. Bishop of Exeter, England. Well known by his poem 
 " Yesterday, To-day, and Forever." His contributions to hymnol- 
 ogy are of real worth and importance. 
 
 BONAR (D.D.), REV. HORATIUS, 14, 22, 52, 68, 79, 94, 105, in, 115, 
 
 124, 128, 145, 149, 176, 182, 228. 
 
 1808-1889. Pastor of the Grange, or Chalmer's Memorial Church, 
 Edinburgh. Author of many of our sweetest and best hymns. His 
 verses are remarkable for their spirituality, devotion, and true poetic 
 quality. 
 
 BORTHWICK, JANE, 87, 278. 
 
 1813-. A Scottish authoress, residing in Edinburgh. Colaborer 
 with her sister, Mrs. Eric Finladen, in translating from the German, 
 " Hymns from the Land of Luther." 
 
 BOWLES, CAROLINE ANN, 120. 
 
 1786-1854. Became the wife of Robert Southey, the poet, in 1839. 
 
 BRIDGES, MATTHEW, 259. 
 
 1800-. Born at The Friars, Maiden, Essex, England. Of late 
 years a resident of Canada near Quebec. 
 
 BRIGHT, J. HUNTINGTON, 232. 
 
 1804-1837. Born at Salem and died at Manchester, Mass. A con- 
 tributor to the press under the nom deplume of " Viator." 
 
 BROWNING, ELIZABETH BARRETT, 197, 199, 201, 233. 
 
 1809-1861. The far-famed poetess; wife of the poet, Robert 
 Browning. 
 
 BULKLEY, C. H. A., 151. 
 
 Compiler of "Plato's Best Thoughts" (1883), from Professor 
 Jowett's translation of the Dialogues of Plato. 
 
 BULWER-LYTTON, SIR EDWARD, 67. 
 
 1805-1873. The distinguished English novelist. 
 GARY, PHCEBE, 123. 
 
 1825-1871. The older of the two well-known Cary sisters, the other 
 of whom was Alice. They were born in the Miami Valley, Ohio. 
 In 1850 they published a volume of poems together which brought 
 them into notice. Thenceforward they labored together in New 
 York City, sustaining themselves by literary work of various kinds, 
 Alice, who was chronically ill, died first. 
 
 290 
 
 <OL 
 
 JO 
 
Xtet of Zlutbors, 
 
 CAMERON, REV. CHARLES INNES, 267. 
 
 1837-1876? Born at Kilmalie, near Fort William, Scotland; re- 
 moved to Canada, 1858. Missionary to India, 1865 ; ill health com- 
 pelled his return to Canada in 1875, where he died soon after. 
 
 CASWALL, REV. EDWARD, 19, 25. 
 
 1814-1878. Born at Yately, Hampshire, England. Became a 
 Roman Catholic priest at Birmingham, 1850. His translations of 
 hymns are of a high order. 
 
 COBB (D.D.), REV. HENRY N., 84. 
 
 1834-. Born in New York City. Now Corresponding Secretary 
 of Board of Foreign Missions of Reformed Church in America, 
 New York. 
 
 COOKE, ROSE TERRY, 236. 
 
 1827-1892. A writer of great originality and force, especially in the 
 New England dialect. Author also of a volume of poems. 
 
 COOLIDGE, SUSAN. See Sarah Chauncy Woolsey. 
 
 COUSIN, MRS. ANNE R., 154. 
 
 Only daughter of David Ross Cundell, M.D., Leith, Scotland, 
 widow of Rev. William Cousin, minister of the Free Church, Mel- 
 rose, Scotland. Contributor of poems to various periodicals. An 
 edition of her poems was published in 1876, with the title " Imman- 
 uel's Land, and other Pieces." 
 
 CREWDSON, JANE Fox, 73, 78. 
 
 1809-1863. Daughter of George Fox, of Perran, Cornwall ; wife 
 of Thomas D. Crewdson, Manchester, England. 
 
 GROSSMAN, SAMUEL, 16. 
 
 1624-1683. Prebendary of Bristol Cathedral, England. 
 
 DEMAREST, MARY LEE, 60. 
 
 1838-1888. Born in New York City. " My Ain Countree and 
 Other Verses " was published in 1883. 
 
 DICKSON, REV. DAVID, 46. 
 
 1583-1663. Professor of divinity, first at Glasgow and afterwards at 
 Edinburgh. 
 
 DORR, JULIA CAROLINE RIPLEY, 62. 
 
 1825-. Born at Charleston, S. C., but for the most part has resided 
 in Vermont. Her principal literary effort has been in the line of 
 fiction, but she has published two volumes of poems. 
 
 DUFFIELD, REV. SAMUEL W., 54, 273. 
 
 1843-1887. A Presbyterian minister, remarkable in his translations 
 for the grace and aptness of his versification. Author of " English 
 Hymns " and " Latin Hymns," with critical notes and biographical 
 
 
Hearless XanO. 
 
 EDMESTON, JAMES, 217. 
 
 1791-1867. An English architect and surveyor. Author of nearly 
 two thousand hymns. 
 
 ELLIOTT, CHARLOTTE, 55, 57. 
 
 1789-1871. Born at Westfield Lodge, Brighton, England. Editor 
 of The Christian Remembrancer Pocket-Book for twenty-five years. 
 A constant invalid after thirty-two years of age. Author of " The 
 Invalid's Hymn Book" (1836), in which appeared the hymn, "Just 
 as I am." 
 
 FABER (D.D.), REV. FREDERICK WILLIAM, 48, 56, 89, 269. 
 
 1814-1863. A Roman Catholic ; founder of a brotherhood in Lon- 
 don. The complete edition of his hymns, many of which are of 
 great beauty, contains about two hundred and fifty. 
 
 FARNINGHAM, MARIANNE, 76, 214, 251, 252. 
 
 1834-. Pseudonym of Mary Anne Hearne. Born at Farningham, 
 Kent, England, whence her nom de plume. Author of " Lays and 
 Lyrics of the Blessed Life," etc. Editorially connected with The 
 Christian World and The Sunday-School Times. 
 
 FYSH, FREDERICK, 250. 
 
 An English writer. Author of " A Lyrical Version of the Psalms," 
 and various theological works. 
 
 GANNETT, REV. WILLIAM C., 203. 
 
 1840-. Boston. A contributor to magazines and periodicals, and 
 author of some very fine hymns and poems. 
 
 GAUDENZ VON SALIS, JOHANN, 150. 
 
 1762-1834. Born at Seewis, Germany, and died at Malans. For a 
 time was captain of the Swiss Guard at Versailles. Was a friend 
 of Goethe, Schiller, Herder, and Wieland. 
 
 GILL, THOMAS H., 65, 170. 
 
 1819-. An English layman, living near London. Author of 
 nearly two hundred hymns. 
 
 GRANT, SIR ROBERT, 262. 
 
 1785-1838. A Scotch-English barrister of wide reputation. A 
 member of Parliament ; finally governor of Bombay, India, where 
 he died. 
 
 HAWEIS, REV. H. R., 23. 
 
 1838-. Perpetual Curate of St. James, Marylebone, England, 
 since 1866. Editor of Cassell's Magazine, 1868. 
 
 HEUSSER-SCHWEIZER, MRS. META, 278. 
 
 1797-1876. Born and lived in the village of Hirzel, canton Zurich, 
 Switzerland. Declared to be the most gifted of Germany's female 
 poets. 
 
 292 
 
 - 
 
Xfst of Butbots, 
 
 HOGG, JAMES, 104. 
 
 1770 or 1772-1835. Best known as " The Ettrick Shepherd." An 
 edition of his poetical works was published in 1822. 
 
 HOSMER, REV. FREDERICK L., 200. 
 Unitarian minister, Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 HOWITT, MARY, 98. 
 
 1804-. A popular English authoress of numerous instructive books. 
 
 HUNTER (D.D.), REV. WILLIAM, 183. 
 
 1811-1877. Born in Ireland ; removed to America in 1830. In this 
 country was editor of some Methodist publications, then professor 
 of Hebrew in Alleghany College; finally a Methodist minister at 
 Alliance, Ohio. 
 
 HUNTINGTON (D.D.), REV. FREDERICK D., 245. 
 
 1819-. Episcopal bishop of Central New York. A well-known 
 writer on current religious themes. 
 
 INGELOW, JEAN, 187. 
 
 1830-. Born at Boston, England. A poetess popular on both 
 sides of the ocean. 
 
 IVES, ELLA GILBERT, 24. 
 
 Principal of a young ladies' preparatory school, Boston. 
 
 JACKSON, HELEN HUNT, 205, 207. 
 
 1831-1885. Daughter of Professor N. W. Fiske, of Amherst. 
 Long known as a writer only by her initials " H. H.," which ap- 
 peared also in connection with 'her verses, issued in 1871. Author 
 of "A Century of Dishonor," etc. 
 
 JOSEPH OF THE STUDIUM, 186. 
 
 A Sicilian of the ninth century ; an exile to Thessalonica in 830 ; 
 captured by sea pirates, and sold by them as a slave on the island 
 of Crete, where he was held for several years, etc. It is question- 
 able whether the things which bear his name have not been mate- 
 rially altered and bettered by their translators. 
 
 LAIGHTON, ALBERT, an. 
 
 1829-1887. Born at Portsmouth, N. H. A volume of his poems 
 was published in 1878. 
 
 LANGE (D.D.), REV. JOHANN PETER, 216. 
 
 1802-1884. At Zurich, professor of Church History and Dog- 
 matics ; at Bonn, professor of Systematic Theology. Best known 
 as a theologian. Though a thinker rather than a poet, he attained 
 prominence as a hymn writer in the German Reformed Church. 
 
 LARCOM, LUCY, 20, 219. 
 
 1826-. Born at Beverly Farms, Mass. A favorite poet; at one 
 time associate editor of " Our Young Folks." 
 
 293 
 
LITTLEWOOD, REV. W. E., 242. 
 
 1812 ?-i88i. Vicar of St. James, Bath, England. An acceptable 
 writer on church history and practical matters. 
 
 LONGFELLOW, HENRY WADSWORTH, 95, 150, 210, 241. 
 
 1807-1882. A poet so widely known that no itemized reference is 
 necessary. 
 
 LYTE, REV. HENRY FRANCIS, 80. 
 
 1793-1847. Perpetual Curate of Lower Brixham, Devon, Eng- 
 land. In addition to his own hymns, which are quite popular, he 
 published (1846) the poems of Henry Vaughan. 
 
 MACDONALD, GEORGE, 229. 
 
 1824-. An Episcopalian clergyman of London, England, and 
 also novelist and poet. Four volumes of his poems have been 
 published, 1855, 1857, 1864, 1868. 
 
 MACKELLAR, THOMAS, 93. 
 
 1812-. A typefounder, Philadelphia; elder in a Presbyterian 
 church. 
 
 MANX, BISHOP RICHARD, 184. 
 
 1776-1848. A writer of both prose and poetry ; chiefly known by 
 his translations from the Latin. 
 
 MASSEY, GERALD, 13, 185. 
 
 1828-. An English poet, born in Hertfordshire. Published 
 " Poems and Chansons," in 1847 ; " The Ballad of Babe Christabel," 
 in 1853 ; " A Tale of Eternity," in 1870, etc. 
 
 MEYER, MRS. LUCY J. RIDER, 29. 
 
 Principal of the M. E. Training School for Home and Foreign 
 Missions, Chicago. 
 
 MILLS, MRS. ELIZABETH, 58. 
 
 1805-1829. Born at Stoke Newington, England ; died at Finsbury 
 Place, London. 
 
 MITCHELL, WILLIAM, 275. 
 
 MONSELL (LL.D.), REV. J. S. B., 165, 260. 
 
 1811-1875. Rector in Guildford, England. Born in Londonderry, 
 Ireland. Author of " Hymns of Love and Praise," and of " Spir- 
 itual Songs." His hymns are exceptionally fine. 
 
 MONTGOMERY, JAMES, 100, 117, 222, 271. 
 
 1771-1854. Sheffield, England. Editor and poet. Sometimes 
 called, rather extravagantly, " The Cowper of the Nineteenth Cen- 
 tury." An adherent of the Moravian Church. 
 
 MUHLENBERG (D.D.), WILLIAM A., 263. 
 
 1796-1877. An Episcopal rector, New York. Author of " I would 
 not live alway," etc. 
 
 294 
 
 <u>. 
 
NAIRNE (BARONESS), LADY CAROLINA, 28, 103. 
 
 1766-1845. Third daughter of Lawrence Olyphant, county of 
 Perth, Scotland ; wife of Captain Murray Nairne, afterwards Lord 
 Nairne. Called " The Flower of Strathearn." 
 
 NEALE (D.D.), REV. JOHN MASON, 31, 133, 186. 
 
 1818-1866. Minister in the Church of England, Warden of Sack- 
 ville College, East Grimstead, founder of the Sisterhood of St. 
 Margaret, etc. Best known as a translator of mediaeval hymns. 
 
 NEWMAN (D.D.), JOHN HENRY, 78. 
 
 1801-1890. At first an English Episcopalian ; afterwards a Roman 
 Catholic cardinal, Birmingham. 
 
 NEVIN (D.D.), REV. EDWIN HENRY, 254. 
 
 1814-. A retired Presbyterian minister, Philadelphia. Composer 
 of poems and hymns of recognized merit. 
 
 NEWTON, REV. JOHN, 167. 
 
 1725-1807. Rector of St. Mary-Woolworth, London. His services 
 as a hymn-writer have been of great value. 
 
 PARMLEE, MRS. HELEN M., 264. 
 
 Died at Albany, N. Y., 1864. Author of " Poems, Religious and 
 Miscellaneous," published in 1865. 
 
 PRIEST, NANCY A. W. See Wakefield. 
 
 PROCTER, ADELAIDE ANNE, 70. 
 
 1825-1864. Born in Belford Square, London. Author of " Leg- 
 ends and Lyrics," etc. 
 
 RAFFLES (D.D., LL.D.), REV. THOMAS, 174,247. 
 
 1788-1863. For fifty years one of the most prominent Congrega- 
 tional ministers of England. Pastor of the Great George Street 
 Congregational Church, Liverpool. 
 
 RHEES, R. A., 243. 
 
 RYAN, REV. ABRAM JOSEPH, 99. 
 
 1839-1886. Born at Norfolk, Va. A Roman Catholic priest ; chap- 
 lain in the Confederate army during the war. 
 
 ROSSETTI, CHRISTINA G., 65, 144. 
 
 1830-. An English poetess; author of "Goblin Market," "The 
 Prince's Progress," " A Pageant and Other Poems," etc. 
 
 SACHSE (D.D.), CHRISTIAN FRIEDRICH HEINRICH, 97. 
 
 1785-1860. Through his hymns he did much to stimulate Christian 
 life among the Lutherans. 
 
 SAWYER, MRS. C. M., 47. 
 
 1812-. Editor of " Ladies' Repository " in 1861. Has published 
 several religious works and made a number of translations from 
 the German and French. 
 
 295 
 
SCHILLER, JOHANN CHRISTOPH FRIEDRICH VON, 67. 
 1759-1805. The great national poet of Germany. 
 
 SMITH, CHARITIE LEES, 53. 
 
 1841-. Born at Bloomfield, Merrion, county of Dublin, Ireland. 
 Now wife of Mr. Arthur E. Bancroft. 
 
 SMITH, MAY LOUISE RILEY, 137, 208, 275. 
 
 1842-. Born at Rochester, N. Y. A frequent contributor to peri- 
 odicals. A collection of her poems, under the title " Fringed Gen- 
 tians," was published in 1882. 
 
 SPENSER, EDMUND, 266. 
 
 1552-1599. A disciple of Chaucer, whose style he imitated. 
 
 ST. TERESA OF SPAIN, 25. 
 
 1 S I S- I S82. Considered one of the greatest saints of the Roman 
 Catholic Church. Born at Avila in Castile. At twenty devoted 
 herself to the conventual life. 
 
 STEDMAN, EDMUND CLARENCE, 147. 
 
 1833-. An editor, critic, contributor to current literature, and poet 
 of high rank. 
 
 STENNETT (D.D.), REV. SAMUEL, 27. 
 
 1727-1795. An eminent scholar; pastor of the Baptist church in 
 Little Wild Street, London, for thirty-seven years. 
 
 STODDARD, WILLIAM O., 74. 
 
 1835-. Private secretary to President Lincoln, 1861-1864; since 
 then a journalist ; author of a number of books for the young. 
 
 STOWE, MRS. HARRIET BEECHER, 126. 
 
 1812-1896. The famous author of " Uncle Tom's Cabin," etc. 
 
 TAPPAN, REV. WILLIAM BINGHAM, 231. 
 
 1794-1849. A Congregational minister long in the employ of the 
 American Sunday-School Union. 
 
 TENNYSON, ALFRED, 132. 
 
 1809-1892. Successor of Wordsworth as poet laureate of England ; 
 the world's poet as well. 
 
 UHLAND (LL.D.), JOHANN LUDWIG, 30. 
 
 1787-1862. A celebrated German lyric poet. Born and died at 
 Tubingen. His collection of patriotic songs published in 1815 was 
 very popular. 
 
 VAUGHAN, HENRY, 268. 
 
 1621-1695. A physician practicing at Brecon and Newton, Eng- 
 land. Sometimes termed " The Silurist." After a lapse of nearly 
 two centuries his poems and hymns are coming into deserved 
 favor. 
 
 1 
 
WAKEFIELD, MRS. NANCY A. W. PRIEST, 143, 195. 
 
 1836-1870. Born in Royalston, Vt. The poem " Over the River 
 they Beckon to Me " was written when she was but nineteen. 
 
 WATTS (D.D.), REV. ISAAC, 153. 
 
 1674-1748. The famous preacher; an English Congregationalist, 
 whose hymns are used the world over. "The father of English 
 hymnody." 
 
 WHITTIER, JOHN GREENLEAF, 196, 218. 
 
 1807-1892. The Quaker poet of America. Lived at Amesbury, 
 Mass. ; died at Hampton Falls, N. H. 
 
 WILLIAMS, REV. ISAAC, 246. 
 
 1802-1865. A "Welsh Methodist preacher. 
 
 WOOLSEY, SARAH CHAUNCY, 71, 101, 113. 
 
 Born about 1845. Niece of President Woolsey. Resides at New- 
 port, R. I. Is best known under her pseudonym of " Susan Cool- 
 idge." Is a contributor to romance, history, and poetry, and is the 
 author of some charming books for the young. 
 
 ZINZENDORF, NlCOLAUS LUDWIG, COUNT VON, 87. 
 
 1700-1760. Bishop of the Moravian Brethren's Unity at Berlin. 
 His hymns number two thousand. 
 
fln&ei of 3fir0t Xine0. 
 
 A home in heaven ! what a joyful thought 183 
 
 A song of a boat 187 
 
 All along the mighty ages 82 
 
 Alone! to land alone upon that shore 269 
 
 And if some friend we love is lying low 137 
 
 And, O beloved voices, upon which 197 
 
 Angel voices sweetly singing 255 
 
 As tender mothers guiding baby steps . 205 
 
 Ascend, beloved, to the joy in 
 
 Bathed in unfallen sunlight 176 
 
 Be the pathway smooth or thorny 75 
 
 Beyond the hills where suns go down 52 
 
 Beyond the smiling and the weeping 22 
 
 Beyond the stars that shine in golden glory 130 
 
 Beyond these chilling winds and gloomy skies 143 
 
 Bright sun ! thou dost blessedly shine 170 
 
 Cheerful, O Lord, at thy command 88 
 
 Clear in memory's silent reaches 203 
 
 Come forth ! come on, with solemn song 97 
 
 Come to the land of peace 221 
 
 Could we but know 147 
 
 Courage, O faithful heart 242 
 
 Crown Him with many crowns 259 
 
 Daily, daily sing the praises 168 
 
 Does the road wind uphill all the way 65 
 
 Dropping down the troubled river 128 
 
 Far from the discord loud 76 
 
 " Forever with the Lord " 117 
 
 Friend, after friend, departs 222 
 
 From out this dim and gloomy hollow 67 
 
 Glorious things of thee are spoken 167 
 
 "God lent him and takes him, "you sigh 199 
 
 Good-by, till morning come again " 222 
 
 Hark I hark ! my soul, angelic songs are swelling 89 
 
 299 
 
 i 
 
tlbe fearless 3LanD. 
 
 He who died at Azan sends 106 
 
 He will come perhaps at morning 136 
 
 High in yonder realms of light 174 
 
 His scepter is the rod of Righteousnesse 266 
 
 Homesick for heaven ! winged soul 24 
 
 Hush ! blessed are the dead 253 
 
 I am pressing on to the slippery shore 214 
 
 I am wandering down life's shady path 68 
 
 built my nest by a pleasant stream 185 
 
 cannot think of them as dead 200 
 
 classed, appraising once 201 
 
 do not ask, O Lord, that life may be 70 
 
 feel the unutterable longing 218 
 
 know not where, beneath, above 198 
 
 know the walls are jasper 264 
 
 long for household voices gone 196 
 
 'm far frae my hame, an' I 'in weary aftenwhiles 60 
 
 'm kneeling at the threshold, weary, faint and sore 50 
 
 'm returning, not departing 94 
 
 'm wearin' awa', John 103 
 
 If I were told that I must die to-morrow 71 
 
 Into the Silent Land 150 
 
 It is not death to die 109 
 
 It lies around us like a cloud 126 
 
 It 's a bonnie, bonnie warl' that we 're livin' in the noo 275 
 
 Jerusalem the golden 13 
 
 Jerusalem, the holy 165 
 
 Jerusalem, my happy home 59 
 
 Jesus, still lead on 87 
 
 Lead, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom 78 
 
 Let me be with Thee where thou art 57 
 
 Let me go, the day is breaking 100 
 
 Lord of earth ! thy bounteous hand 262 
 
 Lord ! leadeth not this desert land 65 
 
 Mid the pastures green of the blessed isle 212 
 
 Mother, I see you with your nursery light 207 
 
 My bark is wafted on the strand 130 
 
 My God, it is not fretfulness 14 
 
 My Homeland, O my Homeland 23 
 
 My rest is in heaven, my rest is not here So 
 
 My soul, there is a countrie 268 
 
 " No graves are there " 243 
 
 300 
 
f nfcei of 3fir0t Elites, 
 
 No joy is true, save that which hath no end 145 
 
 No night shall be in heaven, no gathering gloom 247 
 
 No shadows gather 251 
 
 No sickness there 248 
 
 No tossing of the burning head 252 
 
 Not from Jerusalem alone 124 
 
 Not here! not here! not where the sparkling waters 81 
 
 Not in this weary world of ours 227 
 
 Not long ! not long ! the spirit-wasting fever 105 
 
 Not weary of thy world 20 
 
 O angel of the land of peace 47 
 
 O birds from out the east, O birds from out the west 172 
 
 O dear and friendly Death 101 
 
 O heavenly Jerusalem 246 
 
 O heaven ! sweet heaven ! the home of the blest 254 
 
 O Homeland! O Homeland! 29 
 
 O land relieved from sorrow 54 
 
 O mother dear, Jerusalem 46 
 
 O Paradise! O Paradise! 56 
 
 O spirit, freed from bondage 98 
 
 O sweet home-echo on the pilgrim's way 278 
 
 Of all the thoughts of God that are 233 
 
 Oh, fair the gleams of glory 267 
 
 Oh, for the peace which floweth as a river 73 
 
 Oh, for the robes of whiteness 53 
 
 Oh, how blest are ye whose toils are ended 241 
 
 Oh, what shall be, oh, when shall be 273 
 
 On Jordan's stormy banks I stand 27 
 
 On the fount of life eternal 19 
 
 Once in a dream I saw the flowers 144 
 
 One sweetly solemn thought 123 
 
 One year among the angels, beloved, thou hast been 219 
 
 Only waiting till the shadows 138 
 
 Our beloved have departed 216 
 
 Ours is the grief, who still are left in this far wilderness 212 
 
 Out of the shadows of sadness 99 
 
 Over the river on the hill 236 
 
 Over the river they beckon to me 195 
 
 Palms of glory, raiment bright 271 
 
 Rest for the toiling hand 228 
 
 Safe home ! safe home in port ! 186 
 
 Say, why should friendship grieve for those 204 
 
 301 
 
 >o> 
 
 TO 
 
bc fearless XatO. 
 
 Should sorrow o'er thy brow 232 
 
 Since o'er thy footstool here below 263 
 
 Sing with me, sing with me 104 
 
 Slowly, with measured tread 120 
 
 " Soon and forever " 260 
 
 Sunset and evening star 132 
 
 Surely yon heaven, where angels see God's face 149 
 
 Sweet place, sweet place alone 16 
 
 Ten thousand times ten thousand 108 
 
 Ten thousand times ten thousand sung 272 
 
 That clime is not like this dull clime of ours 146 
 
 The angel opened the door 113 
 
 The foe behind, the deep before 133 
 
 The happy winds are all astir . 206 
 
 The hour, the hour, the parting hour 127 
 
 The Land beyond the Sea 48 
 
 The life above, the life on high 25 
 
 The light fades out of calmed sea 237 
 
 The sands of time are sinking 154 
 
 The star is not extinguished when it sets 115 
 
 The toil is very long, and I am tired 74 
 
 The way is dark, my Father ! Cloud upon cloud 84 
 
 The world is very evil . . . ; 3 1 
 
 There are refreshments sweeter far than sleep 55 
 
 There is a blessed home 181 
 
 There is a dwelling place above 184 
 
 There is a land immortal 93 
 
 There is a land of pure delight 153 
 
 There is a land where beauty cannot fade 30 
 
 There is a reaper whose name is Death 210 
 
 There is an hour of peaceful rest 231 
 
 There is no night in heaven 245 
 
 There 's a Beautiful Land by the Spoiler untrod 159 
 
 This world is bright and fair, we know 211 
 
 Thou knowest, O my Father ! Why should I 62 
 
 " Till Death us part " 215 
 
 'T is but one family, the sound is balm 217 
 
 'T is first the true, and then the beautiful 79 
 
 'T is not a Silent Land IS 1 
 
 Two angels, one of Life and one of Death 95 
 
 Upon the hills the wind is sharp and cold 83 
 
 Upward, where the stars are burning 
 
 302 
 
 J 
 
 182 
 
UnOex of ffirst Tiines. 
 
 We journey through a vale of tears no 
 
 We speak of the realms of the blest 58 
 
 What then? Why then another pilgrim song 78 
 
 When the crickets chirp in the evening . . , 208 
 
 When the death-dews dim my eyes 134 
 
 When round the earth the Father's hands 229 
 
 When I shall go where my Redeemer is 275 
 
 When tempests toss, and billows roll 250 
 
 Where dost thou lie, O Land of Peace 51 
 
 Where the faded flower shall freshen 193 
 
 Would you be young again 28 
 
 303 
 
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 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY