Miss on FIT OF Frances M. Molera THE POETICAL WORKS OF FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL. ASTLEY CHURCH, THE RECTORY, AND CHURCHYARD The Early Home and Resting Place ofF.R.H. The Tomb is beneath the spreading fir tree NEW YORK E. P. BUTTON & COMPANY 31 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET 1888 COPYRIGHT, 1885, BY E. P. BUTTON & CO PRESS OF J J. LITTLE & CO., NOS. 10 TO 20 ASTOR PLACE, NEW YORK. PREFATORY NOTE. IT is in answer to many requests that the various poems, hymns, and songs of Frances Ridley Havergal are comprised in this edition. It will be obvious, there was some difficulty in selecting the order of their sequence. We doubt not that the dear author's own arrangement in ' Ministry of Song/ ' Under the Surface/ and ' Loyal Responses/ will be generally preferred, and consequently they remain intact. To group successfully poetic as- pirations of such varied circumstances and ideas, ranging from the sweet simplicities of her songs for the little ones, to those higher soarings which seem to culminate in ' The Thoughts of God/ was indeed a problem. And it is due to my dear sister's memory to state distinctly that she never contemplated the publication of many impromptu verses, written to grati- fy young friends, or in the utterance of rapid imaginings. When F. R. H. was arranging a selection for the first illustra- ted volume, 'Life Mosaic/ she submitted her poems to her poet friend, the Rev. R. Wilton, earnestly soliciting him to prune away with unsparing keenness ' any of my weaker poems/ And we are aware that other poet critics would prefer only the finer chords to be lasting echoes of F. R. H. But there are many, oh, so many, who lovingly treasure even the spray of her pen, as well as the nobler waves of thought, and so we open and unseal all the manuscripts in her study drawers. For some of her simpler utterances seem to go at once to the heart of those in hum- bler life, and their intellect can better grasp such thoughts than the loftier flights of her imagination. By them it is not as a feast of intellect, but as heart cheer for home sorrows, that F. R. H/s lowliest lays are prized. The arrangement is subjective, not chro- nological. But in the Index will be found the dates and places of her poems ; we are aware this is unusual, but it would seem as if her sunny presence and spring- ing footsteps may thus still linger in our midst. It is with pleasure that I entrust to my dear niece, Frances Anna Shaw, the entire arrangement and revision of this complete and final edition. It was no slight labor to prepare the various dates and subdivide the numerous sub- 6 PREFATORY NOTE. jects into their present order. In shatter- ed health, I thankfully accept my niece's skilful labor. And we would bring these pages with loyal loving hand to the very feet of F. R. H.'s Master and King, re- echoing words, which seem to float down from the golden heights where now my sister stands amid the upper choir, joining the service of high praise in the 'Eternal Land : ' * I have no words to bring Worthy of Thee, my King, And yet one anthem in Thy praise I long, I long to raise.' ' One anthem ' ? Have they not been countless? has not her silver refrain echoed and re-echoed till many an isola- ted and trembling one has taken up in a gathering and rejoicing chorus, 'Unto Him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in His own blood, and hath made us kings and priests unto God and His Fa- ther ; to Him be glory and dominion for ever and ever. Amen. ' And does not F. R. H. 's earliest prelude become a fitting closing chord to her life and poems, Amid the broken waters of our ever-restless thought, Oh be my verse an answering gleam from high- er radiance caught ; That when through dark o'erarching boughs of sorrow, doubt, and sin, The glorious Star of Bethlehem upon the flood looks in, Its tiny trembling ray may bid ome downcast vision turn To that enkinding Light, for which all earthly shadows yearn. Oh be my verse a hidden stream, which silently may flow Where drooping leaf and thirsty flower in lonely valleys grow : And often by its shady course to pilgrim hearts be brought The quiet and refreshment of an upward-point- ing thought ; Till, blending with the broad bright stream of sanctified endeavor, God's glory be its ocean home, the end it seek- eth ever.' MARIA V. G. HAVERGAL. INDEX. TITLE. Prelude, . The Ministry of Song, Our Hidden Leaves, Threefold Praise, . Not Yet, . Thanksgiving, Life-Crystals, . Not Your Own, Wounded, Whose I am, . Whom I Serve, Peace, God's Message, A Great Mystery, . Be not Weary, The Great Teacher, Auntie's Lessons, Rest, One Question, Many Answers, Content, . Misunderstood, Sunbeams in the Wood, The Star Shower, . Treasure Trove, Coming Summer, September, .... Early Faith, .... Our Father, .... Disappointment, The Song Chalice, . Silence in Love, . . . Light and Shade, No Thorn without a Rose, Yesterday, To-Day, and for Ever, Christ's Recall, Faith's Question, * I did this for Thee,' Isaiah xxxiii. 17, . . ; God the Provider, . Wait patiently for Him, . This Same Jesus, Mary's Birthday, Daily Strength, The Right Way, . Thy Will be Done, . The Things which are Behind, Now I See,' .... Everlasting Love, . 'Master, say on,' DATE. Dec. 26, 1859, Feb. 27, 1867, Feb. 13, 1867, Feb. 26, 1867, 1860, March, 1866, March, 1868, Jan. 21, 1867, 1867, Dec., 1865, Dec., 1865, Jan. 7, 1867, Feb. 21, 1867, Dec. io, 1866, Nov. 1865, August, 1867, Nov. 1865, Oct. 28, 1865, April, 1857, "an. 8, 1867, an. 18, 1867, uly 12, 1859, "ov. 14, 1866, May, 1867, 1859, 1868, Jan. 1860, Feb. 25, 1897, Nov. 20, 1868, Jan. 7, 1869, Jan. 17, 1869, 1866, 1866, 1868, 1860, 1860, Jan. 10,1858, Feb. 6, 1860, Jan. 1866, Oct. 1868, Dec. 11, 1864, July, 1850, Jan. I, 1859, Oct. 1866, July, 1866, 1860, March, 1866, Sept. 5, 1868, May, 1867, WHERE WRITTEN. Oakhampton, . Do. Do. Shareshill, Shareshill, Oakhampton, Do/ Shareshill, Morecambe Bay, Oakhampton, Do. Shareshill, Do. . Oakhampton, Do. Winterdyne, Oakhampton, Winterdyne, Leamington, Do. PAGE IS 15 17 18 22 22 23 24 26 26 29 29 30 31 31 33 34 35 35 37 39 39 41 43 43 43 44 Germany, Worcester, Oakhampton, Do. Worcester, Oakhampton, Luccombe, Winterdyne, Weston-super-Mare, 45 49 49 50 51 51 52 53 54 54 54 55 INDEX. TITLE. Remote Results, . . . On the Last Leaf, . How should they know me, , Making Poetry, DATE. . March, 1867, . Nov. 23, 1865, . July, 1868, . Jan. 1868, WHERE WRITTEN. Oakhampton, Scotland, Celbridge, Leamington, Lynton, Worcester, Leamington, . Oakhampton, Lynton, PAGE 5 ^ 56 58 59 61 66 66 66 68 68 69 70 73 75 76 The Cascade, .... Constant De V , Fairy Homes, . More Music, Travelling Thoughts, New Year's Wishes, Bonnie Wee Eric, My Sweet Woodruff, Our Gem Wreath, . , July, 1856, Feb. 1859, April, 1854, 1861, Jan. 26, 1866, March, 1858, Jan. 1869, July 13, 1866, Aug. 1 8, 1858, April i, 1868 Faith and Reason, Lynton, . A Birthday Greeting, March, 1859, July 19, 1866, A Lull in Life, . . . Adoration, .... I Leave it all with Thee,' Matt. xiv. 23, . Matt. xxvi. 30, 'Leaving us an Example,' Our English Sabbaths, . Sept. 11, 1868, . Dec. 31, 1866, EARLY POEI 1851, . 1854, Feb. 1855, June, 1855, . 1839, Winterdyne, . Shareshill, . tfS. 77 78 80 81 82 Bath, 8? Clouds in Prospect, . Feb. 1854, ' 86 i8c8. 86 Sunset, .... July 31, 1851, The Spirit's Longings, . May 13, 1855, The Old and New Earth, Jan. 6, 1854, Astley Bells, . . . Nov. 8, 1857, Pray for Me,' . . 1859, On the Death of Captain Allan Gardiner, . . . 1852, 'Thank God,' . . 1855, The Maidens of England to H. R H. Princess Royal, . . 1858, 'No, not a Star,' .... i8co. 8? Oakhampton, : | 88 Oakhampton, . 89 . 90 Worcester, 03 Q<1 The Queen of the Sea, . Two Points of View, . . ... Morning Song, . . . Evening Song, . . Peace, . . . MISCELLANEC . March, 1855, . July 23, 1855, . June, 1857, . June, 1857, )US. Langland Bay, Leamington, . ' 9 I . 96 . 9 6 . 9 6 97 Fragments, . . The Wandering Sunbeam, May Day, ... . Nov. 1872, 1855, Areley Wood, . 100 100 The Shower, . . . Tiny Tokens, , April, The Song of a Summer Stream, An Autumn Holiday . May, 1857, . Sept. 1874, - Feb. 9 1877, . Feb. 1 8, 1879, . Sept. 1877, Ormont Dessous, . . . 101 Leamington, .... 102 Caswell Bay, . ... .103 The Highlands, Herefordshire, 104 INDEX. TITLE. The Song of Love, . The Awakening, The Poet's Zenith, Mischief Making, . The Lorely, . For Denmark, ho! My Singing Lesson, The Choir of Llangryffyth, The Turned Lesson, Leaning over the Waterfall, The Seed of a Song, Finis DATE. Nov. 1872, Nov. 1 8, 1877, Dec. 1853, 1864, July 22, 1872, March 28, 1876, May, 1874, Jan. 21, 1878, July 23, 1858, WHERE WRITTEN. Leamington, . PAGE . 104 Leamington, . Cople, . . . __.__ 105 . 107 13 . 108 Llanberris, Leamington, . . 109 . in Leamington, . . 112 in CHARADES AND ENIGMAS. ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS. No. I. Needles. . . . . .114 2. Lines. 114 3. Table 115 4. Trunk 115 5. Sere, Seir, seer, sear(ed). . . 115 6. Malice 116 7. Scrape, crape, ape. . . .116 8. Bacon, 116 9. Lava. . . . . 'I J 7 10. Ball. 117 n. Box. 117 No. 12. Spring 118 13. Lock. 118 14. Pole. 119 15. Ice 120 16. Gas 120 17. Shadow 121 18. Arch. 121 19. Melodies 121 20. A Riddle 122 21. Wheels 122 ANSWERS TO CHARADES. No. i. Cutlass 122 2. Orion. . ... 123 3. Carpet 123 4. Ivanhoe 123 5. Iceland 123 6. Hemlock 124 7. Wordsworth 124 8. Harebell 124 9. Parsonage 125 No. 10. Palmerston. .... 125 11. Larkspur. . . . . 125 12. Sunday. . . . . . 125 13. Nightingale 126 14. Bargain 126 Gentleman. .... 126 Rampart. ..... 126 17. Dande(y)lion 127 18 Gladstone 127 II: CHILDREN'S CHORDS. TITLE. Sunday Bells, . Flowers, Evening Prayer, Stars, .... My Little Tree, Thy Kingdom Come, The Moon, Jessie's Friend, The Bower, . Trust The Dying Sister, . The Angels' Song, Who will take Care of Me? Something to Do, . DATE. Oct. 1 8, 1869, 1 6, " 17, < 18, 22, " 22, 21, IQ, 21, 23, 23, 24, Jan. I, 1873, Feb. 12, 1877, WHERE WRITTEN. PAGE. 127 127 128 128 I2 9 I2 9 I2 9 130 I 3 130 130 132 10 INDEX. TITLE. Loving Messages, .... F. R. H.'s Thanks to her Bible- Class ...... DATE. 1878, March 23, 1858, 1871, 1861, Dec. 1856, 1856, 1856, 1855, 1872, Oct. 1875, May, 1876, 1876, Dec. 15, 1866, Dec. 1868, Aug. 1869, July 27, 1874, SONGS. 1873, March, 1871, 1873, Sept. 1874, 1872, May 13, 1855, 1859, l8 59, Nov. 26, 1872, Do. Do 1865, Jan. 12, 1869, WHERE WRITTEN. PAGE T-JC F. R. H's Thanks to C. Overton, . Inscription in 'Life's Morning,' Little Nora ' Come over and help us, The English Child's Reply, . The Disappointed Carol Singers, The Happiest Christmas Day, Coming into the Shade, . Begin at Once, .... ' That's not the Way at Sea,' . Welcome to Winterdyne, To Jericho and Back, My Nest, Ethelbert's Coming Home in the Dark . . : . .3 3 6 , n6 T ^o . 138 Perry Barr, . Upton Bishop, J39 . 140 Leamington, . Oakhampton, . . Winterdyne, Do. . . 141 . 142 . 142 Switzerland, . . 147 . 147 - 148 Scotland's Welcome to H. R. H. Princess Louise, .... For Charity, The Devonshire Yeoman's Song, The Dawn of May, .... The Tyrolese Spring Song, My Messengers, .... God keep Thee .... Rose of Roses, .... Hast Thou a Thought ? . Ormont Dessous, . 149 Oakhampton, . . 150 Leamington, Do'. Leamington, Leamington, I5i 152 152 152 152 153 153 A Wife's Letter, .... The Husband's Reply, . Only for One, .... One for the Other, .... Thinking together, or Gravitation, . There is Music by the River, . The Shining Light,' Jan. 18, 1869, Nov. 1870, 1869, 1874, July, 1870, Sept. 15, 1876, Nov. 1874, HYMNS. 1849, 1849, 1850, 1856, NOV. 22, 1857, I8 5 8, 1872, 1872, 1873, Good Friday, 1877, Dec. 21, 1873, Do. Pension Wengen, . Leamington, . 155 . . 156 . 157 Twilight Voices, .... Prayer before Church, . . . 'He that Overcometh, ' . A Song of Welcome, 'The Lord is Gracious,' . 'The Spirit proceeding from the Father ' . Worcester, 157 . . I 5 8 K8 ic8 New Year Hymn, . Hymn for Ireland, . Church Missionary Jubilee Hymn, Thy Father waits for Thee, . Will Vr.ii nnt r.nme? . ICQ Leamington, . Winterdvne, . Do. : : Is . 160 161 INDEX. II TITLE. What will You do without Hi ' Forgiven even until Now,' He hath done it ! DATE. WHERE WRITTEN, m ? . April 9, 1876, The Leasowes, . Sept. 15, 1878, Plymouth, PAGE . 161 . 163 . Dec. 3, 1878, Caswell Bay, . . Dec. 5, 1878, Do. . X . 164 . 164 . 164 '65 165 \66 167 167 168 170 170 170 I7i 171 172 . Feb. 12, 1879, Do. . . . A Merrie Christmas, A Happy Christmas, Our Saviour Christ was born, Christmas Gifts, Christmas Mottoes, . Christmas Gifts, Christmas Sunshine, Titles of Christ, CHRISTMAS VERSES. . Oct. 1875, Whitby, . . Mav, 1877, Winterdyne, . May, 1877, Do. . May, 1877, Do. 1877, . Dec. 25, 1878, 1877, .. A Happy New Year to You, Another Year, Faithful Promises, . New Year's Wishes, A Happy New Year, New Year Mottoes, NEW YEAR VERSES. 1874, Winterdyne, 1874, Jan. 3, 1873, Sept. 1874, Ormont Dessous, 1874, Winterdyne, 1876-1879, Easter Echoes, EASTER ECHOES. . Sept. 1876, Lauterbrunnen, BIRTHDAY POEMS. A Waking Thought, Life Mosaic, . To Helga, Memorial Names, . Our Red-Letter Days, Luke ix. 13, . SONNETS. 1860, April I, 1876, Sept. 19, 1876, May 13, 1877, Do. Leamington, Champery, Winterdyne, Do. IN MEMORIAM. My Mother's Request, . . . Feb. 6, 1854, May Dirge, 1854, To F. M. G. on her Brother's Death, 1854, Evelyn, April 6, 1868, 175 Acrostic: Cecilia Havergal, Acrostic: Edith Havergal, Acrostic for E. P. S., Mizpah Messages, . Birthday Mottoes, . To M. V. G. H. on her Birthd M. L. C's Birthday Crown, To J. H. C., . For E. Clay's Birthday, . Coming of Age, . . To the Rev. C. B. Snepp, ay, 1875, 1875, 1863, 1878, 1877-1878, Nov. 1877, July n, 1859, Okahampton, Nov. 27, 1856, Feb. 1863, Sept. 26, 1865, Celbridge, Sept. 1871, " Perry Barr, April, 1873, Do. I 7 6 '76 '76 176 177 178 178 179 179 180 180 181 Leamington, 182 182 182 183 183 '83 184 187 12 INDEX. TITLE. DATE. WHERE WRITTEN. PAGE Starlight through the Shadows, 1877, . 180 In Loyal and Loving Remembrance of H. R. H. Princess Alice, . Dec. 23, 1878, Caswell Bay, . . 190 UNDER THE SURFACE. Prelude, ...... Under the Surface, . . . Autobiography, .... June 30, 1872, Dec. 13, 1869, May, 1869, Leamington, . . Do. ... . 191 . 192 . IQ2 Compensation, .... Oct. 23, 1873, . 104 The Moonlight Sonata, . The Infinity of God, The Spirituality of God, . March, 1869, 1872, 1872, Leamington, . Perry Barr, Do. ... *y+ . 196 203 * 2O1 The Eternity of God, Feb. u, 1872, Do. . The Sovereignty of God, 1872, Do The Essential Blessedness of God, Feb. 1872, Do . 2(X Thine is the Power, May 14, 1872, Winter dyne, . . 2OIJ The One Reality, .... To Thee, ....*. Jan. i, 1870, June, 1870, Sept. 26, 1870, Leamington, . . 206 . 207 . 207 I could not do without Thee, . May 7, 1873, . 208 Jesus only, Dec. 4, 1870, Leamington, . . 208 Is it for me ? Nov. 18, 1871, Perry Barr, . . 208 Hidden in Light, .... July 6, 1872, Harlech, . 209 He is Thy Lord, .... Jan. 5, 1873, . 209 Our King, Nov. 1870, . . 211 Ascension Song, .... Dec. 1871, . 211 Advent Song, Nov. 1 6, 1873, Winterdyne, . . 212 Have you not a Word, . Nov. 1871, Perry Barr, . 213 A Worker's Prayer .... April 28, 1872, Winterdyne, . 214 Our Commission, . . . March, 1869, Leamington, . . 215 Singing for Jesus, .... A Silence and a Song, June 12, 1872, March 16, 1871, Winterdyne, . Leeds, .... . 216 . 216 The Coming of the Healer, . Another for Christ, .... Oct. 3, IJ873, June 30, 1872, Leamington, . . 217 . 218 ' How Wonderful ! ' . Aug. 30, 1873, Oakhampton, . . 219 Valiant for the Truth, . Sept. 23, 1872, Perry Barr, A Plea for the Little Ones, April 2, 1872, . . 221 Tell it Out, April 21, 1872, Winterdyne, . . 222 Sisters, April 4, 1873, ... . . . . 223 1873, .... . 224 The Lull of Eternity, . The Showers, July 19, 1872, Feb. 19, 1872, The Pass of Llanberris, . . 22| . 226 Everlasting Blessings, Aug. 12, 1871, Do . 232 Accepted, ..... Sept. 3, 1870, Hastings, 233 Fresh Springs, .... Aug. 1870, 233 Faithful Promises, .... Jan. 4, 1873, . 233 The Faithful Comforter, . Aug. n, 1872, Perry Barr, 234 Under His Shadow, . . Nov. 27, 1870, ... . . ' 234 Covenant Blessings, 1871, 235 The Triune Presence, Sept. 1871, Perry Barr, 235 Now and Afterward, . . Jan. 4, 1870, Leamington, . . 236 Tempted and Tried, March 2, 1873, Perry Barr, . 2 3 6 Sept. 14, 1869, 237 Listening in Darkness, . E veningf Tears, .... Peaceable Fruit, .... June 10, 1869, June 19, 1869, May, 1872, Interlachen, . Interlachen, Winterdyne, . 237 . 2 3 8 . 2 3 8 Right! Tune 1 8, 1872, Leamington, . 239 The Col de Balm, Aug. u, 1869, London, .... . 242 Eye hath not Seen,' Feb. 20, 1869, Leamington, . 243 INDEX. TITLE. Chosen in Christ, Called, . Justified, Sanctified, Joined to Christ, Presented Faultless, Glorified, The Message of an ^Eolian Baby's Turn, . The Children's Triumph, The First Smile, The Sunday Book, DATE. . April 6, 1871, . . 1872, . May, 1871, - 1873, : . May, 1871, . May, 1871, . Oct. 22, 1871, Harp, . Nov. 1869, . Sept. 1869, . March 29, 1873, . Feb. 17, 1871, . Oct. 5, 1872, . Nov. 1872, WHERE WRITTEN. I AGE 244 245 245 245 246 246 247 247 252 253 253 254 254 255 255 256 257 25 258 259 259 260 260 266 267 268 270 271 272 274 275 i 281 282 282 283 284 284 285 286 287 287 288 289 289 290 291 291 291 292 Do. . . . . . Do Perry Barr, . Do Do Leamington, .... Worcester, .... Perry Barr, .... Oakhampton, Perry Barr, .... 'It is well with the Child,' At Home to-Night, . Two Ring?, Bells across the Snow, Singing at Sunset, . Heather Lintic, Sunbeam and Dewdrop, . . Dec. n, 1870, . Dec. 19, 1870, 1870, . . 1870, . May 21, 1872, . Jan. 12, 1870, . Nov. 1870, . March, 1869, Leamington, .... Perry Barr, .... Oakhampton, .... Winterdyne, .... Leamington, .... She Waits for Me, . The Mountain Maidens, . A Seeing Heart, July on the Mountains, . My Window, . . Mar. 6, 1873, . July, 1873, . May 10, 1872, '. Feb. i, 1869, Switzerland, .... Winterdyne, .... Leamington, . Winterdyne, .... . Harlech, .... Winterdyne, .... Leamington, .... NSES. Areley House, Leamington, Do. Do. Ormont Dessous, Leamington, Do. . Ormont Dessous, Leamington, . The Highlands, Herefordshire Ormont Dessous, Ormont Dessous, The Leasowes, * Now ! Light at Eventide, . Yet Speaketh, For New Year's Day, 1874, Finis, .... Consecration Hymn, Set Apart, . . Sept. 1869, . July 12, 1872, . Easter, 1872, . Dec. 23, 1873, . June 18, 1872, LOYAL RESPO3 . Feb. 4, 1874, Feb. 24.- 1878. Secret of a Happy Day, . . Jan. 20, 1878, The Unfailing One, . . Jan. 19, 1878, On the Lord's Side, . . Oct. 1877, True-hearted, Whole-hearted, . Sept. 1874,^ By Thy Cross and Passion, . Jan. 1877,' The Opened Fountain, . . March, 1878, The Precious Blood, . Sept. 1874, I remember Thee, .... Dec. 9,1877, Trusting Jesus, Looking unto Jesus, Shining, . Sept. 1874, . . 1876, . Sept. 1874, Resting, Filling, .... Increase our Faith, Nobody knows but Jesus, He is thy Life, Enough, All, .... Only, .... My Master, . . . June II, 1876, . May 5, 1876, . Oct. 5, 1875, . Nov. 1877, . June 2, 1876, . Sept. 1874, . 1874, . Aug. 1877, July 1 6, 1876, Whitby .... Leamington, .... Ormont Dessous, . . . The Highlands, Herefordshire, Perfect Peace, . Nov. 3, 1874, Leamington, .... INDEX. TITLE. DATE. . . June 30, 1876, WHERE WRITTEN. Leamington, Whitby, Oakhampton, Leamington, Do. . XTS. Newport, .... PAGE 293 293 294 % 296 . 297 . 299 Trust and Distrust, Without Carefulness, Thy Reign, . March 9, 1878, . Sept 27, 1875, . March 29, 1874, Tried, Precious, Sure, Just when Thou wilt, . Nov. 1876. . Nov. 3, 1874, VERSES ON TE 1877, A Covenant, . . . Only for Jesus, Chosen Lessons, Hitherto and Henceforth, Rhymed Mottoes for . . July, 1876, . July, 1877, . . 1878, 1877, Open -Air . 300 Advent Thoughts, 1877, . 301 ' UNDER HIS SHADOW.' An Interlude, . Zenith, . The Thoughts of God, . The Ministry of Intercession, , * Free to Serve,' Coming to the King, Reality, . Far More Exceeding, * The Splendor of God's Will,' The Two Paths, Sunday Night, Precious Things, . . , 'Afterwards,' . * Vessels of Mercy,' Seulement pour Toi, A Song in the Night, The Voice of Many Waters, The Key Found, Sept. II, 1877, Do. Sept. 1874, Sept. 2, 1877, Jan. 21, 1876, Oct. 9, 1876, Oct. 14, 1875, .April, 1876, Sept. 1874, Jan. 3, 1878, Mar. 19, 1876, Sept. 1874, Oct. 4, 1875, Nov. 1878, July 23, 1876, Oct. 8, 1876, Jan. 18, 1878, Dec. 14, 1878, The Highlands, Herefordshire, Do Ormont Dessous, The Highlands, Herefordshire, Leamington, . Winterdyne, . Whitby, Ormont Dessous, Leamington, Do. . Ormont Dessous, Whitby, . Caswell Bay, . Fins Haut. Pension Wengen, Leamington, Caswell Bay, . 302 302 3H 320 323 324 325 327 329 33 332 332 335 340 CLOSING CHORDS. What Thou Wilt, .... Nov. 29, 1878, Hope, 1878, Fear Not, The Scripture Cannot be Broken, . April, 1879, He Suffered, March 6, 1879, Behold your King, .... Good Friday, 1879, An Easter Prayer, .... Feb. 12, 1879, Easter Dawn, Easter Sunday, 1879, Unfinished Fragments, . . . May, 1879, Most Blessed for Ever, . . . 1870, Caswell Bay, Leeds,' ' ! Caswell Bay, Do. . Do . 342 342 342 343 343 241 Do. . 244. Do. . Do. . 344 3,4.1: 34.5 THE MINISTRY OF SONG. PRELUDE. AMID the broken waters of our ever-restless thought, Oh be my verse an answering gleam from higher radiance caught ; That where through dark o'erarching boughs of sorrow, doubt, and sin, The glorious Star of Bethlehem upon the flood looks in, Its tiny trembling ray may bid some down- cast vision turn To that enkindling Light, for which all earthly shadows yearn. Oh be my verse a hidden stream, which silently may flow Where drooping leaf and thirsty flower in lonely valleys grow ; And often by its shady course to pilgrim hearts be brought The quiet and refreshment of an upward- pointing thought ; Till, blending with the broad bright stream of sanctified endeavor, God's glory be its ocean home, the end it | seeketh ever. THE MINISTRY OF SONG. IN God's great field of labor All work is not the same ; He hath a service for each one Who loves His holy name. And you, to whom the secrets Of all sweet sounds are known, Rise up ! for He hath called you To a mission of your own. And, rightly to fulfil it, His grace can make you strong, Who to your charge hath given The Ministry of Song. Sing to the little children, And they will listen well ; Sing grand and holy music, For they can feel its spell. Tell them the tale of Jephthah ; Then sing them what he said, ' Deeper and deeper still, ' and watch How the little cheek grows red, And the little breath comes quicker : They will ne'er forget the tale, Which the song has fastened surely, As with a golden nail. I remember, late one evening, How the music stopped, for, hark ! Charlie's nursery door was open, He was calling in the dark, 1 Oh no ! I am not frightened, And I do not want a light ; But I cannot sleep for thinking Of the song you sang last night Something about a " valley," And "make rough places plain," And " Comfort ye ;" so beautiful ! Oh, sing it me again 1 ' i6 THE MINISTRY OF SONG. Sing at the cottage bedside ; They have no music there, And the voice of praise is silent After the voice of prayer. Sing of the gentle Saviour In the simplest hymns you know, And the pain-dimmed eye will brighten As the soothing verses flow. Better than loudest plaudits The murmured thanks of such, For the King will stoop to crown them With His gracious * Inasmuch. ' Sing, where the full-toned organ Resounds through aisle and nave, And the choral praise ascendeth In concord sweet and grave. Sing, where the village voices Fall harshly on your ear ; And, while more earnestly you join, Less discord you will hear. The noblest and the humblest Alike are ' common praise/ And not for human ear alone The psalm and hymn we raise. Sing in the deepening twilight, When the shadow of eve is nigh, And her purple and golden pinions Fold o'er the western sky. Sing in the silver silence, While the first moonbeams fall ; So shall your power be greater Over the hearts of all. Sing till you bear them with you Into a holy calm, And the sacred tones have scattered Manna, and myrrh, and balm. Sing ! that your song may gladden ; Sing like the happy rills, Leaping in sparkling blessing Fresh from the breezy hills. Sing ! that your song may silence The folly and the jest, And the ' idle word ' be banished As an unwelcome guest. Sing ! that your song may echo After the strain is past, A link of the love- wrought cable That holds some vessel fast. Sing to the tired and anxious It is yours to fling a ray, Passing indeed, but cheering, Across the rugged way. Sing to God's holy servants, Weary with loving toil, Spent with their faithful labor On oft ungrateful soil. The chalice of your music . All reverently bear, For with the blessed angels Such ministry you share. When you long to bear the Message Home to some troubled breast, Then sing with loving fervor, 1 Come unto Him, and rest. ' Or would you whisper comfort, Where words bring no relief, Sing how ' He was despised, Acquainted with our grief/ And aided by His blessing, The song may win its way Where speech had no admittance, And change the night to day. Sing, when His mighty mercies And marvellous love you feel, And the deep joy of gratitude Springs freshly as you kneel ; When words, like morning starlight. Melt powerless, rise and sing ! And bring your sweetest music To Him, your gracious King. SING, WHERE THE FULL-TONED ORGAN RESOUNDS THROUGH AISLE AND NAVE, AND THE CHORAL PRAISE ASCENDETH IN CONCORD SWEET AND GRAVE. Page 1 6. OUR HIDDEN LEAVES. Pour out your song before Him To whom our best is due ; Remember, He who hears your prayer Will hear your praises too. Sing on in grateful gladness ! Rejoice in this good thing Which the Lord thy God hath given thee, The happy power to sing. But yield to Him, the Sovereign, To whom all gifts belong, In fullest consecration, Your Ministry of Song, Until His mercy grant you That resurrection voice, Whose only ministry shall be, To praise Him and rejoice. OUR HIDDEN LEA VES. OH the hidden leaves of Life ! Closely folded in the heart ; Leaves where Memory's golden finger, Slowly pointing, loves to linger ; Leaves that bid the old tears start Leaves where Hope would read the future, Sibylline, and charged with fate : Leaves which calm Submission closeth, While her tearless eye reposeth On the legend, ' Trust, and wait ! ' Leaves which grave Experience ponders, Soundings for her pilot-charts ; Leaves which God Himself is storing, Records which we read, adoring Him who writes on human hearts. ill our own, our treasured secrets, Indestructible archives ! lone can copy, none can steal them, th itself shall not reveal them, Sacred manuscripts of lives. Some are filled with fairy pictures, Half imagined and half seen; Radiant faces, fretted towers, Sunset colors, starry flowers, Wondrous arabesques between. Some are traced with liquid sunbeams, Some with fire, and some with tears ; Some with crimson dyes are glowing, From a smitten life-rock flowing Through the wilderness of years. Some are crossed with later writing, Palimpsests of earliest days ; Old remembrance faintly gleaming Through the thinking and the dreaming Outlines dim in noontide haze. One lies open, all unwritten, To the glance of careless sight ; Yet it bears a shining story, Traced in phosphorescent glory, Only legible by night. One is dark with hieroglyphics Of some dynasty of grief : Only God, and just one other, Dearest friend, or truest brother, Ever read that hidden leaf. Many a leaf is undeciphered, Writ in languages unknown ; O'er the strange inscription bending, (Every clue in darkness ending,) Finding no ' Rosetta Stone/ Still we study, always failing ! God can read it, we must wait ; Wait, until He teach the mystery, Then the wisdom-woven history Faith shall read, and Love translate. 18 THE MINISTRY OF SONG. Leaflets now unpaged and scattered Time's great library receives ; When eternity shall bind them, Golden volumes we shall find them, God's light falling on the leaves. THREEFOLD PRAISE. HAYDN MENDELSSOHN HANDEL. ' We bless Thee for our creation, preservation, and all the blessings of this life ; but above all, for Thine inestimable love in the redemption of the world by our Lord Jesus Christ.' PART I. * We bless Thee for our creation.' Haydn's < Creation: WHAT is the first and simplest praise, The universal debt, Which yet the thoughtless heart of man, So quickly may forget ? ' We bless Thee for creation T So taught the noble band Who left a sound and holy form, For ages yet to stand, Rich legacy of praise and prayer, Laid up through ages past, Strong witness for the truth of God : Oh, may we hold it fast ! ' We bless Thee for creation 1' So are we blithely taught By Haydn's joyous spirit ; Such was the praise he brought. A praise all morning sunshine, And sparklets of the spring, O'er which the long life-shadows No chastening softness fling. A praise of early freshness, Of carol and of trill. Re-echoing all the music Of valley and of rill. A praise that we are sharing With every singing breeze, With nightingales and linnets, With waterfalls and trees ; With anthems of the flowers Too delicate and sweet For all their fairy minstrelsy Our mortal ears to greet A mighty song of blessing Archangels too uplift, For their own bright existence, A grand and glorious gift. But such their full life-chalice, So sparkling and so pure, And such their vivid sense of joy, Sweet, solid, and secure, We cannot write the harmonies To such a song of bliss, We only catch the melody, And sing, content with this. We are but little children, And earth a broken toy ; We do not know the treasures, In our Father's house of joy. Thanksgivings for creation We ignorantly raise ; We know not yet the thousandth part Of that for which we praise. Yet, praise Him for creation ! Nor cease the happy song, But this our Hallelujah Through all our life prolong ; 'T will mingle with the chorus Before the heavenly throne, Where what it truly is TO BE Shall first be fully known. THREEFOLD PRAISE. PART II. * ... preservation, and all the blessings o\ this life.' Mendelssohn^ s Elijah. ' O FELIX ! happy in thy varied store Of harmonies undreamt before, How different was the gift Of praise 't was thine to pour, Whether in stately calm, or tempest strong and swift ! Mark the day, In mourning robe of gray, Of shrouded mountain and of storm-swept vale, And purple pall spread o'er the distance pale While thunderous masses wildly drift In lurid gloom and grandeur : then a swift And dazzling ray bursts through a sudden rift ; The dark waves glitter as the storms sub- side, And all is light and glory at the eventide. O sunlight of thanksgiving ! Who that knows Its bright forth-breaking after dreariest days, Would change the after- thought of woes, For memory's loveliest light that glows, If so he must forego one note of that sweet praise ? For not the song Which knows no minor cadence, sad and long; And not the tide Whose emerald and silver pride Was never dashed in wild and writhing fray, Where grim and giant rocks hurl back the spray ; And not the crystal atmosphere, That carves each outline sharp and clear Upon a sapphire sky : not these, not these, Nor aught existing but to charm and please, Without acknowledging life's mystery, And all the mighty reign Of yearning and of pain That fills its half-read history, Fit music can supply To lift the wandering heart on high To that Preserving Love, which rules all change, And gives ' all blessings of this life, ' so dream-like and so strange. And his was praise Deeper and truer, such as those may raise Who know both shade and sunlight, and whose life Hath learnt victorious strife Of courage and of trust and hope still dear, With passion and with grief, with danger and with fear. Upriseth now a cry, Plaintive and piercing, to the brazen sky : Help, Lord ! the harvest days are gone ; Help, Lord ! for other help is none ; The infant children cry for bread, And no man breaketh it. The suckling's tongue for thirst Now cleaveth to his mouth. Our land is cursed ; Our wasted Zion mourns, in vain her hands are spread. 2O THE MINISTRY OF SONG. A mother's tale of grief, Of sudden blight upon the chief, The only flower of love that cheered her widowed need : O loneliest ! O desolate indeed ! Were it not mockery to whisper here A word of hope and cheer ? A mountain brow, an awe-struck crowd, The prayer-sent flame, the prayer-sent cloud, A mighty faith, a more than kingly power, Changed for depression's darkest hour. For one lone shadow in the desert sought, A fainting frame, a spirit overwrought, A sense of labor vain, and strength all spent for naught. Death hovering near, With visible terror-spear Of famine, or a murder-stained sword, A stricken land forsaken of her Lord ; While bowed with double fear, The faithful few appear ; O sorrows manifold outpoured ! Is blessing built upon such dark foun- dation ; And can a temple rising from such woe, Rising upon such mournful crypts be- low, Be filled with light and joy and sounding adoration ? O strange mosaic ! wondrously inlaid Are all its depths of shade, With beauteous stones of promise, marbles fair Of trust and calm, and flashing brightly, there The precious gems of praise are set, and shine Resplendent with a light that almost seems Divine. Thanks be to God ! The thirsty land He laveth The perishing He saveth ; The floods lift up their voices, The answering earth rejoices. Thanks be to Him, and never-ending laud, For this new token of His bounteous love, Who reigns in might the waterfloods above : The gathering waters rush along ; And leaps the exultant shout, one cataract of song, Thanks be to God ! Thus joyously we sing ; Nor is this all the praise we bring. We need not wait for earthquake, storm, and fire To lift our praises higher ; Nor wait for heaven-dawn ere we join the hymn Of throne-surrounding cherubim ; For even on earth their anthem hath begun, To Him, the Mighty and the Holy One. We know the still small Voice in many a word Of guidance, and command, and promise heard ; And, knowing it, we bow before His feet, With love and awe the seraph-strain re- peat, HIS COMING, THE DESIRE OF AGES LONG TO WEAR OUR CHAINS, AND WIN OUR GLAD RELEASE. Page 21. THREEFOLD PRAISE. 21 Holy, Holy, Holy ! God the Lord ! His glory fills the earth, His name be all- adored. O Lord, our Lord I how excellent Thy name Throughout this universal frame ! Therefore Thy children rest Beneath the shadow of Thy wings, A shelter safe and blest ; And tune their often tremulous strings Thy love to praise, Thy glory to proclaim, The Merciful, the Gracious One, eternally The Same. PART III. but above all, for Thine inestimable love in the redemption of the world by our Lord Jesus Christ.' HandePs Messiah* HUSH ! for a master harp is tuned again, In truest unison with choirs above, For prelude to a loftier, sweeter strain, The praise of God's inestimable love ; Who sent redemption to a world of woe, That all a Father's heart His banished ones might know. Hush ! while on silvery wing of holiest song Floats forth the old, dear story of our peace, His coming, the Desire of Ages long, To wear our chains, and win our glad release. Oar wondering joy, to hear such tidings blest, Is crowned with ' Come to Him, and He will give you rest ' Rest, by His sorrow ! Bruised for our sin, Behold the Lamb of God ! His death our life. Now lift your heads, ye gates ! He enter- eth in, Christ risen indeed, and Conqueror in the strife. Thanks, thanks to Him who won, and Him who gave Such victory of love, such triumph o'er the grave. Hark ! ' Hallelujah 1' O sublimest strain ! Is it prophetic echo of the day When He, our Saviour and our King, shall reign, And all the earth shall own His right- eous sway ? Lift heart, and voice, and swell the mighty chords, While hallelujahs peal, to Him the Lord of lords 1 ' Worthy of all adoration, Is the Lamb that once was slain/ Cry, in raptured exultation, His redeemed from ever)' nation; Angel myriads join the strain, Sounding from their sinless strings Glory to the King of kings : Harping, with their harps of gold, Praise which never can be told. Hallelujahs full and swelling Rise around His throne of might, All our highest laud excelling, Holy and Immortal, dwelling In the unapproached light, He is worthy to receive All that heaven and earth can give ; 22 THE MINISTRY OF SONG. Blessing, honor, glory, might, All are His by glorious right. As the sound of many waters Let the full Amen arise ! HALLELUJAH ! Ceasing never, Sounding through the great FOR EVER, Linking all its harmonies ; Through eternities of bliss, Lord, our rapture shall be this ; And our endless life shall be One AMEN of praise to Thee. NOT YET. JOHN xiii. 7. NOT yet thou knowest what I do, O feeble child of earth, Whose life is but to angel view The morning of thy birth ! The smallest leaf, the simplest flower, The wild bee's honey-cell, Have lessons of My love and power Too hard for thee to spell. Thou knowest not how I uphold The little thou dost scan ; And how much less canst thou unfold My universal plan, Where all thy mind can grasp of space Is but a grain of sand ; The time thy boldest thought can trace, One ripple on the strand ! Not yet thou knowest what I do, In this wild warring world, Whose prince doth still triumphant view Confusion's flag unfurled ; Nor how each proud and daring thought Is subject to My will, Each strong and secret purpose brought My counsel to fulfil. Not yet thou knowest how I bid Each passing hour entwine Its grief or joy, its hope or fear, In one great love-design ; Not how I lead thee through the night, By many a various way, Still upward to unclouded light, And onward to the day. Not yet thou knowest what I do Within thine own weak breast, To mould thee to My image true, And fit thee for My rest. But yield thee to My loving skill ; The veiled work of grace, From day to day progressing still, It is not thine to trace. Yes, walk by faith and not by sight, Fast clinging to My hand ; Content to feel My love and might, Not yet to understand. A little while thy course pursue, Till grace to glory grow ; Then what I am, and what I do, Hereafter thou shalt know. THANKSGIVING. THANKS be to God ! to whom earth owes Sunshine and breeze, The heath-clad hill, the vale's repose, Streamlet and seas, The snowdrop and the summer rose, The many- voiced trees. Thanks for the darkness that reveals Night's starry dower ; And for the sable cloud that heals Each fevered flower ; And for the rushing storm that peals Our weakness and Thy power. LIFE- CRYSTALS. Thanks for the sweetly-lingering might In music's tone ; For paths of knowledge, whose calm light Is all Thine own ; For thoughts that at the Infinite Fold their bright wings alone. Yet thanks that silence oft may flow In dewlike store ; Thanks for the mysteries that show How small our lore ; Thanks that we here so little know, And trust Thee all the more ! Thanks for the gladness that entwines Our path below ; Each sunrise that incarnadines The cold, still, snow ; Thanks for the light of love which shines With brightest earthly glow. Thanks for the sickness and the grief Which none may flee ; For loved ones standing now around The crystal sea ; And for the weariness of heart Which only rests in Thee. Thanks for Thine own thrice-blessed Word, And Sabbath rest ; Thanks for the hope of glory stored In mansions blest ; Thanks for the Spirit's comfort poured Into the trembling breast. Thanks, more than thanks, to Him as- cend, Who died to win Our life, and every trophy rend From Death and Sin ; Till, when the thanks of Earth shall end, The thanks of Heaven begin. NOTE. It may be well to say, tbat_ these ver- ses were in print before the writer either saw or heard of the beautiful little poem by Adelaide Proctor on the same theme. LIFE-CRYSTALS. THE world is full of crystals. Swift, or slow, Or dark, or bright their varying forma- tion ; From pure calm heights of fair untrodden snow To fire-wrought depths of earliest creation. And life is full of crystals ; forming still In myriad-shaped results from good and seeming ill. Yes ! forming everywhere ; in busiest street, In noisiest throng. Oh how it would as- tound us, The strange soul-chemistry of some we meet In slight and passing talk ! For all around us, Deep inner silence broods o'er gems to be. Now, in three visioned hearts trace out the work with me ! A heart that wonderingly received the flow Of marvels and of mysteries of being, Of sympathies and tensions, joy and woe ; Each earnestly from baser substance free- ing : A great life-mixture, full, and deep, and strong : A sudden touch, and lo ! it crystallized in song. THE MINISTRY OF SONG. Then forth it flashed among the souls of men Its own prismatic radiance, brightly sealing A several rainbow for each several ken ; The secrets of the distant-stars revealing ; Reflecting many a heart's clear rays un- known, And, freely shedding light, it analyzed their own. A heart from which all joy had ebbed away, And grief poured in a flood of burning anguish, Then sealed the molten glow ; till day by day, The fires without, within, began to lan- guish : Then ' afterward ' came coolness, all was well, And from the broken crust a shining crystal fell. A mourner found, and fastened on her breast The soft-hued gem, the prized by mourn- ers only ; With sense of treasure gained she sought her rest, No longer wandering in the twilight lone- iy; The sorrow-crystal glittering in the dark, While faith and hope shone out to greet its starry spark. A heart where emptiness seemed emptier made By colorless remains of tasteless pleas- ure ; ONE came, and pitying the hollow shade, Poured in His own strong love in fullest measure ; Then shadowed it with silent falling night, And stilled it with the solemn Presence of His might. A little while, then found the Master there Love- crystals, sparkling in the joyous morning ; He stooped to gaze, and smiled to own them fair, A treasured choice for His own rich adorn - ing; Then set them in His diadem above, To mingle evermore with His own light and love. NOT YOUR OWN. 4 Not your own ! ' but His ye are, Who hath paid a price untold For your life, exceeding far All earth's store of gems and gold. With the precious blood of Christ, Ransom treasure all unpriced, Full redemption is procured, Full salvation is assured. ' Not your own ! ' but His by right, His peculiar treasure now, Fair and precious in His sight, Purchased jewels for His brow. He will keep what thus he sought, Safely guard the dearly bought, Cherish that which He did choose, Always love and never lose. ' Not your own ! ' but His, the King, His, the Lord of earth and sky, His, to whom archangels bring Homage deep and praises high. WOUNDED. What can royal birth bestow ? Or the proudest titles show ? Can such dignity be known As the glorious name, ' His own ! } * Not your own ! ' To Him ye owe All your life and all your love : Live, that ye His praise may show, Who is yet all praise above. Every day and every hour, Every gift and every power, Consecrate to Him alone, Who hath claimed you for His own. Teach us, Master, how to give All we have and are to Thee ; Grant us, Saviour, while we live, Wholly, only, Thine to be. Henceforth be our calling high Thee to serve and glorify ; Ours no longer, but Thine own, Thine for ever, Thine alone ! WOUNDED. ONLY a look and a motion that nobody saw or heard, Past in a moment and over, with never the sound of a word ; Streams of converse around me smoothly and cheerily flow, But a terrible stab has been given, a silent and staggering blow. Guesses the hand that gave it hardly a tithe of the smart, Nothing at all of the anguish that fiercely leapt up in my heart, Scorching and scathing its peace, while a tremulous nerve to the brain Flashed up a telegram sudden, a message of quivering pain. They must be merry without me, for how can I sing to-night ? They will only think I am tired, and thoughtfully shade the lightf ; Finger and voice would fail while the wound is open and sore ; Bleeding away the strength I had gathered for days before. Only a look and a motion ! Yes, but we little know How from each dwarf-like ' only ' a giant of power may grow ; The thundering avalanche crushes, loos- ened by only a breath, And only a colorless drop may be laden with sudden death. Only a word of command, but it loses or wins the field ; Only a stroke of the pen, but a heart is broken or healed ; Only a step may sever, pole-wide, future and past ; Only a touch may rivet links which for life shall last. Only a look and a motion ! Why was the wound so deep ? Were it no echo of sorrow, hushed for a while to sleep, Were it no shadow of fear, far o'er the future thrown, Slight were the suffering now, if it bore on the present alone. Ah ! I would smile it away, but 'tis all too fresh and too keen ; Perhaps I may some day recall it as if it had never been : 26 THE MINISTRY OF SONG. Now I can only be still, and endure where I cannot cope, Praying for meekness and patience, pray- ing for faith and hope. Is it an answer already that words to my mind are brought, Floating like shining lilies on waters of gloomiest thought ? Simple and short is the sentence, but oh ! what it comprehends ! 'Those with which I was wounded, in the house of My friends.' Floating still on my heart, while I listen again and again, Stilling the anxious throbbing, soothing the icy pain, Proving its sacred mission healing and balm to bring. ' Coming ?' Yes, if you want me ! Yes, I am ready to sing. WHOSE I AM. JESUS, Master, whose I am, Purchased Thine alone to be, By Thy blood, O spotless Lamb, Shed so willingly for me ; Let my heart be all Thine own, Let me live to Thee alone. Other lords have long held sway ; Now, Thy name alone to bear, Thy dear voice alone obey, Is my daily, hourly prayer. Whom have I in heaven but Thee ? Nothing else my joy can be. Jesus, Master ! I am Thine ; Keep me faithful, keep me near ; Let Thy presence in me shine All my homeward way to cheer. Jesus ! at Thy feet I fall, Oh, be Thou my All-in-all. WHOM I SER VE. JESUS, Master, whom I serve, Though so feebly and so ill, Strengthen hand and heart and nerve All Thy bidding to fulfil ; Open Thou mine eyes to see All the work Thou hast for me. Lord, Thou needest not, I know, Service such as I can bring ; Yet I long to prove and show Full allegiance to my King. Thou an honor 1 art to me, Let me be a praise to Thee. Jesus, Master ! wilt Thou use One who owes Thee more than all ? As thou wilt ! I would not choose, Only let me hear Thy call. Jesus ! let me always be In Thy service glad and free. PEACE. Is this the Peace of God, this strange, sweet calm ? The weary day is at its zenith still, Yet 'tis as if beside some cool, clear rill, Through shadowy stillness rose an even- ing psalm, And all the noise of life were hushed away, And tranquil gladness reigned with gently soothing sway. It was not so just now. I turned aside With aching head, and heart most sorely bowed ; See marginal reading of I Pet. ii. 7. GOD'S MESSAGE. Around me cares and griefs in crushing crowd, While inly rose the sense, in swelling tide, Of weakness, insufficiency, and sin, And fear, and gloom, and doubt, in mighty flood rolled in. That rushing flood I had no strength to meet, Nor power to flee : my present, future, past, My self, my sorrow, and my sin I cast In utter helplessness at Jesu's feet ; Then bent me to the storm, if such His will. He saw the winds and waves, and whis- pered, ' Peace, be still !' And there was calm ! O Saviour, I have proved That Thou to help and save art really near : How else this quiet rest from grief and fear, And all distress ? The cross is not re- moved, I must go forth to bear it as before, But, leaning on Thine arm, I dread its weight no more. Is it indeed Thy Peace ? I have not tried To analyze my faith, dissect my trust, Or measure if belief be full and just, And therefore claim Thy Peace. But Thou hast died. I know that this is true, and true for me, And, knowing it, I come, and cast my all on Thee. It is not that I feel less weak, but Thou Wilt be my strength ; it is not that I see Less sin, but more of pardoning love with Thee, And all-sufficient grace. _ Enough ! And now All fluttering thought is stilled, I only rest, And feel that Thou art near, and know that I am blest. GOD'S MESSAGE. TO HIM THAT IS FAR OFF. PEACE, peace ! To him that is far away. Turn, O wanderer ! why wilt thou die, When the peace is made that shalt bring thee nigh ? Listen, O rebel ! the heralds proclaim The King's own peace through a Saviour's name ; Then yield thee to-day. Peace, peace ! The word of the Lord to thee. Peace, for thy passion and restless pride, For thy endless cravings all unsupplied, Peace for thy weary and sin- worn breast ; He knows the need who has promised rest, And the gift is free. Peace, peace ! Through Him who for all hath died ! Wider the terms than thy deepest guilt, Or in vain were the blood of our Surety spilt : Even because thou art far away To thee is the message of peace to-day, Peace through the Crucified. 28 THE MINISTRY OF SONG. AND TO HIM THAT IS NEAR. PEACE, peace ! Yea, peace to him that is near. The crown is set on the Victor's brow, For thy warfare is accomplished now ; And for thee eternal peace is made By the Lord on whom thy sins were laid : Then why shouldst thou fear ? Peace, peace ! Wrought by the Spirit of Might. In thy deepest sorrow and sorest strife, In the changes and chances of mortal life, It is thine, beloved ! Christ's own be- quest, Which vainly the Tempter shall strive to wrest ; It is now thy right. Peace, peace ! Look for its bright increase ; Deepening, widening, year by year, Like a sunlit river, strong, calm, and clear ; Lean on His love through this earthly vale, For His word and His work shall never fail, And ' He is our Peace, ' A GREAT MYSTERY: THERE is a hush in earth and sky, The ear is free to list aright In darkness, veiling from the eye The many-colored spells of light. Not heralded by fire and storm, In shadowy outline dimly seen, Comes through the gloom a glorious Form, The once despised Nazarene. Through waiting silence, voiceless shade, A still small Voice so clearly floats, A listening lifetime were o'erpaid By one sweet echo of such notes. ' Fear not, beloved ! thou art Mine, For I have given My life for thee ; By name I call thee, rise and shine, Be praise and glory unto Me. ( In Me all spotless and complete, And in My comeliness most fair Art thou ; to Me thy voice is sweet, Prevailing in thy feeblest prayer. 'Thy life is hid in God with Me, I stoop to dwell within thy breast ; My joy forever thou shalt be, And in My love for thee I rest ' O Prince's daughter, whom I see In bridal garments, pure as light, Betrothed forever unto Me, On thee My own new name I write. Lo ! 'neath the stars' uncertain ray In flowing mantle glistening fair, One, lowly bending turns away From that sweet voice in cold despair. Is it Humility, who sees Herself unworthy of such grace, Who dares not hope her Lord to please, Who dares not look upon His face ? Nay, where that mantle fleeting gleams 'Tis Unbelief who turns aside, Who rather rests in self- spun dreams, Than trust the love of Him who died. Faith casts away the fair disguise, She will not doubt her Master's voice, And droop when He hath bid her rise, Or mourn when He hath said, ' Rejoice!' THE GREAT TEACHER. Her stained and soiled robe she leaves, And Christ's own shining raiment takes; What His love gives, her love receives, And meek and trustful answer makes : ' Behold the handmaid of the Lord ! Thou callest, and I come to Thee : According to Thy faithful word, Master, be it unto me I ' Thy love I cannot comprehend, 1 only know Thy word is true, And that Thou lovest to the end Each whom to Thee the Father drew. ' Oh ! take the heart I could not give Without Thy strength-bestowing call; In Thee, and for Thee, let me live, For I am nothing, Thou art all. ' BE NOT WEARY. YES ! He knows the way is dreary, Knows the weakness of our frame, Knows that hand and heart are weary ; He, ' in all points, ' felt the same. He is near to help and bless ; Be not weary, onward press. Look to Him who once was willing All His glory to resign, That, for thee the law fulfilling, All His merit might be thine. Strive to follow day by day Where His footsteps mark the way. Look to Him, the Lord of Glory, Tasting death to win thy life ; Gazing on ' that wondrous story/ Canst thou falter in the strife ? Is it not new life to know That the Lord hath loved thee so ? Look to Him who ever liveth, Interceding for His own : Seek, yea, claim the grace He giveth Freely from His priestly throher Will He not thy strength renew With His Spirit's quickening dew ? Look to Him and faith shall brighten, Hope shall soar, and love shall burn ; Peace once more thy heart shall lighten Rise ! He calleth thee, return ! Be not weary on thy way, Jesus is thy strength and stay. THE GREAT TEACHER. I LOVE to feel that I am taught, And, as a little child, To note the lessons I have learnt In passing through the wild. For I am sure God teaches me, And His own gracious hand Each varying page before me spreads, By love and wisdom planned. I often think I cannot spell The lesson I must learn, And then, in weariness and doubt, I pray the page may turn ; But time goes on, and soon I find I was learning all the while ; And words which seemed mostly dimly- traced Shine out with rainbow smile. Or sometimes strangely I forget, And, learning o'er and o'er, A lesson all with tear-drops wet, Which I had learnt before. THE MINISTRY OF SONG. He chides me not, but waits awhile, Then wipes my heavy eyes : Oh, what a Teacher is our God, So patient and so wise ! Dark silent hours of study fall, And I can scarcely see ; Then one beside me whispers low What is so hard to me. 'Tis easier then ! I am so glad I am not taught alone ; It is such help to overhear A lesson like my own. Sometimes the Master gives to me A strange new alphabet ; I wonder what its use will be, Or why it need be set. And then I find this tongue alone Some stranger ear can reach, One whom He may commission me For Him to train or teach. If others sadly bring to me A lesson hard and new, I often find that helping them Has made me learn it too. Or, had I learnt it long before, My toil is overpaid, If so one tearful eye may see One lesson plainer made. We do not see our Teacher's face, We do not hear His voice ; And yet we know that He is near, We feel it, and rejoice. There is a music round our hearts, Set in no mortal key ; There is a Presence with our souls, We know that it is He. His loving teaching cannot fail ; And we shall know at last Each task that seemed so hard and strange, When learning time is past. Oh ! may we learn to love Him more, By every opening page, By every lesson He shall mark With daily ripening age. And then, to 'know as we are known' Shall be our glorious prize, To see the Teacher who hath been So patient and so wise. O joy untold ! Yet not alone Shall ours the gladness be ; The travail of His soul in us Our Saviour-God shall see. AUNTIE'S LESSONS. THEY said their texts, and their hymns they sang, On that sunny Sabbath-day ; And yet there was time ere the church-bell rang, So I bid them trot away, And leave me to rest and read alone, Where the ash-tree's shade o'er the lawn was thrown. But oh ! ' twas a cry and a pleading sore, ' O Auntie ! we will not tease, But tell us one Sunday story more ; We will sit so still on the grassy floor ; Tell us the one you told before Of the little black Mumu, please, Whom, deaf and dumb, and sick and lone, The good ship brought to Sierra Leone.' ONE QUESTION, MANY ANSWERS. Willie begged load, and Francie low, And Alice, who could resist her ? Certainly not myself, and so The story was just beginning, when lo ! To the rescue came my sister. '/ will tell you a story to-day : Aunt Fanny has all her own lessons to say !' Wonderful notion, and not at all clear I Alfred looked quite astounded. Who in the world my lessons could hear ? They guessed at every one far and near, 'Twas a mystery unbounded. They settled at last that it must be Grandpapa Havergal over the sea. Then merry eyes grew grave and wise, On tiptoe Alice trod ; She had a better thought than they, And whispered low, ' Does Auntie say Her lessons all to God ?' How little the import deep she knew Of those baby-words, so sweet and true ! Little she knew what they enfold ! A treasure of happy thought ; A tiny casket of virgin gold, With jewels of comfort fraught. Great men's wisdom may pass away, Dear Alice's words in my heart will stay. REST. 'Thou hast made us for Thyself, and the heart never resteth till it findeth rest in Thee.' St. Augustine. MADE for Thyself, O God ! Made for Thy love, Thy service, Thy de- light ; Made to show forth Thy wisdom, grace, and might ; Made for Thy praise, whom veiled arch- angels laud ; Oh strange and glorious thought, that we may be A joy to Thee ! Yet the heart turns away From this grand destiny of bliss, and deems 'Twas made for its poor self, for passing dreams, Chasing illusions melting day by day ; Till for ourselves we read on this world's best, ' This is not rest !' Nor can the vain toil cease, Till in the shadowy maze of life we meet One who can guide our aching, wayward feet To find Himself, .our Way, our Life, our Peace. In Him the long unrest is soothed and stilled ; Our hearts are filled. O rest, so true, so sweet ! (Would it were shared by all the weary world !) 'Neath shadowing banner of His love un- furled, We bend to kiss the Master's pierced feet ; Then lean our love upon His loving breast, And know God's rest ONE QUESTION, MANY AN- SWERS. ' WHAT wouldst thou be ?' The question hath wakened wild thoughts in me, And a thousand responses, like ghosts from their graves, THE MINISTRY OF SONG. Arise from my soul's unexplored deep caves, The echoes of every varying mood Of a wayward spirit all unsubdued ; The voices which thrill through my in- most breast May tell me of gladness, but not of rest. What wouldst thou be ? 'Tis well that the answer is not for me. ' What wouldst thou be ?' An eagle soaring rejoicingly. One who may rise on the lightning's wing, Till our wide, wide world seem a tiny thing ; Who may stand on the confines of bound- less space, And the giant form of the universe trace, While its full grand harmonies swell around, And grasp it all with mind profound. Such would I be, Only stayed by infinity. ' What wouldst thou be ?' A bright incarnation of melody. One whose soul is a fairy lute, Waking such tones as bid all be mute, Breathing such notes as may silence woe, Pouring such strains as make joy o'erflow, Speaking in music the heart's deep emo- tion, Soothing and sweet as the shell of the ocean. Such would I be, Like a fountain of music, all pure and free. ' What wouldst thou be ?' A living blossom of poesy. A soul of mingled power and light, Evoking images rare and bright, Fair and pure as an angel's dream ; Touching all with a heavenly gleam ; And royally claiming from poet-throne, Earth's treasure of beauty as all mine own. Such would I be My childhood's dream in reality ! ' What wouldst thou be ?' A wondrous magnet to all I see. A spirit whose power may touch and bind With unconscious influence every mind; Whose presence brings, like some fabled wand, The love which a monarch may not com- mand. As the spring awakens from cold repose The bloomless brier, the sweet wild rose. Such would I be, With the love of all to encircle me. ' What wouldst thou be ?' A wavelet just rising from life's wide sea. I would I were once again a child, Like a laughing floweret on mountains wild ; In the fairy realms of fancy dwelling, The golden moments for sunbeams selling; Ever counting on bright to-morrows, And knowing nought of unspoken sorrows. Such would I be, A sparkling cascade of untiring glee. ' What wouldst thou be ?' A blessing to each one surrounding me ; A chalice of dew to the weary heart, A sunbeam of joy bidding sorrow depart, To the storm-tossed vessel a beacon light, A nightingale song in the darkest night, A beckoning hand to a far-off goal, An angel of love to each friendless soul : Such would I be. Oh that such happiness were for me ! CONTENT. 33 ' What wouldst thou be?' With these alone were no rest for me. I would be my Saviour's loving child, With a heart set free from its passions wild, Rejoicing in Him and His own sweet ways ; An echo of heaven's unceasing praise, A mirror here of His light and love, And a polished gem in His crown above. Such would I be, Thine, O Saviour, and one with Thee ! CONTENT. 1 "WHAT wouldst thou be ?" A wavelet just rising from life's wide sea. I would I were once again a child, Like a laughing floweret on mountains wild ; In the fairy realms of fancy dwelling, The golden moments for sunbeams sell- ing; Ever counting on bright to-morrows, And knowing nought of unspoken sorrows. Such would I be, A sparkling cascade of untiring glee.' 1860, Not so, not so I For longings change as the full years flow. When I had but taken a step or two From the fairy regions still in view ; While their playful breezes fanned me still At every pause on the steeper hill, And the blossoms showered from every shoot, Showered and fell, and yet no fruit, It was grief and pain That I never could be a child again. 3 Not so, not so ! Back to my life- dawn I would not go. A little is lost, but more is won^ As the sterner work of the day is done. We forget that the troubles of childish days Were once gigantic in morning haze. There is less of fancy, but more of truth, For we lose the mists with the dew of youth ; And a rose is born On many a spray which seemed only thorn. Not so, not so ! While the years of childhood glided slow, There was all to receive and nothing to give : Is it not better for others to live ? And happier far than merriest games Is the joy of our new and nobler aims : Then fair fresh flowers, now lasting gems ; Then wreaths for a day, but now diadems, For ever to shine, Bright in the radiance of Love Divine. Not so, not so ! I would not again be a child, I know ! But were it not pleasant again to stand On the border-line of that fairy land, Feeling so buoyant and blithe and strong, Fearing no slip as we bound along, Halting at will in the sunshine to bask, Deeming the journey an easy task, While Courage and Hope Smooth with 'Come, see, and conquer' each emerald slope ? Not so, not so ! Less leaping flame, but a deeper glow ! There is more of sorrow, but more of joy, Less glittering ore, but less alloy ; There is more of pain, but more of balm, And less of pleasure, but more of calm ; 34 THE MINISTRY OF SONG. Many a hope all spent and dead, But higher and brighter hopes instead ; Less risked, more won ; Less planned and dreamed, but perhaps more done. Not so, not so ! Not in stature and learning alone we grow. Though we no more look from year to year For power of mind more strong and clear, Though the table-land of life we tread, No widening view before we spread, No sunlit summits to lure ambition, But only the path of a daily mission, We would not turn Where the will-o'-the-wisps of our young dreams burn. Then be it so ! For in better things we yet may grow. Onward and upward still our way, With the joy of progress from day to day ; Nearer and nearer every year To the visions and hopes most true and dear ; Children still of a Father's love, Children still of a home above ! Thus we look back, Without a sigh, o'er the lengthening track. MISUNDERSTOOD. 1 PEOPLE do not understand me, Their ideas are not like mine ; All advances seem to land me Still outside their guarded shrine. ' So you turn from simple joyance, Losing many a mutual good, Weary with the chill annoyance So to be misunderstood. Let me try to lift the curtain Hiding other hearts from view; You complain, but are you certain That the fault is not with you ? In the sunny summer hours, Sitting in your quiet room, Can you wonder if the flowers Breathe for you no sweet perfume ? True, you see them bright and pearly With the jewelry of morn ; But their fragrance fresh and early, Is not through your window borne. You must go to them, and stooping, Cull the blossoms where they live ; On your bosom gently drooping, All their treasure they will give. Who would guess what fragrance lingers In verbena's pale green show ! Press the leaflet in your fingers, All its sweetness you will know. Few the harps ^Eolian, sending Unsought music on the wind : Else must love and skill be blending Music's full response to find. ' But my key-note, ' are you thinking, ' Will not modulate to theirs ?' Seek ! and subtle chords enlinking, Soon shall blend the differing airs. Fairly sought, some point of contact There must be with every mind ; And, perchance, the closest compact Where we least expect to find. Perhaps the heart you meet so coldly Burns with deepest lava-glow ; Wisely pierce the crust, and boldly, And a fervid stream shall flow. OH ! TO RAISE A MIGHTY SHOUT, AtfD BID THE SLEEPERS ALL COME OUT ! NO DREAMER'S FANCY FAIR AND HIGH, COULD IMAGE FORTH A GRANDER SKY. Page 35. THE STAR SHOWER. 35 Dialects of love are many, Though the language be but one ; Study all you can, or any, While life's precious school-hours run. Closed the heart-door of thy brother, All its treasure long concealed ? One key fails, then try another, Soon the rusty lock shall yield. Few have not some hidden trial, And could sympathize with thine ; Do not take it as denial That you see no outward sign. Silence is no certain token, That no secret grief is there ; Sorrow which is never spoken Is the heaviest load to bear. Seldom can the heart be lonely, If it seek a lonelier still, Self-forgetting, seeking only Emptier cups of love to fill. Twill not be a fruitless labor, Overcome this ill with good ; Try to understand your neighbor, And you will be understood. SUNBEAMS IN THE WOOD. MARK ye not the sunbeams glancing Through the cool green shade, On the waving fern-leaves dancing, In the quiet glade ? See you how they change and quiver Where the broad oaks rise, Rippling like a golden river From their fountain skies ? On the gray old timber resting Like a sleeping dove, Like a fairy grandchild nestling In an old man's love. On the dusty pathway tracing Arabesques with golden style ; Light and shadow interlacing, Like a tearful smile. Many a hidden leaf revealing, Many an unseen flower ; Like a maiden lightly stealing Past each secret bower. Oh ! how beautiful they make it Everywhere they fall ; Sunbeams ! why will ye forsake it At pale Evening's call ? In the arching thickets linger, In the woodland aisle, uilding them with trembling finger, Yet a little while. Then, your last calm radiance pouring, Bid the earth good-night ; Like a sainted spirit soaring To a home of light. THE STAR SHOWER. NOVEMBER 14, l866. OH ! to raise a mighty shout, And bid the sleepers all come out I So dreamer's fancy fair and high, tould image forth a grander sky. And oh, for eyes of swifter power !V> follow fast the starry shower ! Oh for a sweep of vision clear "o grasp at once a hemisphere I THE MINISTRY OF SONG. The solemn old chorale of Night, With fullest chords of awful might, Re-echoes still in stately march Throughout the glowing heavenly arch But harmonies all new and rare Are intermingling everywhere, Fantastic, fitful, fresh, and free ; A sparkling wealth of melody, A carol of sublimest glee, Is bursting from the starry chorus, In dazzling exultation o'er us. O wondrous sight ! so swift, so bright, Like sudden thrills of strange delight ; As if the stars were all at play, And kept ecstatic holiday : As if it were a jubilee Of glad millenniums fully told, Or universal sympathy With some new dawning age of gold. Flashing from the lordly Lion, Flaming under bright Procyon, From the farthest east up-ranging, Past the blessed orb 1 unchanging ; Ursa's brilliance far out-gleaming, From the very zenith streaming ; Rushing/ as in joy delirious, To the pure white ray of Sirius ; Past Orion's belted splendor, Past Capella, clear and tender ; Lightening dusky Polar regions, Brightening pale encircling legions ; Lines of fiery glitter tracing, Parting, meeting, interlacing ; Paling every constellation With their radiant revelation ! All we heard of meteor glory Is a true and sober story ; i That admirable Polar Star, which is a bless- ing to astronomers.' Professor Airy's Popular Lectures on Astronomy. Who will not for life remember This night grandeur of November ? Tis over now, the once seen, dream-like sight ! With gradual hand the clear and breezy dawn Hath o'er the marvels of the meteor night A. veil of light impenetrable drawn. A.nd earth is sweeping on through starless space, Nor may we once look back, the shining field to trace. Ere next the glittering stranger-throng we meet, How many a star of life will seek the west ! Our century's dying pulse will faintly beat ; The toilers of to-day will be at rest ; And little ones, who now but laugh and play, Will weary in the heat and burden of the day. Oh, is there nothing beautiful and glad But bears a message of decay and change ? So be it ! Though we call it stern and sad, Viewed by the torch of Love, it is not strange. 'Tis mercy that in Nature's every strain Deep warning tones peal out in solemn sweet refrain. And have not all created things a voice For those who listen farther, whispers low To bid the children of the light rejoice In burning hopes they yet but dimly know? What will it be, all earthly darkness o'er, To shine as stars of God for ever ever- more ! COMING SUMMER. 37 TREASURE TROVE. I PLAYED with the whispering rushes, By a river of reverie, Flowing so quietly onward Into an unknown sea. And I watched the dreamy current, Till to my feet it brought, Glistening among the pebbles, The pearl of a fair new thought. New ! yet many another, Leaning over the stream, May have welcomed its sudden shining And gazed on its gentle gleam. Long it must have been lying, Yet it is new to me. Oh the treasures around us, If we could only see ! I have broken the smooth dark water Into ripples and circles bright, Lifting my pearl from the pebbles, Bearing away its light. I am so glad to have found it ! I shall treasure it safely a while, It will brighten the niche that is darkest In my spirit's loneliest aisle. And then, it may be a dear one Will wear it, a long, long time, Fastened firm on her bosom, In a setting of silver rhyme. COMING SUMMER. WHAT will the summer bring ? Sunshine and flowers, Brightness and melody, Golden-voiced hours ; Rose-gleaming mornings Vocal with praise ; Crimson-flushed evenings, Nightingale lays. What may the summer bring? Gladness and mirth, Laughter and song, For the children of earth ; Smiles for the old man, Joy for the strong, Glee for the little ones All the day long. What will the summer bring ? Coolness and shade, Eloquent stillness In thicket and glade ; Whispering breezes, Fragrance oppressed ; Lingering twilight Soothing to rest What may the summer bring ? Freshness and calm To the care-worn and troubled, Beauty and balm. O toil-weary spirit, Rest thee anew, For the heat of the world-race Summer hath dew ! What will the summer bring? Sultry noon hours, Lurid horizons, Frowning cloud-towers ! Loud-crashing thunders, Tempest and hail, Death-bearing lightnings, It brings without fail. What may the summer bring ? Dimness and woe, THE MINISTRY OF SONG. Blackness of sorrow Its bright days may know ; Flowers may be wormwood, Verdure a pall, The shadow of death On the fairest may fall. Is it not ever so ? Where shall we find Light that may cast No shadow behind ? Calm that no tempest May darkly await ? Joy that no sorrow May swiftly abate ? Will the story of summer Be written in light, Or traced in the darkness Of storm-cloud and night ? We know not we would not know Why should we quail ? Summer, we welcome thee ! Summer, all hail ! SEPTEMBER, 1868. AN April burst of beauty, And a May like the Mays of old, And a glow of summer gladness While June her long days told ; And a hush of golden silence All through the bright July, Without one peal of thunder, Or a storm-wreath in the sky ; And a fiery reign of August, Till the moon was on the wane ; And then short clouded evenings, And a long and chilling rain. I thought the summer was over, And the whole year's glory spent, And that nothing but fog and drizzle Could be for Autumn meant ; Nothing but dead leaves, falling Wet on the dark, damp mould, Less and less of the sunshine, More and more of the cold. But oh ! the golden day-time ; And oh ! the silver nights ; And the scarlet touch on the fir trunks Of the calm, grand sunset lights ; And the morning's bright revealings, Lifting the pearly mist, Like a bridal veil, from the valley That the sun hath claimed and kissed ; And oh ! the noontide shadows Longer and longer now, On the river margin resting, Like the tress on a thoughtful brow. Rich fruitage bends the branches With amber, and rose, and gold, O'er the purple and crimson asters, And geraniums gay and bold. The day is warm and glowing, But the night is cool and sweet, And we fear no smiting arrows Of fierce and fatal heat. The leaves are only dropping, Like flakes of a sunset cloud, And the robin's song is clearer Than Spring's own minstrel-crowd. A soft new robe of greenness Decks every sunny mead, And we own that bright September Is beautiful indeed. Is thy lite-summer passing ? Think not Thy joys are o'er ! Thou hast not seen what Autumn For thee may have in store. OUR FATHER. 39 Calmer than breezy April, Cooler than August blaze, The fairest time of all may be September's golden days. Press on, though summer waneth, And falter not, nor fear, For God can make the Autumn The glory of the year. EARLY FAITH. WHOM hear we tell of all the joy which loving Faith can bring, The ever widening glories reached on her strong seraph wing ? Is it not oftenest they who long have wrestled with temptation, Or passed through fiery baptisms of mighty tribulation ? Perhaps, in life's great tapestry, the darkest scenes are where The golden threads of Faith glance forth most radiant and fair ; And gazing on the coming years, which unknown griefs may bring, We hail the lamp which o'er them all shall heavenly lustre fling. Thank God ! there is at eventide a gleam of ruby light, A star of love amid the gloom of sorrow's lingering night, An ivy-wreath upon the tomb, a haven in the blast, A staff for weary, trembling ones, when youth and health are past. But shall we seek the diamonds in the lone and dusky mine, When 'mid the sunny sands of youth they wait to flash and shine ? Neglect the fountain of Christ's joy till woe-streams darkly flow, Nor seek a Father's smile until the world's cold frown we know ? Nay 1 be our faith the rosy crown on morn's unwrinkled brow, The sparkling dewdrop on the grass, the blossom on the bough ; The gleam of pearly light within the snowy- bosomed shell ; An added power of loveliness in beauty's every spell. Oh, let it be the sunlight of the pleasant summer hours, That calls to pure and radiant birth un- numbered fragrant flowers ; That bathes in golden joyance every anthem-murmuring tree, And spreads a robe of glory o'er the silver- crested sea. Oh, let it be the key-note of the symphony of gladness, Which wots not of the broken lyre, the requiem of sadness : For they who melodies of heaven in hours of brightness know, Will modulate sweet harmony from earth's discordant woe. OUR FATHER. 4 OH that I loved the Father With depth of conscious love, As steadfast, bright and burning, As seraphim above ! But how can I be deeming Myself a loving child, When here, and there, and everywhere, My thoughts are wandering wild ? THE MINISTRY OF SONG. ' It is my chief desire To know Him more and more, To follow Him more fully Than I have done before : My eyes are dim with longing To see the Lord above ; But oh ! I fear from year to year, I do not truly love. ' For when I try to follow The mazes of my soul, I find no settled fire of love Illumining the whole ; 'Tis all uncertain twilight, No clear and vivid glow : Would I could bring to God my King The perfect love I owe T The gift is great and holy, 'Twill not be sought in vain ; But look up for a moment From present doubt and pain, And calmly tell me how you love The dearest ones below ? 1 This love, ' say you, ' is deep and true !' But tell me how you know ? How do you love your father ? ' Oh, in a thousand ways ! I think there's no one like him, So worthy of my praise. I tell him all my troubles, And ask him what to do ; I know that he will give to me His counsel kind and true. ' Then every little service Of hand, or pen, or voice, Becomes, if he has asked it. The service of my choice. And from my own desires Tis not so hard to part, If once I know I follow so His wiser will and heart. ' I know the flush of pleasure That o'er my spirit came, When far from home with strangers, They caught my father's name ; And for his sake the greeting Was mutual and sweet, For if they knew my father too, How glad we were to meet ! ' And when I heard them praising His music and his skill, His words of holy teaching, Life-preaching, holier still, How eagerly I listened To every word that fell ! 'Twas joy to hear that name so dear Both known and loved so well. 1 Once I was ill and suffering Upon a foreign shore, And longed to see my father, As I never longed before, He came : his arm around me ; I leant upon his breast : I did not long to feel more strong, So sweet that childlike rest. ' The thought of home is pleasant, Yet I should hardly care To leave my present fair abode, Unless I knew him there. All other love and pleasure Can never crown the place, A home to me it cannot be Without my father's face.' This is no fancy drawing, But every line is true, And you have traced as strong a love As ever daughter knew. DISAPPOINTMENT. But though its fond expression Is rather lived than told, You do not say from day to day, ' I fear my love is cold !' You do not think about it ; Tis never in your thought ' I wonder if I love him As deeply as I ought ? I know his approbation Outweighs all Other meed, That his employ is always joy, But do I love indeed ?' Now let your own words teach you The higher, holier claim Of Him who condescends to bear A Father's gracious name. No mystic inspiration, No throbbings forced and wild, He asks, but just the loving trupt Of a glad and grateful child. The rare and precious moments Of realizing thrill Are but love's blissful blossom, To brighten, not to fill The storehouse and the garner With ripe and pleasant fruit ; A.nd not alone by thee is shown. The true and holy root. What if your own dear father Were summoned to his rest ! One lives, by whom that bitterest grief Could well be soothed and blessed. Like balm upon your sharpest woe His still small voice would fall ; His touch would heal, you could not feel That you had lost your all. But what if He, the Lord of life, Could ever pass away ! What if His name were blotted put And you could know to-day There was no heavenly Father, No Saviour dear and true, No throne of grace, no resting-place, No living God for you ! We need not dwell in horror On what can never be, Such endless desolation, Such undreamt misery. Our reason could not bear it, And all the love of earth, In fullest bliss, compared with this, Were nothing, nothing worth 1 Then bring your poor affection, And try it by this test ; The hidden depth is fathomed, You see you love Him best! 'Tis but a feeble echo Of His great love to you, Yet in His ear each note is dear, Its harmony is true. It is an uncut jewel, All earth-encrusted now, But He will make it glorious, And set it on His brow : 'Tis but a tiny glimmer, Lit from the light above, But it shall blaze through endless days, A star of perfect love. DISAPPOINTMENT. OUR yet unfinished story Is tending all to this : To God the greatest glory, To us the greatest bliss. THE MINISTRY OF SONG. If all things work together For ends so grand and blest, What need to wonder whether Each in itself is best ! If some things were omitted Or altered as we would, The whole might be unfitted To work for perfect good. Our plans may be disjointed, But we may calmly rest ; What God has once appointed Is better than our best. We cannot see before us, But our all-seeing Friend Is always watching o'er us, And knows the very end. What though we seem to stumble ? He will not let us fall ; And learning to be humble Is not lost time at all. What though we fondly reckoned A smoother way to go Than where His hand has beckoned ? It will be better so. What only seemed a barrier, A stepping-stone shall be ; Our God is no long tarrier, A present help is He. And when amid our blindness His disappointments fall, We trust His loving-kindness Whose wisdom sends them all. They are the purple fringes That hide his glorious feet ; They are the fire-wrought hinges Where truth and mercy meet ; By them the golden portal Of Providence shall ope, And lift to praise immortal The songs of faith and hope. From broken alabaster Was deathless fragrance shed, The spikenard flowed the faster Upon the Saviour's head. No shattered box of ointment We ever need regret, For out of disappointment Flows sweetest odors yet. The discord that involveth Some startling change of key, The Master's hand resolveth In richest harmony. We hush our children's laughter, When sunset hues grow pale ; Then, in the silence after, They hear the nightingale. We mourned the lamp declining, That glimmered at our side ; The glorious starlight shining Has proved a surer guide. Then tremble not and shrink not When Disappointment nears ; Be trustful still, and think not To realize all fears. While we are meekly kneeling, We shall behold her rise, Our Father's love revealing, An angel in disguise. LIGHT AND SHADE. THE SONG CHALICE. 43 'You bear the chalice/ Is it so, my friend ? Have I indeed a chalice of sweet song, With underflow of harmony made strong, New calm of strength through throbbing veins to send ? I did not form or fill, I do but spend That which the Master poured into my soul, His dewdrops caught in a poor earthen bowl. That service so with praise might meekly blend. May He who taught the morning stars to sing, Aye, keep my chalice cool, and pure, and sweet, And grant me so with loving hand to bring Refreshment to His weary ones, to meet Their thirst with water from God's music- spring; And, bearing thus, to pour it at His feet. SILENT IN LOVE. 'HE WILL REST 1 IN HIS LOVE.' LOVE culminates in bliss when it doth reach A white, unflickering, fear-consuming glow ; And, knowing it is known as it doth know, Needs no assuring word or soothing speech. 1 Marginal reading ' be silent, .' It craves but silent nearness, so to rest, No sound, no movement, love not heard but felt, Longer and longer still, till time "should melt, A snow-flake on the eternal ocean's breast. Have moments of this silence starred thy past, Made memory a glory-haunted place, Taught all the joy that mortal ken can trace ? By greater light 'tis but a shadow cast ; So shall the Lord thy God rejoice o'er thee, And in His love will rest, and silent be. LIGHT AND SHADE. LIGHT ! emblem of all good and joy ! Shade ! emblem of all ill ! And yet in this strange mingled life, We need the shadow still. A lamp with softly shaded light, To soothe and spare the tender sight, Will only throw A brighter glow Upon our books and work below. We could not bear unchanging day, However fair its light ; Ere long the wearied eye would hail, As boon untold, the evening pale, The solace of the night. And who would prize our summer glow If winter gloom we did not know ? Or rightly praise The glad spring rays Who never saw our rainy days ? How grateful in Arabian plain Of white and sparkling sand, 44 THE MINISTRY OF SONG. The shadow of a mighty rock Across the weary land ! And where the tropic glories rise, Responsive to the fiery skies, We could not dare To meet the glare, Or blindness were our bitter share. Where is the soul so meek and pure Who through his earthly days Life's fullest sunshine could endure, In clear and cloudless blaze ! The sympathetic eye would dim, And others pine unmarked by him, Were no chill shade Around him laid, And light of joy could never fade, He, who the light-commanding word Erst spake, and formed the eye, Knows what that wondrous eye can bear, And tempers with providing care, By cloud and night, all hurtful glare, By shadows ever nigh. So in all wise and loving ways He blends the shadows of our days, To win our sight From scenes of night, To seek the ' True and Only Light' We need some shadow o'er our bliss, Lest we forget the Giver : So, often in our deepest joy There comes a solemn quiver ; We could not tell from whence it came, The subtle cause we cannot name ; Its twilight fall May well recall Calm thought of Him who gave us all. There are who all undazzled tread Awhile the sunniest plain ; But they have sought the blessed shade By one great Rock of Ages made, A sure, safe rest to gain. Unshaded light of earth soon blinds To light of heaven sincerest minds ; O envy not A cloudless lot ! We ask indeed we know not what. So is it here, so is it now ! Not always will it be ! There is a land that needs no shade, A morn will rise which cannot fade, And we, like flame-robed angels made, That glory soon may see. No cloud upon its radiant joy, No shadow o'er its bright employ, No sleep, no night, But perfect sight, The Lord our Everlasting Light. NO THORN WITHOUT A ROSE. 1 THERE is no rose without a thorn !' Who has not found this true, And known that griefs of gladness bom Our footsteps still pursue? That in the grandest harmony The strangest discords rise ; The brightest bow we only trace Upon the darkest skies ! No thornless rose ! So more and more, Our pleasant hopes are laid Where waves this sable legend o'er A still sepulchral shade. But Faith and Love, with angel-might, Break up life's dismal tomb, Transmuting into golden light The words of leaden gloom. THY CLAIM TO KEST ON JESUS BREAST ALL WEARINESS SHALL BE, AND PAIN THY PORTAL TO HIS HEART OF BOUNDLESS SYMPATHY. Page 45. YESTERDAY, TO-DAY AND FOREVER. 45 Reversing all this funeral pall, White raiment they disclose ; Their happy song floats full and long, ' No thorn without a rose ! * No shadow, but its sister light Not far away must burn ! No weary night, but morning bright Shall follow in its turn. ' No chilly snow, but safe below A million buds are sleeping ; No wintry days, but fair spring rays Are swiftly onward sweeping. ' With fiercest glare of summer air Comes fullest leafy shade ; And ruddy fruit bends every shoot, Because the blossoms fade. ' No note of sorrow but shall melt In sweetest chord unguessed ; No labor all too pressing felt, But ends in quiet rest. ' No sigh but from the harps above Soft echoing tones shall win ; No heart-wound but the Lord of Love Shall pour His comfort in. ' No withered hope, while loving best Thy Father's chosen way ; No anxious care, for He will bear Thy burdens every day. ' Thy claim to rest on Jesu's breast All weariness shall be, And pain thy portal to His heart Of boundless sympathy. ' No conflict, but the King's own hand Shall end the glorious strife ; No death, but leads thee to the land Of everlasting life. ' Sweet seraph voices, Faith and Love ! Sing on within our hearts This strain of music from above. Till we have learnt our parts : Until we see your alchemy On all that years disclose, And, taught by you, still find it true, * No thorn without a rose !' YESTERDAY, TO-DAY AND FOR- EVER. A GREEK ACROSTIC, THRICE TRIPLED. Aei. 1 A H ! the weary cares and fears, E arnest yearnings through the years J I s it not a vale of tears ? Ah! the love we gladly greet E ver now is incomplete ; I f the melody be sweet, A nd the harmony be true, E arlier loss is more in view, I 11 forebodings shadow through. A fter wintry frost and rime, E ven now, the heavenly chime I s a pledge of summer time. A nchorage within the veil, E ver steadfast, cannot fail, I f the wildest storms assail. A ngel songs of love are clearer, E arth is brighter, death is dearer, I f the heavenly home be nearer. A 11 in perfect union brought, E very link which God has wrought I n the chains of loving thought : 1 For ever. THE MINISTRY OF SONG. A 11 our dear ones, far asunder, E ach shall join the anthem -thunder I n our future joy and wonder. A 11 shall come where naught shall sever, E ndless meeting, parting never, I n God's house to dwell forever. CHRIST'S RECALL. RETURN ! O wanderer from My side ! Soon droops each blossom of the darken- ing wild, Soon melts each meteor which thy steps beguiled, Soon is the cistern dry which thou hast hewn, And thou wilt weep in bitterness full soon. Return ! ere gathering night shall shroud the way Thy footsteps yet may tread, in this accepted day. Return ! O erring, yet beloved ! I wait to bind thy bleeding feet, for keen And rankling are the thorns where thou hast been ; I wait to give thee pardon, love, and rest ; Is not My joy to see thee safe and blest ? Return ! I wait to hear once more thy voice, To welcome thee anew, and bid thy heart rejoice. Return ! O fallen, yet not lost ! Canst thou forget the life for thee laid down, The taunts, the scourging, and the thorny crown ? When o'er thee first My spotless robe I spread, And poured the oil of joy upon thy head, How did thy wakening heart within thee burn ! Canst thou remember all, and wilt thou not return ? Return ! O chosen of My love ! Fear not to meet thy beckoning Saviour's view ; Long ere I called thee by thy name, I knew That very treacherously thy wouldst deal ; Now I have seen thy ways, yet I will heal. Return ! Wilt thou yet linger far from Me? My wrath is turned away, I have redeem- ed thee. FAITH'S QUESTION. To whom, O Saviour, shall we go For life, and joy, and light ? No help, no comfort from below, No lasting gladness we may know, No hope may bless our sight. Our souls are weary and athirst, But earth is iron-bound and cursed, And nothing she may yield can stay The restless yearnings day by day ; Yet, without Thee, Redeemer blest, We would not, if we could, find rest. To whom, O Saviour, shall we go ? We gaze around in vain. Though pleasure's fairy lute be strung, And mirth's enchaining lay be sung, We dare not trust the strain. I DID THIS FOR THEE! WHAT HAST THOU DONE FOR ME?' 47 The touch of sorrow or of sin Hath saddened all, without, within ; What here we fondly love and prize, However beauteous be its guise, Has passed, is passing, or may pass, Like frost-fringe on the autumn grass. To whom, O Saviour, shall we go ? Our spirits dimly wait In the dungeon of our mortal frame ; And only one of direful name Can force its sin-barred gate. Our loved ones can but greet us through The prison gate from which we view All outward things. They enter not : Thou, Thou alone, canst cheer our lot O Christ, we long for Thee to dwell Within our solitary cell ! To whom, O Saviour, shall we go ? Unless Thy voice we hear, All tuneless falls the sweetest song, And lonely seems the busiest throng Unless we feel Thee near. We dare not think what earth would be, Thou Heaven-Creator, but for Thee ; A howling chaos, wild and dark One flood of horror, while no ark, Upborne above the gloom-piled wave, From one great death-abyss might save. To whom, O Saviour, shall we go ? The Tempter's power is great ; E'en in our hearts is evil bound, And, lurking stealthily around, Still, for our souls doth wait Thou tempted One, whose suffering heart In all our sorrows bore a part, Whose life-blood only could atone, Too weak are we to stand alone ; And nothing but Thy shield of light Oan guard us in the dreaded fight To whom, O Saviour, shall we~gcr? The night of death draws near ; Its shadows must be passed alone, No friend can with our souls go down The untried way to cheer. Thou hast the words of endless life ; Thou givest victory in the strife ; Thou only art the changeless Friend, On whom for aye we may depend : In life, in death, alike we flee, O Saviour of the world, to THEE. I DID THIS FOR THEE! WHAT HAST THOU DONE FOR ME ? (MOTTO PLACED UNDER A PICTURE OF OUR SAVIOUR IN THE STUDY OF A GERMAN DIVINE. ) I GAVE My life for thee, Gal. ii. 20. My precious blood I shed, i Pet, i. 19. That thou might'st ransomed be, Eph. i. 7. And quickened from the dead. Eph. ii. i. I gave My life for thee ; Tit. ii. 14. What hast thou given for Me ? John xxi. 15-17. i Tim. i. 15. Isa. liii. 3. I spent long years for thee In weariness and woe, That an eternity John. xvii. 24. Of joy thou mightest know. John xvi. 22. I spent long years for thee ; John i. 10, ii. Hast thou spent one for Me ? i Pet. iv. . My Father's home of light, My rainbow-circled throne, John xvii. 5. Rev. iv. 3. THE MINISTRY OF SONG. I left, for earthly night, Phil.ii. 7. For wanderings sad and lone. Matt, vii 20. I left it all for thee ; Hast thou left aught for Me ? Luke x. 29 I suffered much for thee, Isa. liii. 5. More than thy tongue may tell, Matt. xxvi. Of bitterest agony, 39- Luke xxii. 44. Rom. v. 9. i Pet. ii. 21-24. What canst thou bear for Me ? Rom. viii, 17, 18. To rescue thee from hell. I suffered much for thee ; ev. xxi. 6. Acts v. 31. And I have brought to thee, John iv. 10, 14. Down from My home above, John iii. 13. Salvation full and free, My pardon and My love. Great gifts I brought to thee ; Ps. Ixviii. 18. What hast thou brought to Me? Rom, xii. i. Oh, let thy life be given, Rom. vi. 13. Thy years for Him be spent, 2 Cor. v. 15. World-fetters all be riven, Phil, iii; 8. And joy with suffering blent ; i Pet. iv. 13-16. I gave Myself for thee : Eph. v. 2. Give thou thyself to Me! Prov. xxiii. 28. ISAIAH XXXIII. 17. THINE eyes shall see ! Yes, thine, who, blind erewhile, Now trembling towards the new-found light dost flee, Leave doubting, and look up with trustful smile Thine eyes shall see 1 Thine eyes shall see ! Not in some dream Elysian, Not in thy fancy, glowing though it be, Not e'en in faith, but in unveiled vision, Thine eyes shall see ! Thine eyes shall see ! Not on thyself depend God's promises, the faithful, firm, and free ; Ere they shall fail, earth, heaven itself must end : Thine eyes shall see ! Thine eyes shall see ! Not in a swift glance cast, Gleaning one ray to brighten memory, But while a glad eternity shall last, Thine eyes shall see! Thine eyes shall see the King ! The very same Whose love shone forth upon the curse- mi tree, Who bore thy guilt, who calleth thee by name ; Thine eyes shall see ! Thine eyes shall see the King / the mighty One, The many-crowned, the Light-enrobed; and He Shall bid thee share the kingdom He hath won, Thine eyes shall see ! And in His beauty ! Stay thee, mortal song, The ' altogether lovely ' One must be Unspeakable in glory, yet ere long Thine eyes shall see 1 WAIT PATIENTLY FOR HIM. 49 Yes ! though the land be ' very far ' away, A step, a moment, ends the toil for thee; Then, changing grief for gladness, night for day, Thine eyes shall see ! GOD THE PROVIDER. 1 My God shall supply all your need, according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus.' WHO shall tell our untold need, Deeply felt, though scarcely known ! Who the hungering soul can feed, Guard, and guide, but God alone ? Blessed promise ! while we see Earthly friends must powerless be, Earthly fountains quickly dry : ' God' shall all your need supply. He hath said it 1 so we know Nothing less can we receive. Oh that thankful love may glow While we restfully believe, Ask not how, but trust Him still ; Ask not when, but wait His will : Simply on His word rely, God ' shall' all your need supply. Through the whole of life's long way, Outward, inward need we trace ; Need arising day by day, Patience, wisdom, strength, and grace. Needing Jesus most of all, Full of need, on Him we call ; Then how gracious His reply, God shall ' all' your need supply ! Great our need, but greater far Is our Father's loving power ; He upholds each mighty star, He unfolds each tiny flower. He who numbers every hair, Earnest of His faithful care, Gave His Son for us to die ; God shall all 'your' need supply. - Yet we often vainly plead For a fancied good denied, What we deemed a pressing need Still remaining unsupplied. Yet from dangers all concealed, Thus our wisest Friend doth shield ; No good thing will He deny, God shall all your ' need ' supply. Can we count redemption's treasure, Scan the glory of God's love ? Such shall be the boundless measure Of His blessings from above. All we ask or think, and more, He will give in bounteous store, He can fill and satisfy ! God shall all your need ' supply ' One the channel, deep and broad, From the Fountain of the Throne, Christ the Saviour, Son of God, Blessings flow through Him alone. He, the Faithful and the True, Brings us mercies ever new : Till we reach His home on high, 1 God shall all your need supply.' WAIT PATIENTLY FOR HIM. GOD doth not bid thee wait To disappoint at last ; A golden promise, fair and great, In precept-mould is cast. 1 The Greek word is much stronger than the English, rtXrjpw 6 si 'will supply to the full,' 'fill up,' 'satisfy.' THE MINISTRY OF SONG. Soon shall the morning gild The dark horizon-rim, Thy heart's desire shall be fulfilled, 4 Waif patiently for Him. ' The weary waiting times Are but the muffled peals Low preluding celestial chimes, That hail His chariot-wheels. Trust Him to tune thy voice To blend with seraphim ; His ' Wait ' shall issue in ' Rejoice !' ' Writ patiently for Him/ He doth not bid thee wait, Like drift-wood on the wave, For fickle chance or fixd fate To ruin or to save. Thine eyes shall surely see, No distant hope or dim, The Lord thy God arise for thee : ' Wait patiently for Him.' THIS SAME JESUS. ACTS. i. II. ' THIS same Jesus !' Oh ! how sweetly Fall those words upon the ear, Like a swell of far off music, In a nightwatch still and drear i He who healed the hopeless leper, He who dried the widow's tear ; He who changed to health and gladness Helpless suffering, trembling fear ; He who wandered, poor and homeless, By the stormy Galilee ; He who on the night-robed mountain Bent in prayer the wearied knee ; He who spake as none had spoken, Angel-wisdom far above, All-forgiving, ne'er upbraiding, Full of tenderness and love ; He who gently called the weary, ' Come and I will give you rest ! ' He who loved the little children, Took them in his arms and blest ; He the lonely Man of sorrows, 'Neath our sin-curse bending low ; By His faithless friends forsaken In the darkest hour of woe : ' This same Jesus ! ' When the vision Of that last and awful day Bursts upon the prostrate spirit, Like a midnight lightning ray ; When, else dimly apprehended, All its terrors seem revealed, Trumpet knell and fiery heavens, And the books of doom unsealed ; Then, we lift our hearts adoring ' This same Jesus/ loved and known, Him, our own most gracious Saviour, Seated on the great white Throne ; He Himself, and ' not another/ He for whom our heart-love yearned Through long years of twilight waiting, To his ransomed ones returned ! For this word, O Lord, we bless Thee, Bless our Master's changeless name ; Yesterday, to day, for ever, Jesus Christ is still the Same. HE WHO HEALED THE HOPELESS LEPER, HE WHO DRIED THE WIDOW'S TEAR ; HE WHO CHANGED TO HEALTH AND GLADNESS HELPLESS SUFFERING, TREMBLING PEAK. Page 50 DAILY STRENGTH. MARY'S BIRTHDAY. SHE is at rest, In God's own presence blest, Whom, while with us, this day we loved to greet ; Her birthdays o'er, She counts the years no more ; Time's footfall is not heard along the gold- en street. When we would raise A hymn of birthday praise, The music of our hearts is faint and low ; Fear, doubt, and sin Make dissonance within ; And pure soul-melody no child of earth may know. That strange ' new song, ' Amid a white-robed throng, Is gushing from her harp in living tone ; Her seraph voice, Tuned only to rejoice, Floats upward to the emerald-arched throne. l No passing cloud Her loveliness may shroud, The beauty of her youth may never fade ; No line of care Her sealed brow may wear, The joy-gleam of her eye no dimness e'er may shade. No stain is there Upon the robes they wear, Within the gates of pearl which she hath Like woven light, All beautiful and bright, Eternity upon those robes no shade may cast 1 Rev. iv. 3. No sin-born thought May in that home be wrought, To trouble the clear fountain of-heFheart ; No tear, no sigh, No pain, no death, be nigh Where she hath entered in, no more to 'know in part,' Her faith is sight, Her hope is full delight, The shadowy veil of time is rent in twain : Her untold bliss What thought can follow this ! To her to live was Christ, to die indeed is gain. Her eyes have seen The King, no veil between, In blood-dipped vesture gloriously arrayed: No earth-breathed haze Can dim that rapturous gaze ; She sees Him face to face on whom her guilt was laid. A little while, And they whose loving smile Had melted 'neath the touch of lonely woe, Shall reach her home, Beyond the star-built dome ; Her anthem they shall swell, her joy they too shall know. DAILY STRENGTH. ' As thy day thy strength shall be !' This should be enough for thee ; He who knows thy frame will spare Burdens more than thou canst bear. When thy days are veiled in night, Christ shall give thee heavenly light ; THE MINISTRY OF SONG. Seem they wearisome and long, Yet in Him thou shalt be strong. Cold and wintry though they prove, Thine the sunshine of His love, Or, with fervid heat oppressed, In His shadow thou shalt rest When thy days on earth are past, Christ shall call thee home at last, His redeeming love to praise, Who hath strengthened all thy days. THE RIGHT WAY. LORD, is it still the right way, though I cannot see Thy face, Though I do not feel Thy presence and Thine all-sustaining grace ? Can even this be leading through the bleak and sunless wild To the City of Thy holy rest, the mansions undefiled ? Lord, is it still the right way ? A while ago I passed Where every step seemed thornier and harder than the last ; Where bitterest disappointment and inly aching sorrow Carved day by day a weary cross, renewed with every morrow. The heaviest end of that strange cross I knew was laid on Thee ; So I could still press on, secure of Thy deep sympathy. Our upward path may well be steep, else how were patience tried ? I knew it was the right way, for it led me to Thy side. But now I wait alone amid dim shadows dank and chill ; All moves and changes round me, but I seem standing still ; Or every feeble footstep I urge towards the light Seems but to lead me farther into the silent night. I cannot hear Thy voice, Lord ! dost Thou still hear my cry ? I cling to Thine assurance that Thou art ever nigh ; I know that Thou art faithful ; I trust, but cannot see That it is still the right way by which Thou leadest me. I think I could go forward with brave and joyful heart, Though every step should pierce me with unknown fiery smart, If only I might see Thee, if I might gaze above On all the cloudless glory of the sunshine of Thy love. Is it really leading onwards ? When the shadows flee away, Shall I find this path has brought me more near to perfect day? Or am I left to wander thus that I may stretch my hand To some still wearier traveller in this same shadow-land ? Is this Thy chosen training for some future task unknown ? Is it that I may learn to rest upon Thy word alone ? THY WILL BE DONE. 53 Whate'er it be, oh ! leave me not, fulfil Thou every hour The purpose of Thy goodness, and the work of faith with power. I lay my prayer before Thee, and, trusting in Thy word, Though all is silence in my heart, I know that Thou hast heard. To that blest City lead me, Lord (still choosing all my way), Where faith melts into vision as the star- light into day. THY WILL BE DONE. ' Understanding what the will of the Lord is. ' EPH. v. 17. WITH quivering heart and trembling will The word hath passed thy lips, Within the shadow, cold and still, Of some fair joy's eclipse. ' Thy will be done !' Thy God hath heard, And He will crown that faith-framed word. Thy prayer shall be fulfilled : but how ? His thoughts are not as thine ; While thou wouldst only weep and bow, He saith, ' Arise and shine !' Thy thoughts were all of grief and night, But His of boundless joy and light Thy Father reigns supreme above : The glory of His name Is Grace and Wisdom, Truth and Love, His will must be the same. And thou hast asked all joys in one, In whispering forth, ' Thy will be done. ' His will each soul to sanctify Redeeming might hath won ; His will that thou shouldst never die, Believing on His Son ; 2 His will that thou, through earthly strife, Shouldst rise to everlasting life. 3 That one unchanging song of praise Should from our hearts arise ; 4 That we should know His wondrous ways, Though hidden from the wise ; 5 That we, so sinful and so base, Should know the glory of His grace. 8 His will to grant the yearning prayer For dear ones far away, 7 That they His grace and love may share, And tread His pleasant way ; That in the Father and the Son All perfect we may be in one. 8 His will the little flock to bring Into His royal fold, To reign for ever with their King, 9 His beauty to behold. 10 Sin's fell dominion crushed for aye, Sorrow and sighing fled away. This thou hast asked ! And shall the prayer Float upward on a sigh ? No song were sweet enough to bear Such glad desires on high I But God thy Father shall fulfil, In thee and for thee, all His will. 1 i Thess. iv. 3. 2 John vi. 40. 3 John vi. 39. 4 i Thess. v. 18. s^Matt. xi. 25, 26. 6 Eph. i. 5, 6, II, 12. ' i John v. 14-16. 8 John xvii. 23, 24. Luke xii. 32. 10 Isa. xxxiii. 17. 54 THE MINISTRY OF SONG. ' THE THINGS WHICH ARE BEHIND: LEAVE behind earth's empty pleasure, Fleeting hope and changeful love ; Leave its soon-corroding treasure : There are better things above. Leave, oh, leave thy fond aspirings, Bid thy restless heart be still ; Cease, oh, cease thy vain desirings, Only seek thy Father's will. Leave behind thy faithless sorrow, And thine every anxious care ; He who only knows the morrow Can for thee its burden bear. Leave behind the doubting spirit, And thy crushing load of sin ; By thy mighty Saviour's merit, Life eternal thou shalt win. Leave the darkness gathering o'er thee, Leave the shadow-land behind ; Realms of glory lie before thee ; Enter in, and welcome find. 1 NOW i SEE: JOHN ix. 25. ' Now I see ! ' But not the parting Of the melting earth and sky, Not a vision dread and startling, Forcing one despairing cry. But I see the solemn saying, All have sinned, and all must die ; Holy precepts disobeying, Guilty all the world must lie. Bending, silenced, to the dust, Now I see that God is just. ' Now I see ! ' But not the glory, Not the face of Him I love, Not the full and burning story Of the mysteries above. But I see what God hath spoken, How His well-beloved Son Kept the laws which man hath broken, Died for sins which man hath done ; Dying, rising, throned above ! ' Now I see ' that God is Love. EVERLASTING LOVE. * Yea, I have loved thee with an everlasting love, therefore with loving-kindness have I drawn thee.' 'No man can come to Me except the Father which hath sent Me draw him.' ' GOD'S everlasting love ! What wouldst thou more ? ' O true and tender friend, well hast thou spoken. My heart was restless, weary, sad, and sore, And longed and listened for some heaven- sent token : And, like a child that knows not why it cried, 'Mid God's full promises it moaned, 1 Unsatisfied !' Yet there it stands. O love surpassing thought, So bright, so grand, so clear, so true, so glorious ; Love infinite, love tender, love unsought, Love changeless, love rejoicing, love vic- torious ! And this great love for us in boundless store : God's everlasting love ! What would we more ? SPEAK TO ME BY NAME, O MASTER, LET ME KNOW IT IS TO ME; SPEAK, THAT I MAY FOLLOW FASTER, WITH A STEP MORE FIRM AND FREE, WHERE THE SHEPHERD LEADS THE FLOCK, IN THE SHADOW OF THE ROCK. Page 55- 'MASTER, SAY ON !' 55 Yes, one thing more ! To know it ours indeed, To add the conscious joy of full posses- sion. O tender grace that stoops to every need ! This everlasting love hath found expres- sion In loving-kindness, which hath gently drawn The heart that else astray too willingly had gone. From no less fountain such a stream could flow, No other root could yield so fair a flower : Had He not loved, He had not drawn us so ; Had He not drawn, we had nor will nor power To rise, to come ; the Saviour had passed by Where we in blindness sat without one care or cry. We thirst for God, our treasure is above ; Earth has no gift our one desire to meet, And that desire is pledge of His own love. Sweet question ; with no answer ! oh how sweet ! My heart in chiming gladness o'er and o'er Sings on ' God's everlasting love ! What wouldst thou more ?' 'MASTER, SAY ON /' MASTER, speak ! Thy servant heareth, Waiting for Thy gracious word, Longing for Thy voice which cheereth ; Master ! let it now be heard. I am listening, Lord, for Thee ; What hast Thou to say to me ? Master, speak in love and poweT: ~ Crown the mercies of the day, In this quiet evening hour Of the moonrise o'er the bay, With the music of Thy voice ; Speak ! and bid Thy child rejoice. Often through my heart is pealing Many another voice than Thine, Many an unwilled echo stealing From the walls of this Thy shrine : Let Thy longed-for accents fall ; Master, speak ! and silence all Master, speak ! I do not doubt Thee, Though so tearfully I plead ; Saviour, Shepherd ! oh, without Thee Life would be a blank indeed 1 But I long for fuller light, Deeper love, and clearer sight Resting on the 4 faithful saying/ Trusting what Thy gospel saith, On Thy written promise staying All my hope in Life and death, Yet I long for something more From Thy love's exhaustless store. Speak to me by name, O Master, Let me know it is to me ; Speak, that I may follow faster, With a step more firm and free, Where the Shepherd leads the flock, In the shadow of the Rock. Master, speak ! I kneel before Thee, Listening, longing, waiting still ; Oh, how long shall I implore Thee This petition to fulfil ! THE MINISTRY OF SONG. Hast Thou not one word for me ? Must my prayer unanswered be ? Master, speak ! Though least and lowest, Let me not unheard depart ; Master, speak ! for oh, Thou knowest All the yearning of my heart, Knowest all its truest need ; Speak ! and make me blest indeed. Master, speak ! and make me ready, When Thy voice is truly heard, With obedience glad and steady Still to follow every word. I am listening, Lord, for Thee ; Master, speak, oh, speak to me ! REMOTE RESULTS. WHERE are the countless crystals, So perfect and so bright, That robed in softest ermine The winter day and night ? Not lost ! for, life to many a root, They rise again in flower and fruit. Where are the mighty forests, And giant ferns of old, That in primeval silence Strange leaf and frond unrolled ? Not lost ! for now they shine and blaze, The light and warmth of Christmas days. Where are our early lessons, The teachings of our youth, The countless words forgotten Of knowledge and of truth ? Not lost ! for they are living still, As power to think, and do, and will. Where is the seed we scatter, With weak and trembling hand, Beside the gloomy waters, Or on the arid land ? Not lost ! for after many days Our prayer and toil shall turn to praise. Where are the days of sorrow, And lonely hours of pain, When work is interrupted, Or planned and willed in vain ? Not lost ! it is the thorniest shoot That bears the Master's pleasant fruit. Where, where are all God's lessons, His teachings dark or bright ? Not lost ! but only hidden, Till, in eternal light, We see, while at His feet we fall, The reasons and results of all. ON THE LAST LEAF. 1 FINISHED at last ! Yet for five years past My book on the dusty shelf hath lain, And I hardly thought that ever again My thoughts would follow the pleasant chime Of musical measure and ringing rhyme. I remember well when I laid it by, Closed with a sort of requiem sigh. Spring in her beauty had swept along, And left my spirit all full of song : The wakening depths of my heart were stirred, Voices within and without I heard, Whispering me That I might be A messenger of peace and pleasure ; That in my careless minstrelsy Lay something of poetic treasure, Written at the close of a manuscript volume. HOW SHOULD THEY KNOW ME? 57 Which, wrought with care, I yet some day At all my loved ones' feet might lay. Perhaps 'twas a vain and foolish dream, A fancy-lit, illusive gleam ! And yet I cannot quite believe That such bright impulse could deceive. I felt I had so much to say, Such pleasant thoughts from day to day, Sang, lark-like, with each morning ray, Or murmured low in twilight gray, Like distant curfew pealing. And then, for each, fair Fancy brought A robe of language ready wrought, The smile of every winged thought Half veiling, half revealing. And I only waited, with longing gaze, For the golden leisure of summer days, Which I thought to crown with happiest lays. God thought not so ! Ah no, He knew There was other work for me to do, There were other lessons for me to learn : Another voice fell, low and stern, Upon the too reluctant ear. Before the solemn voice of Pain My visions fled, nor came again, With all their glad and lovely train, My summer-tide to cheer. Well is it when, at high command Of wisest Love, she takes her stand At the heart's busy portal, And warns away each noisy guest Whose presence chases calm and rest, Our powers, the brightest and the best, Proclaiming weak and mortal. That so the way may be more clear For Him, the Prince of Peace, to come, That which is left all void and drear To make His palace and His home. And so the song of my heart was hushed, And the chiming thoughts were stilled : Summer flew by, but the hope was crushed, Swiftly onward my life-tide rushed, But my book remained unfilled. For an aching head and a weary frame, Poetry is but an empty name. Yet I am sure it was better so, I trusted then, and now I know. For ever, I think, the gift is fled Which once I fancied mine : So be it ! A ' name ' is not for me ; Loving and loved I would rather be, With power to cheer and sympathize, Bearing new light for tear-dimmed eyes ; But I do not care to shine. So if aught I write may tend to this, My fairest hope of earthly bliss, Content with humblest rhyme I'll be ; And, striving less and trusting more, All simple, earnest thoughts outpour, Such as my God may give to me. HOW SHOULD THEY KNOW ME ? THERE are those who deem they know me well, And smile as I tell them ' nay !' Who think they may clearly and carelessly tell Each living drop in my heart's deep well, And lightly enter its inmost cell ; But little (how little !) know they ! How should they know me ? My soul is a maze Where I wander alone, alone ; Never a footfall there was heard, THE MINISTRY OF SONG. Never a mortal hand hath stirred The silence-curtain that hangs between Outer and inner, nor eye hath seen What is only and ever my own. They have entered indeed the vestibule, For its gate is opened wide, High as the roof, and I welcome all Who will visit my warm reception-hall, And utter a long and loving call To some who are yet outside. I would lead each guest to a place of rest ; All should be calm and bright ; Then a lulling flow of melody, And a crystal draught of sympathy, And odorous blossoms of kindly thought, With golden fruit of deed, be brought From the chambers out of sight Some I would take with a cordial hand, And lead them round the walls ; Showing them many a storied screen, Many a portrait, many a scene, Deep-cut carving, and outlined scroll * Passing quickly where shadows roll, Slowly where sunshine falls. They do not know and they cannot see That strong-hinged, low-arched door, Though I am passing in and out, From gloom within to light without, Or from gloom without to light within ; None can ever an entrance win, None ! for evermore. It is a weird and wondrous realm, Where I often hold my breath At the unseen things which there I see, At the mighty shapes which beckon to me, At the visions of woe and ecstasy, At the greetings of life and death. They rise, they pass, they melt away, In an ever-changing train ; I cannot hold them or tell their stay, Or measure the time of their fleeting sway ; As grim as night, and as fair as day, They vanish and come again. I wander on through the strange domain, Marvelling ever and aye ; Marvelling how around my feet All the opposites seem to meet, The dark, the light, the chill, the glow, The storm, the calm, the fire, the snow, How can it be ? I do not know. Then how, oh how, can they ? What am I, and how ? If reply there be, In unsearchable chaos 'tis cast. Though the soaring spirit of restless man Might the boundary line of the universe scan, And measure and map its measureless plan, The gift of self-knowledge were last ! MAKING POETRY. LITTLE one, what are you doing, Sitting on the window-seat ? Laughing to yourself, and writing, Some right merry thought inditing, Balancing with swinging feet ' 'Tis some poetry I'm making, Though I never tried before ; Four whole lines ! I'll read them to you. Do you think them funny, do you ? Shall I try to make some more ? 1 1 should like to be a poet, Writing verses every day ; THE CASCADE. 59 Then to you I'd always bring them, You should make a tune and sing them ; 'T would be pleasanter than play.' Think you, darling, nought is needed But the paper and the ink, And a pen to trace so lightly, While the eye is beaming brightly, All the pretty things you think ? There's a secret, can you trust me ? Do not ask me what it is ! Perhaps some day you too will know it, If you live to be a poet, All its agony and bliss. Poetry is not a trifle, Lightly thought and lightly made ; Not a fair and scentless flower, Gaily cultured for an hour, Then as gaily left to fade. 'Tis not stringing rhymes together In a pleasant true accord ; Not the music of the metre, Not the happy fancies, sweeter Than a flower-bell, honey-stored. 'Tis the essence of existence, Rarely rising to the light; And the songs that echo longest, Deepest, fullest, truest, strongest, With your life-blood you will write. With your life-blood. None will know it, You will never tell them how. Smile ! and they will never guess it ; Laugh ! and you will not confess it By your paler cheek and brow. There must be the tightest tension Ere the tone be full and true : Shallow lakelets of emotion Are not like the spirit-ocean, Which reflects the purest blue. Every lesson you shall utter, If the charge indeed be yours, First is gained by earnest learning, Carved in letters deep and burning On a heart that long endures. Day by day that wondrous tablet Your life-poem shall receive, By the hand of Joy or Sorrow; But the pen can never borrow Half the records that they leave. You will only give a transcript Of a life-line here and there, Only just a spray- wreath springing From the hidden depths, and flinging Broken rainbows on the air. Still if you but copy truly, 'Twill be poetry indeed, Echoing many a heart's vibration, Rather love than admiration Earning as your priceless meed. Will you seek it ? Will you brave it ? 'Tis a strange and solemn thing; Learning long, before your teaching, Listening long before your preaching, Suffering before you sing. THE CASCADE. WHO saith that Poetry is not in thee, Thou wild cascade, bright, beautiful, and free? Who saith that thine own sunny gleaming waters Are not among ' sweet Poesie's ' fair daughters ? 6o THE MINISTRY OF SONG. No Poetry in thee ? then tell, oh tell, Where is the home where she delights to dwell ? But what is Poetry? Some aerial sprite, Clothed in a dazzling robe of wavy light, Whose magic touch unlocks the gates of j7 In dreamland to some vision-haunted boy ? Or is she but a breath from Eden-bowers, Charged with the fragrance of their shin- ing flowers, Which, passing o'er the harp-strings of the soul, Awakes new melody, whose echoes roll In waves of spirit-music through the heart, Till tears and smiles in mingling sweet- ness start ? It may be so, but still she seems to me Most like a God-sent sunlight, rich and free, Bathing the tiniest leaf in molten gold, Bidding each flower some secret charm unfold, Weaving a veil of loveliness for -earth, Calling all fairy forms to wondrous birth. Our sweet soul- Artist 1 Many a fair sur- prise Her color-treasures bring to waiting eyes ; Her pictures, sudden seen, oft seem to dwell Like pearls within the rugged ocean shell ; They tell of something purer and more fair Than earth can boast, and gleam forth everywhere, Star-glimpses through the trees, or flashes bright Of meteor glory in a northern night. Our sweet soul-Harpist ! linking winds with sighs, And blending both with spirit-melodies, And adding chords that come we know not whence, Dream-echoes mingling with the wakeful sense. O strange, O beautiful ! though all un- known, The music-fount of every lovely tone, The color-fount of ever)' lovely thought, By this bright ministrant so freely brought, Save that we own their true and soothing might, One of His perfect gifts, whose names are Love and Light Oh ! she is often where we least surmise, And scorns the dimness of our heavy eyes : We catch the ruby sparkles of her wing, And she is gone like the dewdrops of the spring ; Again, to glad us with her smile she stays, And shows her brightness to our loving gaze. No cave so dark but she may gain its porch, And gild the shadows with her quenchless torch ; No dell so silent but her pealing voice Can bid a leafy orchestra rejoice ; No waste so lonely but she there may hold Her gorgeous court in splendor all un- told. And where those waters murmur as they leap, A song of gentleness, and calm, and sleep, Within the sounding music of their tone I hear a voice, and know it is her own. And where the fair fond sunbeams blithely play Amid the hazy wreaths of dancing spray, CONSTANCE DE V- 6l A form of fairy grace shines forth to me ; I hail the vision, for I know 'tis she. She loves that changeful, yet unchanging foam, Within its arching bowers she finds a home, And reads beneath its roof of fleeting snow The secrets of the shadowy depth below. Then who shall say that she is not in thee, "hou wild cascade, bright, beautiful, and free ! CONSTANCE DE V AN EPISODE IN THE LIFE OF CHARLES MAU- RICE, PRINCE DE TALLEYRAND. YE maidens of Old England ! The joyous and the free, The loving and the loved of all, Wherever ye may be ; Who wander through the ferny dell, And o'er the breezy hill, And glide along the woodland path All at your own sweet will ; Who know the many joys of home, The song, the smile, the mirth, happy things which God has given To brighten this our earth : "omes there a sigh, a longing thought, In lonely musing hours ? Deem ye there is a fairer realm, A purer faith than ours ? O cast away the yearning dream, And listen, while I tell )f one who knew no other home Than her own convent cell. i. ie rain comes down relentlessly, The sky is robed in grey, )h, Paris is a dreary place On such a dreary day 1 But dreariest of the darkening streets, Where the loud rain doth fall, Is that where looms the convent tower, Where frowns the convent wall. ii. A boyish step is passing Beneath the dripping eaves, With monkish lore beladen, With musty Latin leaves. Ah, Charles Maurice, the young abbe", Thou art of princely birth ! For thee shall dawn a brighter day, A strange high part be thine to play, With wondrous tact to guide and sway The great ones of the earth ! in. But the still-increasing torrents Will spoil the ancient tomes, And woe betide Charles Maurice From the wrath of cowled gnomes ! So he seeks a low-bent archway Within the grim old wall, Where never the laughing footstep Of a sunbeam dares to fall. IV. Anon he wraps the volumes In the folds of his hooded gown ; Then starts to hear, though he knows no fear, A sound which tells him life is near That he is not alone. He turns the passage is dark as night, He listens but all is still, Save the raindrops in monotonous march, And the ceaseless drip from the moulder- ing arch, On the stone so damp and chill. 62 THE MINISTRY OF SONG. V. ' Qutvive? he cries right gaily, Through the cavernous entry's gloom ; But a low, faint cry is the sole reply, As the voice of one who is come lo lie On the brink of a yawning tomb. Oh, where is the true-hearted lad, Who at the call of sorrow But in his thoughtlessness is glad To help the weak and cheer the sad, And promise a brighter morrow ? VI. The cry was one of weakness Of weariness unblest And a pulse of gentle sympathy Makes music in his breast. Through the dark way he gropeth To the iron-studded door, Behind whose oaken grimness Some dwell in cloistral dimness Who may pass out no more. VII. There, in the glimmering darkness, He deems he can descry A small and sable-robed form On the cold doorstep lie. The form is that of maidenhood ; And, in that boyish heart, It wakes a helpful tenderness, Like that which, hidden, yet doth bless Through a loved brother's fond caress, Ere childhood's hours depart. VIII. 1 What is it ?' said Charles Maurice, In a softly pitying tone ; Then, lifting her with gentle arm, He bore her where the light Fell on a girlish face so fair, It seemed a seraph light to wear, But for the sorrow mantling there, And the glance of wild affright IX. Why should I paint her beauty ? Have ye not often tried To tell of rosy lip and cheek, Of starlit eyes that shine and speak, Of cloudlike locks that vainly seek The snowy brow to hide ? And feel ye not, when all is said That words can ever say, The fount of beauty still is sealed The loveliness is not revealed To those who list the lay. Oh, words can never satisfy They are too hard and real ; The subtle charm they cannot show By which the Beautiful we know, The Beautiful we feel. Perchance they speak the form, the mind, And draw the likeness well ; But at the closed entrance gate All reverently they bend and wait Where, 'neath the marble-arching dome, In crystal-windowed palace-home, The soul itself doth dwell. XI. And who may tell how lovely The gentle Constance seemed, 'What dost thou fear? why art thou here? j When through such clouds of sorrow And why that weary moan ?' I Her meteor beauty gleamed ! CONSTANCE DE V- What wonder that all speechless, As in a trance of gladness, The young abbe stood wonderingly, Before such radiant sadness ? XII. For the look of hopeless terror Was softened as she raised Those orbs of strange, quick brightness, And on Charles Maurice gazed. She saw the pledge of kindness Traced on that high fair brow ; ' Oh, no ! thou never wilt betray, Bat aid thou canst not ; say, oh say, Am I not lost ? There is no way Of safe return, I know/ XIII. Then the trembling hands she folded Over the burning cheek, A wild and woe-born sobbing Forbade the lips to speak ; Till quiet words of sympathy, So softly breathed and low, And the touch of that young hand on hers, Soon bade her story flow. XIV. I was a very little child, Not old enough to know, Perhaps kind looks had on me smiled, But I forget them now, When I was brought to live so coldly here, Where all goes on the same through weary month and year. xv. I did not know how lovely all The world without must be ; The sunbeams on the convent wall Were quite enough for me ; But others came who knew, and then they told Of all that I had dreamt, but never might behold. XVI. * They told me of the mountains tall, Where they might freely roam ; They told me of the waterfall, With music in its foam ; They told me of wide fields and opening flowers, Of sloping mossy banks and glowing au- tumn bowers. XVII. ' Of other things they told me, too, More beautiful to them, Of gleaming halls where sparklets flew From many a radiant gem ; And then they told of mirth, and dance, and song. Would I had never heard, that I might never long ! XVIII. ' They said the sky was just as blue Above the convent towers, As where the arching forests threw A shade o'er summer flowers ; But I grew weary of that dazzling sky, And longed to wander forth, e'en if it were to die. XIX. ' 1 did not want to change my lot, I knew it might not be ; I only longed to have one spot All bright with memory. To gaze just once upon the world I tried, And then I would return to be Heaven's lonely bride. 6 4 THE MINISTRY OF SONG. XX. 'But oh, I heard no sounds of mirth, No beauty I could see ; I could not find the lovely earth, It was not made for me. And now my punishment indeed is sore, My only home hath closed on me its iron door.' XXI. Yes ! in her fevered restlessness She left her unwatched cell, When all around were summoned By the deep-voiced matin-bell. And in the damp-stoned cloisters To rest awhile she thought, Where cold, fresh air might round her play, The burning fever pass away, And coolness of the early day To her hot brow be brought, XXII. Strange carelessness ! no massy bar Across the gate was thrown ! She deemed that world of beauty near ; She gazed around in haste and fear, Oh, none were there to see and hear The timid bird has flown ! But the rain came down relentlessly, The sky was robed in grey ; All dreary seemed the narrow street, And nothing bright or fair might meet Her of the white and trembling feet ; No loveliness is there to greet That wandering star to-day. XXIII. Then, bowed with shame and weakness. And disappointed hope, She only reached the heavy door To find it firmly closed once more ; Ah, who shall help, and who restore, And who that door shall ope ? he strong young arm of Charles Maurice Tries once and yet again, But the weighty portal baffles him : Ah ! is it all in vain ? XXIV. But Constance darts one upward glance Of blent despair and trust ; There is no bolt, for daylight gleams Between the scarcely-meeting beams : Some unknown obstacle there seems. And conquer it he must. He strains his utmost strength, the sweat Is beading on his brow : It creaks it yields ! O Constance, smile, The door is open now 1 XXV. From her cheek the flush hath faded, As fades the evening glow, In pristine whiteness leaving The rosy Alpine snow. And like a breeze of twilight The aspen-leaves among, A whisper falls upon his ear From quivering lip and tongue : XXVI. ' Farewell ! Oh, thou hast saved me 1 ' And the hand so white and cold, With lingering clasp of gratitude, Her wordless thanks hath told. One moment on that small, fair hand His youthful lips are pressed ; There is a reverence in his eye, For grief and beauty both are nigh ; She passes like a spirit by, To seek her cheerless rest. CONSTANCE DE V- XXVII. They are parted, like the dewdrops That linger in the smile Of a storm-begotten rainbow, But for a little while : Then one in lonely dimness To earth may soon descend ; And one with the bright sky above, Though all unseen, may blend. XXVIII. The young abbe hath paused in vain To hear her footstep pass ; 'Twas lighter than the noiseless fall Of rose-leaf on the grass. No sound is heard but the pattering rain, And he slowly turns away, With the brown old books beneath his gown, To meet his abbot's gathering frown, For loitering on the way. XXIX. Think you he conned the loveless lore Without a thoughtful sigh For the loveliness in sorrow, Which passed so trance-like by ? Among the missal borders Was no such angel-face ; And such, once seen, fade not away ; Their image shines without decay, When on the canvas of the heart, With untaught skill, yet mystic art, Each line of light we trace. The wing of Time seems broken now, So tardy is his flight ; He deems by day that she is dead, He dreams she lives, by night Till quick anxiety hath found A messenger to bear The tidings that he strove to frame, From woven hope and fear. XXXI. What wonder that he heard not Her footfall on the stone ! She sank beneath the cloister wall, Unheeded and alone ; And ere Charles Maurice stood again Beneath the open sky, For ever on the things of earth She closed her weary eye. XXXII. Constance, the beautiful, hath left Her dismal convent cell ; She hath not known one hope fulfilled, One granted joy, one longing stilled. For her the melody of life Was but one chord of inward strife, Was but one ruthless knell. Her heart bedimmed with sameness, Her only wish denied, Oh, what a mockery it were Her lot should such a title bear, ' Heaven's own appointed bride !' XXXIII. Why should her early spring-time Be quenched in wintry gloom ? Was it not merciful and wise To call her spirit to the skies From such a living tomb ? How might that gentle maiden Have scattered joy around, And made the earth a brighter place, For all her radiance and grace ! But now, unsorrowed and unknown, Her only memory is a stone Within the convent bound. 66 THE MINISTRY OF SONG. FAIRY HOMES. I'VE found at last the hiding-place Where the fairy people dwell, And to win the secrets of their race I hold the long-sought spell. With the woodland fairies I can talk, I can list their silvery lays ; Oh ! pleasant in a lonely walk Is the company of fays. No fabled fancy 'tis to me, For in every floweret's bell Is a tiny chamber, where I see A gentle fairy dwell. And at my bidding forth they come, To soothe me or to cheer, And to tell me tales of fairydom With voices soft and clear. Full many a beauteous lesson, too, Their rosy lips can teach ; Great men would wonder if they knew How well the fairies preach ! When thoughts of sorrow sadden me, They seem to sympathize, And gaze upon me lovingly, With tender, earnest eyes ; But when a tide of joyous glee Is bringing song and smile, Then brightly they look up to me, And laugh with me a while. Oh ! lovely are the floweret homes Of these sweet summer fays ; God's thoughts of beauty taking form To gladden mortal gaze. MORE MUSIC. OH for a burst of song, Exultant, deep, and strong, One gush of music's billowy might, To bear my soul away Into the realms of day, From these dim glacier-caves of Life's cold night ! Oh for a sunset strain Wafted o'er slumberous main, To enter, spirit-like, my prisoned heart, And there, with viewless hand, Unloose each mortal band, That in the songs of heaven I too might learn a part. The sweetest music here Calls forth the quiet tear, For grief and gladness flow in blended stream ; Oh for the joyous day, (Can it be far away?) When one great Alleluia song' shall chase Life's tuneless dream ! TRAVELLING THOUGHTS. ON BOARD THE STEAMER LA FRANCE, JAN- UARY 26, l866. A STILL grey haze around us, Behind, a foreign shore, A still grey deep beneath us, And Dover cliffs before. Not one within a hundred miles Whose name I ever heard, None who would care to speak to me A passing friendly word : Yet not a shadow crosseth me Of loneliness or fear ; I'VE FOUND AT LAST THE HIDING-PLACE WHERE THE FAIRY PEOPLE DWELL, AND TO WIN THE SECRETS OF THEIR RACE I HOLD THE LONG-SOUGHT SPELL. Page 66. TRAVELLING THOUGHTS. I bless the Omnipresent One, I know that God is here. All whom I love are scattered : And many a month and mile Rise, mountain-like, before, behind, Between me and their smile. Oh that the love I bear them Might blossom into skill To comfort and to brighten, And all with gladness fill ! Ah ! helpless love ! Yet 'tis a joy To turn each wish to prayer, And, where each loved one sojourneth, To know that God is there. The nearest and the dearest Are where the rushing Rhine Bends northward from the Drachenfels, From castle, rock and vine ; Where long-lined chestnut shadows Make tracery below, And the moss- framed window challenges The might of frost and snow. Lit rather by the dawn of heaven Than earthly sunset glow, That passing home of faith and prayer ! Oh, God is there, I know ! From thence the wing of loving thought Speeds on where Severn flows, And hovers o'er as fair a scene As our fair England knows ; The home of summer roses, Of winter mirth and glee, Long may that home unbroken, That mirth unsilenced be ! The blessings of unbounded grace I pray Him to bestow, And trust Him for the coming years, For He is there, I know. Now westward sweeps the visiou____ Across the Irish Sea, And echoes low of sisters' love Come back again to me. A beacon bright in stormy night Of error, rage, and wrong, That home of love and truth shall cast Its radiance pure and strong. They tell of rumors strange and dark ; But oh ! no need to fear ! God will not leave His own, I know, His guardian hand is near. Another scene by gentle Ouse Must aye be dear to me, Though all are not together now, And one is on the sea. And where a grey cathedral tower Uprises broad and high, A home is made in cloistral shade, Beside the winding Wye. To seek the richest boons for these, Why should the heart be slow ? One Shepherd, Chief, and Great, and Good, Is watching there, I know. Then, in a busy city, A crypt all dark and lone, A name engraven on our hearts Is traced upon a stone. Not there the sainted spirit ! She dwells in holy light, Within the pearl-raised portals, With those who walk in white. May all her children follow The path she meekly trod, And reach the home she rests in now, And dwell, like her, with God. 68 THE MINISTRY OF SONG. NEW-FEAR'S WISHES. A PEARL-STREWN pathway of untold glad- ness, Flecked by no gloom, by no weary sad- ness, Such be the year to thee ! A crystal rivulet, sunlight flinging, Awakening blossoms, and joyously singing Its own calm melody. A symphony soft, and sweet, and low, Like the gentlest music the angels know In their moments of deepest joy ; ''Mid earth's wild clamor thy spirit telling Of beauty and holiness, upward swelling, And mingling with the sky. A radiant, fadeless Eden flower, Unfolding in loveliness hour by hour, Like a wing-veiled seraph's face ; Such be the opening year to thee, Shrouded though all its moments be, Unknown as the bounds of space. Blessings unspoken this year be thine ! Each day in its rainbow flight entwine New gems in thy joy-wreathed crown ; May each in the smile of Him be bright, Who is changeless Love and unfading Light, Till the glory seem to thy tranced sight As heaven to earth come down. BONNIE WEE ERIC. BONNIE wee Eric ! I have sat beside the evening fire, And listened to the leaping flame still darting keenly higher, And all the while a lisping voice and eyes of sunny blue Out-whispered the flame-whisper, and outshone the flicker too. Bonnie wee Eric ! To his home thoughts pleasantly return, To long fair evenings in the land of ben and brae and burn ; Sweet northern words, so tunefully upon our Saxon flung, As if a mountain breeze swept by where fairy-bells are hung. But sweeter tnan all fairy bells of quaint sweet minstrel tongue, Rang out wee Eric's gentlest tone when o'er his cot I hung, And told him in the sunset glow once more the old dear story Of Him who walked the earth that we might walk with Him in glory. ' He loves the little children so ; does darling Eric love Him ?' I think the angels must have smiled a rainbow-smile above him, Yet hardly brighter than his own, that lit the answer true, ' Jesus, the kind, good Jesus 1 Me do, oh yes, me do !' Bonnie wee Eric ! How the thought of heaven is full of joy, And death has not a shadow for the merry healthful boy ! To hear about the happy home he gladly turns away From picture books, or Noah's ark, or any game of play. MY SWEET WOODRUFF. ' Mamma, some day me die, and then the angels take me home To Jesus, and me sing to Him ; Papa and you too come. ' So brightly said \ 'But, Eric, would you really like to die ?' She answered him ; ' then, darling, tell mamma the reason why ?' And then the sunny eyes looked up, and seemed at once to be Filled with a happy solemn light like sun- rise on the sea ; He said 'Yes, me would like to die, for me know where me going I ' What saint-like longing, baby lips ! and oh ! what blessed knowing ! le lesson of the ' little child ' is sweetly learnt from him ; Jo questioning, no anxious faith all trem- ulous and dim, To drowsy love that hardly knows if it be love indeed ; lot ' think ' or ' hope ' but ' Oh me do, ' ' me know' his simple creed. >nnie wee Eric ! Hardly launched on this world's troubled sea, r e know the little bark is safe whate'er its course may be ; id short or long, or fair or rough, our hearts are glad in knowing will be onward, heavenward still, for he ' knows where he's going. ' MY SWEET WOODRUFF. To more the flowers of spring are seen, id silence fills the summer noon ; is woods have lost the fresh bright green Of May and June. But yesterday I found a flower, Deep sheltered from the withering rays, Which might have known the sun and shower Of April days. I did not think again to find Such tender relic of the spring ; It thrilled such gladness through my mind, I needs must sing. My girlhood's spring has passed for aye, With many a fairy tint and tone ; The heat and burden of the day Are better known. But by my summer path has sprung A flower of happy love, as fair As e'er a subtle fragrance flung On Spring's clear air. I hardly thought to feel again Such dewy freshness in my heart, And so one little loving strain Must upward start There was spring-sunshine in my eyes, I had such joy in finding you So full of all I love and prize, So dear and true. My heart is richer far to-day Than when I came a week ago ; How near to me such treasure lay I did not know ! The long parenthesis is o'er, And now, in letters all of light The story of our love once more We both may write. THE MINISTRY OF SONG. I have no words to breathe the praise Which now for this ' good gift ' I owe ; A wordless anthem I must raie, But HE will know. OUR GEM WREATH. m HEARD ye the sounds of joyous glee, And the notes of merry minstrelsy, And the purling of low, sweet words which start From the silent depths of a loving heart ; And the gushing laugh, and the rippling song, As the summer days sped swift along ? Saw ye the gleam of sunny hair, And the glancing of forms yet young and fair, And the dancing light of happy eyes, And smiles like the rosy morning skies Saw ye and heard ? and would ye not know What made such mirth and music flow? There were maidens five, as blithe and free As the curbless waves of the open sea : They met ; ye may liken their early greet- ing To the dewdrops on a roseleaf meeting ; Then many a day flew uncounted by, With Love like an angel hovering nigh, While the ruby light of his sparkling wing Flung a tint of joy on everything. * In books, or works, or healthful play,' As the merriest lips would often say, Or in strange attempts to weave a spell Which might bid the Muses among them dwell, Or in a stream of mingled song, Some of their hours have passed along ; Bearing the sound of each pleasant lay, And the echo of many a laugh, away. When the burning day is on the wane, They wander through some darkening lane, In quieter converse lingering awhile Neath the arching roof of its shadowy aisle. Where the latest sunbeams kiss the brow Of Malvern's Beacon, see them now ; Springing o'er moss-bed, and rock, and stone, As though the green earth were all their own ; And singing forth to the fair wide scene, In a loyal chorus, ' God save the Queen /' Again, from out the busy street, They pass with gladly reverent feet Within the old cathedral's shade ; And feel the sacred silence laid Upon the lips, upon the heart, By time and place thus ' set apart. ' Then the anthem fills the glorious fane, Till its solemn tones float back again, Round arch and column the sound en- wreathing, Till they seem with holy music breath- ing, Music and love ; while the choral praise Images better and holier days. Yet once again ; with low bent head, They are kneeling where the Feast is spread ; Not one is absent, all are there, Its silent blessedness to share. Well may a bond of love be felt, When thus together they have knelt. Would ye know the maidens five, oh say The meek, the merry, the grave, the gay : Each jewel of all the sunlit cluster Shines with its own unborrowed lustre ; Then listen and gaze, while each shall pass, As a half seen vision in magic glass. OUR GEM WREATH. A quiet summer evening, when the day- beams' heat and glare Have passed away, and coolness comes upon the cloudless air, And the soft grey twilight wakes the stars to glisten o'er the hill, And the only vesper-chime is rung by one low-murmuring rill : Like such an evening is the soul of that one dark-eyed maid, Amid earth's restless turmoil like a calm and pleasant shade ; So soothing and so gently sweet her words of deep love fall Upon the weaned spirit, like the ring- dove's forest call. Well hath she learnt to sympathize with every hope and fear, Well hath she learnt the sorrowing heart to brighten and to cheer ; Long years of weary weakness have not passed away in vain, If the holy art of sympathy they taught her to attain. Her fairy footstep falleth as a noiseless flake of snow, So violet-like and still that we her presence hardly know ; But like a gleaming vessel-path, far glit- tering through the night, She leaves a memory behind of soft and silvery light. Within the crystal cavern of retirement ye find That gem of inward radiance, her ' meek and quiet ' mind ; Not like the flashing topaz, or the ruby's gorgeous glow, She is a precious AMETHYST, whose value well we know. n. Now turn we to that merry maiden, With azure eye, and smooth bright hair ; A lily blossom, fragrance-laden, Is not more fair. A dewdrop to the thirsty flower, A sun-ray gilding every cloud, A rainbow when the thunder-shower Is rushing loud ; A spirit full of pleasant brightness, That speaks from lip, and cheek, and brow, To whose glad spell of cheering lightness E'en grief must bow. Her hand hath learnt with wondrous power Scenes of rare loveliness to trace, And picture forms with airy dower Of beauteous grace. The breath of flattery hath not tainted Her simple thought with pride's dark stain : Because her leaves are richly painted, Is the rose vain ? Then, as an orient EMERALD shining, Long may her loveliness be set Among the sister-gems, entwining Our coronet. in. Say, who shall form the vision-centre now? She of the large, soft eye, and pensive smile, THE MINISTRY OF SONG. She of the earnest gaze, and thoughtful brow : Who would not love to read her looks awhile, Or list that often silent voice, whose flow Like distant waterfall is heard, so sweet and low ? Not many summers o'er her youth have cast Their varying sun and shade, and we might deem No breath of sadness o'er her soul had passed, But for that orb subdued, like some lone stream, Where the sad willows rest in shadowy love, While its blue depth reflects the sunlit heaven above. All calmness, yet deep sorrow she hath known, Dimming the star of hope which shone so clear, The song of life hath changed its joyous tone, The pearl of life hath melted to a tear ; But star and song shall rise in brighter day, And hers that priceless Pearl which none may take away. Her sorrow, all unspoken, doth but twine Our earnest love more changelessly around her ; While we look onward, upward, for the time When Joy's fair garland shall again have crowned her, Who as the PEARL of all our wreath is gleaming, In mild and moonlit radiance softly 'mid us beaming. IV. Like a flash of meteor light, Strangely gladdening and bright, Is the youngest of the band, Making every heart expand. Like a petrel on the wave, What to her though tempests rave ? She will skim each foamy crest, Making all around her blest. Like a song-bird of the spring, She is ever on the wing ; Carolling in blithest glee, Like the wild breeze, fresh and free. Like a beautiful gazelle Bounding over hill and dell ; Like the scented hawthorn-flowers, Ever scattering blossom-showers. Can a star of light be found, Shedding aught but light around ? Joy and gladness must be nigh, Where her starry pinions fly. Clear and open as the day, All may trust her glancing ray, All must love its rainbow light : Is she not a DIAMOND bright ? And the last maiden, what is she ? She sees not herself as others see, From an outward point of view ; She only knows the scenes within, MY NAME. 73 The weary conflict, and the sin, The strivings a better life to win, And the gleams of gladness too. But little she knows of the secret cells, Where in lonely twilight the spirit dwells In an ever mysterious home, Where music, and beauty, and sweet per- fume, Grim storms, and the blackness of the tomb, In morning brightness, and midnight gloom, In an untracked labyrinth roam. How many a chamber within is sealed ! How wondrous the little that is revealed In a scarce-caught whispering tone ! Strange thoughts come forth to our outer gaze, Wild fancies flash with spectral rays, And feelings glow with uncertain blaze ; But their fountain is all unknown. Ah ! she would long to glean a ray From each lovely gem of this summer lay, For her own are faint and few. The tremulous OPAL'S changeful light May emblem her, now dark, now bright, Yet blending in love with each sister sprite In a union fond and true. Such are the five as now they seem In the golden haze of Memory's dream. But the future ! who may lift the veil And read its yet unwritten tale ! The rose, or the thorn, the sun, the cloud, The gleeful heart, or the spirit bowed, The song of joy, or the wail of woe, Which shall be theirs, we may not know. Then sorrow and joy alike we leave In the Hand which doeth all things well, And calmly from that Hand receive All that each coming year may tell. Our jewel-garland lives by Him ; We would not ask of Life or Death, Who first shall break its shining rim ; It shall be as the Master saith : He only shall untwine the bond, So fair and faithful, fresh and fond. But oh that each who glistens now In this verse-woven coronet, Upon the Saviour's thorn-wreathed brow May as a living gem be set ! Then never shall their light grow dim ; Redeemed and sanctified by Him, Their life and love in blended rays Shall shine in everlasting praise. MF NAMES FROM childish days I never heard My own baptismal name ; Too small, too slight, too full of glee Aught else but ' Little Fan ' to be, The stately ' Frances ' not in me Could any fitness claim. Now in the crowded halls of life, May it be mine to bring Some gentle stir of the heated air, Some coolness falling fresh and fair, Like a passing angel's wing. My father's name, oh how I love Its else unwonted look ! For his dear sake right dear I hold 1 Suggested by the question, ' What does the letter R in your initials (F. R. H.) represent ? * 74 THE MINISTRY OF SONG. Each letter, changed, as he has told, Long since from early Saxon mould 'The rising of the brook/ * Of music, holiness, and love That name will always tell, While sacred chant and anthem rise, Or mourners live whose deepest sighs To echoes of a Father's will He tuned, or child, or grandchild still On his bright memory dwell. But ' what the R doth represent, ' I value and revere ; A diamond clasp it seems to be On golden chains enlinking me In loyal love to England's hope, Bulwark 'gainst infidel and Pope, The Church I hold so dear. Three hundred years ago was one Who held with stedfast hand The chalice of the truth of God, And poured its crystal stream abroad Upon the thirsting land. The moderate, the wise, the calm, The learned, brave, and good, 2 A guardian of the sacred ark, A burning light in places dark, For cruel, changeless Rome a mark, Our Bishop RIDLEY stood. The vengeance of that foe nought else But fiery doom could still : 1 ' Heavergill ' the heaving or rising of the brook, or gill. 2 ' A man beautified with such excellent qual- ities, so ghostly inspired and godly learned, and now written doubtless in the book of life with the blessed saints of the Almighty, crowned and throned amongst the glorious company of mar- tyrs. Foxe's Acts and Monuments. Too surely fell the lightning stroke Upon that noble English oak, Whose acorn-memory survives In forest ranks of earnest lives And martyr-souls in will. Rome offered life for faith laid down : Such ransom paid not he ! ' As long as breath is in this frame, My Lord and Saviour Christ His name And His known truth I'll not deny : ' He said (and raised his head on high), 1 God's will be done in me. ' l He knelt and prayed, and kissed the stake, And blessed his Master's name That he was called his cross to take, And counted worthy for His sake To suffer death and shame. a Though fierce the fire and long the pain, The martyr's God was nigh ; Till from that awful underglow Of torture terrible and slow, Above the weeping round about, Once more the powerful voice rang out, His Saviour's own last cry. O faithful unto death ! the crown Was shining on thy brow, Before the ruddy embers paling, And sobbing after-gusts of wailing Had died away, and left in silence That truest shrine of British Islands, That spot so sacred now ! In dear old England shineth yet The candle lit that day ; Right clear and strong its flames arise, 1 See Works of Bishop Ridley, Parker Society, pp. 295 and 296. 2 Ibid. FAITH AND REASON. 75 Undimmed, unchanged, toward the skies, By God's good grace it never dies, A living torch for aye. Tis said that while he calmly stood And waited for the flame, He gave each trifle that he had, True relic-treasure, dear and sad, To each who cared to claim. I was not there to ask a share, But reverently for ever wear That noble martyr's name. FAITH AND REASON. REASON unstrings the harp to see Wherein the music dwells ; Faith pours a Hallelujah song, And heavenly rapture swells. While Reason strives to count the drops That lave our narrow strand, Faith launches o'er the mighty deep, To seek a better land. One is the foot that slowly treads W T here darkling mists enshroud ; The other is the wing that cleaves Each heaven-obscuring cloud. Reason, the eye which sees but that On which its glance is cast ; Faith is the thought that blends in one The Future and the Past. In hours of darkness, Reason waits, Like those in days of yore, Who rose not from their night-bound place, On dark Egyptian shore. But Faith more firmly clasps the hand Which led her all the day, And when the wished for morning dawns, Is farther on her way. By Reason's alchemy in vain Is golden treasure planned ; Faith meekly takes a priceless crown, Won by no mortal hand. While Reason is the laboring oar That smites the wrathful seas, Faith is the snowy sail spread out To catch the freshening breeze. Reason, the telescope that scans A universe of light ; But Faith, the angel who may dwell Among those regions bright. Reason, a lonely towering elm, May fall before the blast ; Faith, like the ivy on the rock, Is safe in clinging fast. While Reason, like a Levite, waits Where priest and people meet, Faith, by a ' new and living way, ' Hath gained the mercy-seat. While Reason but returns to tell That this is not our rest, Faith, like a weary dove, hath sought A gracious Saviour's breast. Yet both are surely precious gifts From Him who leads us home ; Though in the wilds Himself hath trod A little while we roam. And, linked within the soul that knows A living, loving Lord, Faith strikes the key-note, Reason then Fills up the full-toned chord. Faith is the upward-pointing spire O'er life's great temple springing, From which the chimes of love float forth, Celestially ringing ; While Reason stands below upon The consecrated ground, THE MINISTRY OF SONG. And, like a mighty buttress, clasps The wide foundation round. Faith is the bride that stands enrobed In white and pure array ; Reason, the handmaid who may share The gladness of the day. Faith leads the way, and Reason learns To follow in her train ; Till, step by step, the goal is reached And death is glorious gain. LYNTON. WHY does it seem familiar ground ? I was never here before ; I never saw this fairy dream Of wood and wave, of rock and stream, Nor watched the snowy foam -line gleam On Devon's bay-loved shore. It feels as weird and strange as though My spirit had been here ; And in the mists of long ago An outline wavers to and fro, Now colorless, now all aglow, Now faint, now wondrous clear. I know it now the tender spell On all this pleasant scene ; For memory's first pale flickering light Falls on a long-forgotten night, Though conscious life-time, dark and bright, Lies all outstretched between. The dearest name I ever spoke Was on my lips that eve ; We gave her ' welcome home ' once more, Unknown, the last short absence o'er : And now she is but 'gone before/ The palm branch to receive. I know it now, she told me all ; I sat upon her knee, And heard about the cliff so tall, The craggy path, the rocky wall, The ever-chanting waterfall, The silver autumn sea : The steep and dangerous way above, The winding dell beneath ; The rushing Lyn, the shadowy trees. The hills that breast the Channel-breeze, The white ships bound for western seas ; One shining marvel-wreath ! A little picture she had brought Of Lynton's lovely vale : I fastened it upon my wall, Half deeming I had seen it all ; While colors came at fancy's call To deck those outlines pale. Hers then the charm, so strangely sweet, Which made me sit and gaze ; 'Tis like a breeze from far-otf hills, Or midnight anthem of wild rills, That cools the fever-fire which fills Our hot and hurried days. It may be that the parting time Has more than half gone by, That ere another twenty years Have mingled all their smiles and tears, We may have passed all griefs and fears, And her dear welcome greet our ears To her blest home on high. Oh, might it be ! That far-off land Is all unseen as yet : But when we pass its portals fair, It may be that some glory there Sweetly familiar shall appear, Because we heard it whispered here A LULL IN LIFE. 77 By that soft voice, whose accents dear We never can forget. A BIRTHDAY GREETING TO MY FATHER. 1860. 'Tis fully known to ONE, by us yet dimly seen, The blessing thou HAST BEEN ; Yet speaks the silent love of many a mourning heart The blessing that thou ART ; While traced on coming years, in faith and hope we see, ' A blessing thou SHALT BE ; ' Then here in holy labor, there in holier rest, BLESSING, thou SHALT BE BLESSED. A LULL IN LIFE. 'And He said unto them, Come ye yourselves apart into a desert place and rest awhile : for there were many coming and going, and they had no leisure so much as to eat.' MARK vi. 31. OH for a ' desert place ' with only the Master's smile ! Oh for the ' coming apart ' with only His ' rest awhile !' Many are ' coming and going ' with busy and restless feet, And the soul is hungering now, with ' no leisure so much as to eat. ' Dear is my wealth of love from many and valued friends, Best of the earthly gifts that a bounteous Father sends ; Pleasant the counsel sweet, and the inter- change of thought, Welcome the twilight hour with musical brightness fraught. Dear is the work He gives in many a varied way, Little enough in itself, yet something for every day, Something by pen for the distant, by hand or voice for the near, Whether to soothe or to teach, whether to aid or cheer. Not that I lightly prize the treasure of valued friends, Not that I turn aside from the work the Master sends, Yet I have longed for a pause in the rush and whirl of time, Longed for silence to fall instead of its merriest chime : Longed for a hush to group the harmonies of thought Round each melodious strain that the harp of life hath caught, And time for the fitful breeze ^Eolian chords to bring, Waking the music that slept, mute in the tensionless string : Long for a calm to let the circles die away That tremble over the heart, breaking the heavenly ray, And to leave its wavering mirror true to the Star above, Brightened and stilled to its depths with the quiet of ' perfect love : ' THE MINISTRY OF SONG. Longed for a sabbath of life, a time of re- newing of youth, For a full-orbed leisure to shine on the fountains of holy truth ; And to fill my chalice anew with its waters fresh and sweet, While resting in silent love at the Master's glorious feet. There are songs which only flow in the loneliest shades of night, There are flowers which cannot grow in a blaze of tropical light, There are crystals which cannot form till the vessel be cooled and stilled ; Crystal, and flower, and song, given as God hath willed. There is work which cannot be done in the swell of a hurrying tide, But my hand is not on the helm to turn my bark aside ; Yet I cast a longing eye on the hidden and waveless pool, Under the shadowing rock, currentless, clear, and cool. Well ! I will wait in the crowd till He shal call me apart, Till the silence fall which shall waken the music of mind and heart ; Patiently wait till He give the work of m] secret choice, Blending the song of life with the thrill of the Master's voice. ADORATION. MASTER, at Thy feet 1 bow in rapture sweet ! Before me, as in darkening glass, Some glorious outlines pass, Of love, and truth, and holiness, and power ; own them Thine, O Christ, and bless Thee for this hour. full of truth and grace, Smile of Jehovah's face, O tenderest heart of love untold ! Who may Thy praise unfold ? Thee, Saviour, Lord of lords and King of kings, Well may adoring seraphs hymn with veiling wings. 1 have no words to bring Worthy of Thee, my King, And yet one anthem in Thy praise I long, I long to raise ; The heart is full, the eye entranced above, But words all melt away in silent awe and love. How can the lip be dumb, The hand all still and numb, When Thee the heart doth see and own Her Lord and God alone ? Tune for thyself the music of my days, And open thou my lips that I may show Thy praise. Yea, let my whole life be One anthem unto Thee, And let The praise of lip and life Outring all sin and strife. O Jesus, Master ! be Thy name su- preme For heaven and earth the one, the grand, the eternal theme. TUNE FOR THYSELF THE MUSIC OF MY DAYS, AND OPEN THOU MY LIPS THAT I MAY SHOW THY 1'RAISE. Page 78. EARLY POEMS. ' / LEA VE IT ALL WITH THEE. ' YES, I will leave it all with Thee, And only ask that I may be Submissive to Thy loving will, Confiding, waiting, trusting still. Thou every fond desire dost know Which in my inmost heart doth glow ; Thou hearest every secret sigh When silent sorrow's power is nigh. Omniscience alone may tell The thoughts which in my spirit dwelt ; But 'tis a soothing word to me, ' My Father every thought can see.' He knows them all the hopes the fears Confided not to mortal ears. He knows the deep intensity Of feelings wakened now in me. And if He knows them, 'tis enough ! I need not fear a stern rebuff ; There's sympathy within His breast, On which my weary heart can rest Nor is there sympathy alone, Almighty is my Father's throne, And He can grant me each desire ; His gracious hand may never tire. He can. But will He ? Trust Him yet, My faithless soul ! Can I forget That He hath passed His word of old 'Not one good thing will He withhold F rom them, the children of My love, Whose hearts are set on things above ?' Not one good thing ! But can I see What may be good, what ill for me ? Can I unbar the massy gate Which hides from me the way I take ? But his eye turneth night to day, E'en like the lightning's piercing ray ; Then here is my security, That God my truest good doth see. That joy which earnestly I crave, O'er which my fondest hopes now wave, Might prove to me the shade of death ! That healing breeze the Simoom's breath, If so it never will be mine. At such a loss shall I repine ? No ! let me rather praise the Hand Which looseneth the dangerous band. But if it be a heaven-born plant, For whose sweet flowers my soul doth pant If heavenly gladness it shall bring, And raise my soul on angel wing, Till nearer Thee each day I live, Oh, then that blessing Thou wilt give. The joy scarce hoped for shall be mine, A deeply grateful heart be Thine ! Then I will leave it all with Thee ! My Father, grant that I may be Submissive to Thine own good will, Confiding, waiting, loving still 1 MATTHEW XIV. 23. IT is the quiet evening time, the sun is in the west, And earth enrobed in purple glow awaits her nightly rest ; 79 So EARLY POEMS. The shadows of the mountain peaks are lengthening o'er the sea, And the flowerets close their eyelids on the shore of Galilee. The multitude are gone away, their rest- less hum doth cease, The birds have hushed their music, and all is calm and peace ; But on the lowly mountain side is One, whose beauteous brow The impress bears of sorrow and of weari- ness e'en now. The livelong day in deeds of love and power He hath spent, And with them words of grace and life hath ever sweetly blent. Now He hath gained the mountain top, He standeth all alone, No mortal may be near Him in that hour of prayer unknown. He prayeth. But for whom ? For Him- self He needeth nought ; Nor strength, nor peace, nor pardon, where of sin there is no spot ; But 'tis for us in powerful prayer He spendeth all the night, That His own loved ones may be kept and strengthened in the fight ; That they may all be sanctified, and per- fect made in one ; That they His glory may behold where they shall need no sun ; That in eternal gladness they may be His glorious bride : It is for this that He hath climbed the lonely mountain side. It is for this that He denies His weary head the rest Which e'en the foxes in their holes, and birds have in their nest. The echo of that prayer hath died upon the rocky hill, But on a higher, holier mount that Voice is pleading still ; For while one weary child of His yet wanders here below, While yet one thirsting soul desires His peace and love to know, And while one fainting spirit seeks His holiness to share, The Saviour's loving heart shall pour a tide of mighty prayer ; Yes ! till each ransomed one hath gained His home of joy and peace, That Fount of Blessings all untold shall never, never cease. MATTHEW XXVI. jo. ' And when they had sung an hymn, they went out.' THE sun hath gilded Judah's hills With his last gorgeous beam ; Ghost-like the still grey mists arise From Jordan's sacred stream. The stars, bright flowers of the sky, Unfold their beauties now, And gaze on Salem's marble fane, By Olivet's dark brow. In David's city sound is hushed And tread of busy feet, For solemnly his sons have met The paschal lamb to eat. But list ! the silence of the hour Is broken ; the still air A melody hath caught which far Its viewless pinions bear. Unwonted sweetness hath the strain, And as its numbers flow, More tender and more touching yet Its harmony doth grow. Not royal David's tuneful harp Such thrilling power had known LEAVING US AN EXAMPLE, THAT YE SHOULD FOLLOW HIS STEPS.' Si To wake deep echoes in the soul, As its scarce earthly tone. Within an ' upper room ' are met A small, yet faithful band, On whom a deep yet chastened grief Hath laid its softening hand. Among them there is One who wears A more than mortal mein, 'Tis He on whom in all distress The weary one may lean. Mysterious sadness, on that brow So pure and calm, doth lie ; And untold stores of deepest love Are beaming from His eye. What wonder if the strain was sweet Above all other lays ? Seraphic well might seem the hymn Which Jesu's voice did raise. The angels hush their lyres, and bend To hear the thrilling tone, And heaven is silent, with that song They mingle not their own. The sorrowing ones around have heard Their blessed Master tell, That He with them no longer now As heretofore may dwell. And they have sadly shared with Him The last, last evening meal, And heard the last sweet comfort which Their mourning hearts may heal. They do not know the fearful storm Which on His head must burst ; They know not all He hath not told His loving ones the worst. How could He ? E'en an angel's mind Could never comprehend The weight of woe, 'neath which for us The Saviour's head must bend ; Ere long the voice, which waketh now Such touching melody, ill cry : ' My God, My God, oh why Hast Thou forsaken Me?' The hour is come ; but ere they meet Its terrors, yet once more Their voices blend with His who sang As none e'er sang before. Why do they linger on that note ? Why thus the sound prolong? Ah ! 'twas the last ! 'Tis ended now, That strangely solemn song. And forth they go : the song is past ; But, like the rose-leaf, still, Whose fragrance doth not die away, Its soft low echoes thrill Through many a soul, and there awake New strains of glowing praise To Him who, on that fateful eve, That last sweet hymn did raise. 'LEAVING US AN EXAMPLE, THAT YE SHOULD FOLLOW HIS STEPS: O JESU, Thou didst leave Thy glorious home, Of brightness more than mortal eye could bear, And joys ineffable, alone to roam Through earth's dark wilderness in grief and want and care. Thou didst exchange the praise of seraph voices For sin-made discords and the wail of pain, The anthems swelling high where each in Thee rejoices For fierce revilings in the world where unbelief doth reign. Yes, Thou didst leave Thy bliss-encircled dwelling, Of joy and holiness and perfect love, And earnest to this world of sorrow, telling Each weary one the way to realms of rest above. 82 EARLY POEMS. Mark we Thy walk along the holy way, Each step is graven, that all the path may trace Which leads where Thou art gone, and never may The powers of darkness one bright step erase ! And Thou hast left a solemn word behind Thee, Solemn, yet fraught with blessing ; would we learn How we may gain Thy dwelling and there find Thee? Thou sayest, 'Follow Me/ Be this our great concern. And oh, how blessed thus to mark each hour The footsteps of our Saviour, and to know That in them we are treading, then each flower Of hope seems fairer, and each joy doth yet more brightly glow. Oh that I always followed Him alone ! I know that I am His, for I have bowed In peaceful faith before my Saviour's throne, And gladly there to Him my life, my all have vowed. And He hath pardoned me, and washed away Each stain of guilt, and bade me quickly rise And follow Him each moment of each day; And He hath set a crown of life and joy before mine eyes. How can I turn aside and wound the love That gave Himself to bleed and die for me ! How can I stray, and grieve the holy Dove Who lights my soul, opening mine -eyes to see! O Saviour, fix my wayward, wandering heart Upon Thyself, that I may closely cling To Thy blest side, and never more depart From Thee, my loved Redeemer, Thee my heart's own King. And grant me daily grace to follow Thee Through joy and pleasure or through grief and sadness, Until an entrance is vouchsafed to me In Thy bright home of holiness and glad- ness. OUR ENGLISH SABBATHS. O ENGLAND, thou art beautiful, and very dear to me, And the spirit of thy noble sons is high and pure and free ; Full many a jewel sparkles clear in the crown upon thy brow, But one is gleaming fairest in that glorious garland now. It gleameth with a holy light, too pure for sinful earth, In the twilight of this shadow-land it hath not had its birth ; 'Tis polished by no mortal hand, its radiance is its own, And it mingleth with the glory of the Father's dazzling throne. Oh, gaze upon its beauty, reflecting yet the light Of Eden's spotless, shadeless hours, in this our sin-made night ; Oh, gaze again, and thou shalt see, in that all-beauteous ray, A gleam of that celestial morn which ne'er may fade away ! COLOSSIANS III. 2. It is a gem of untold worth, it is a golden mine, The pledge of an inheritance, a gift of love Divine ; A monarch may not buy it, oh, then let it not be sold ! Oh, England, dear old England, this, thy priceless treasure, hold ! Thy Sabbath is this treasure, a fount of ceaseless blessing, And thou art rich and powerful, this glorious gift possessing ; Oh, heed not those who craftily would bid thee cast away The diamond hours of Sabbath rest, no pleasure can repay. There is a cloud o'er other lands, though fair their mountains be, And beautiful their sunny plains, re- echoing with glee ; But on our Sabbath-loving heart it casts a saddening gloom, While the mirth of all their songs is as the music of the tomb. They know no holy Sabbath rest ; and yet, above, around, The trees are waving solemnly with a deep and holy sound ; And the flowers smile to greet His day, and the streams more softly roll, And all things speak of God to the silent listening soul. They heed it not 1 with song and glee the hallowed hours are passed ; The blessings which the Sabbath brings, aside are lightly cast ; And 'neath the sparkling wavelets of un- sanctified delight Is a dark, deep stream of weary toil from morn to welcome night There are some who listen eagerly while told of Sabbath rest, As a thirsting desert pilgrim hears of Araby the blest ; 'Mid their changeless seven days' labor, they drop a hopeless tear, ' Oh, would to God that we might have an English Sabbath here !' Sad is their lot ! but there are those within our own dear land Who would forge for us such fetters, and burst our golden band, Who sin in deeper bondage yet, while striving to be free, And know not that our Father's law is truest Liberty ! COLOSSIANS III. 2. WHY do we cling to earth ? Its sweetest pleasures Are transient as the snowflake of the spring ; Like early mist its most abiding treasures, Or foam of ocean wave. To earth why do we cling ? Why do we cling to earth ? Is it the fleeting brightness Of her gay robes ? fair fields, green forest trees, Grand mountains, lovely dells, or gleam- ing whiteness Of silent snow ? To heavenly beauties what are these ? 8 4 EARLY POEMS. Lovely, most lovely are earth's radiant flowers, Her very smiles of joy, aye chasing gloom ; But soon they wither in her happiest bowers : In heaven doth the Rose of Sharon ever bloom 1 And beautiful the gleaming wavelet dancing, And wild cascade, rejoicing to be free, And pure, cool fountains through the green shades glancing : In heaven the living streams well forth eternally ! Most glorious is the glowing sun on high, The moon's soft brilliance crowning the still night, The million starry diamonds of the sky : In heaven is God Himself the source of perfect light ! Sweet is earth's music ! whether o'er us stealeth The lyre's calm melody, or blackbird's untaught lay, Or harmony through shadowy aisles full pealeth : In heaven new songs of rapture angel harps essay 1 What though the eastern monarch's robes are gleaming With gold and orient gems, each gorgeous hue With more than rainbow brightness in them beaming ; The robes of heaven are woven light, and ever new. All these are beautiful ; and we may love them As His good gifts ; but oh ! they pass away : Then cling not to them ; seek, far, far above them The joys ineffable, which fade not, nor decay. But cling we to earth's honors ? What delusion ! Immortal souls they ne'er may satisfy ; How mean, how small e'en tenfold their profusion Beside heaven's glorious crown and palm of victory. Hath love of knowledge cast her fetters o'er us ? Here we know nothing ! But in heaven's bright day The lore of ages will be spread before us, Yes, of eternity ! illumed with truth's pure ray. Have we dear friends our fond affections chaining To scenes of earth ? But they may change, must die. In heaven the purest love is ever reigning, Far more abiding than the pillars of the sky. Do we seek happiness? No mirage fleeteth More quickly than all happiness below, But oh ! no heart may dream the joy which meeteth The soul which wakes in heaven, its bliss here none can know. CLOUDS IN PROSPECT. Is holiness our heart's intense desire ? Then every glance from earth must turn away. In heaven all sinless is each voice, each lyre; Heaven's holiness is perfect, endless as its day. Yes, beauty, light, and music are above ; There honor, wisdom, knowledge, all are given ; There is the home of friendship and of love, And happiness and holiness, twin flowers of heaven. But more, far more than all ! 'Tis God's own dwelling ; Thrice blessed thought ! ever with Him to be! Eternity would be too short for telling The bliss of even one unveiled glimpse of Thee. To see, and know, and love, and praise for ever The Saviour who hath died that we might live, Where sorrow, pain, and death may enter never ! And ever learn new cause new songs of praise to give ! Oh, what a prospect ! How, how can we cling To earth's dark dream, when such a hope is given ? Oh may we from this hour, on faith- plumed wing, No longer cling to earth, but soar to yon bright heaven ! CLOUDS IN PROSPECT. OH pleasant have the hours of my early childhood been, When all around me seemed enrobed in brightly glittering sheen ; When a thousand rainbow tints were in every simple flower, And a thousand new delights came with every sunny hour ; When I thought the merry birds trilled their carols all for me, And with heart and voice I joined in their joyous melody ; When all heedless of the darkening storm, I loved the purple cloud, And listened with delight to the thunder pealing loud. In those happy days of childhood, I did not think or see That many trials might be waiting even then for me ; But now, though yet 1 meet them not, I know that they must stand In many a varied shape and form, unseen on every hand. As yet from heavy troubles, thank God, I have been free ; Oh, surely there are few who have what is vouchsafed to me ! But one eclipse hath shadowed o'er my childhood's sunny hours, And now its sharpness seemeth past, that thorn 'mid many flowers. But still the saddening feeling cometh oftener than before, That many a future sorrow e'en for me may be in store ; For all around me seem to have some wearying care or grief, From which they scarcely dare to hope on earth to find relief. 86 EARLY POEMS. And my memory loves to dwell upon the merry careless hours, When I thought the world a thornless garden full of lovely flowers. EARTH'S SHADOW. I HAVE but passed the first short stage Of life, and yet I'm growing weary ; For every step towards riper age The way becomes more dreary. I look behind ; few years ago The world seemed full of fairy flowers, I loved them ; for I did not know How sin pervades Earth's loveliest bowers. Like Italy's fair sunny vales With unknown deathly vapors teeming Or like Sahara's sand-charged gales Beneath a sun unclouded beaming, Such is our Earth. Roam where you will, Seems loveliness the eye entrancing ; The silent glen, the breezy hill, The sun-tipped wavelet blithely dancing. But gaze again. Each zephyr's breath Uplifts a veil, dark truths revealing ; For all is stained with sin, and death The fairest buds is grimly sealing. That sense of sin ! It casts a cloud O'er all Earth's scenes of glee and pleas- ure : Is nought then pure amid her crowd Of joys? nought spotless of her treasure? Nought, nought ! cries Echo. How I love The spirit which to me is given ! My priceless gem, my cherished dove, My sweetest, dearest gift of heaven. How oft I've sought for solace in My own loved soul in hours of sadness ; Oh, how I love it ! It has been My more than friend, my fount of glad- ness. But oh, 'tis sinful ! Even here My simple joy and love are ending ; How can the mind to me be dear Where sin with every thought is blending ? If e'en my Eden is not pure, How can my heart's love rest below ? Say, will the passage-bird endure To tarry 'mid the northern snow ? It cannot rest ! Like early dew A pure warm Sun hath called it higher Where sin is not ; where, holy too, E'en / may tune a sinless lyre. ASPIRATIONS. OH to be nearer Thee, my Saviour, Oh to be filled with Thy sweet grace, Oh to abide in Thine own favor, Oh to behold Thy glorious face. Oh to be ever upward gazing, Glad with the sunshine of Thy love; Oh to be ever, ever praising, Echoing here the songs above. Oh to be never, never weary E'en in the dark affray of sin ; Oh to press on through conflicts dreary One of Thine own dear smiles to win. Oh to desire to spread Thy glory, Seeking it as my only aim ; Oh to be taught Thy strange sweet story Worthily, fully to proclaim. THE SPIRIT'S LONGINGS. Oh to go onward, self forgetting, Willing to take the lowest place ; Oh to go upward, never letting Pride of the heart my glance abase. Oh to become each day more lowly, More of Thine own blest image gain ; Oh to be made, as Thou art, holy, Oh to be freed from sin's dread chain. Oh to be listening every hour The more than music of Thy voice ; Feeling its soothing quickening power, Bidding the silenced heart rejoice ! SUNSET. (IMPROMPTU DURING A WALK WITH E. CLAY. ) How pleasant 'tis at eventide To walk with friends we love : And think and speak of Him who died, And who now reigns above. Is there a subject half so sweet, On which our thoughts could dwell ? No, 'tis a theme for angels meet, Though we of it may tell. The beauties that around we see, On this calm lovely eve, Show forth His love to you and me, If we this love believe. The sunset paints the western sky With colors fair and bright ; But we will raise our wondering eye To scenes of heavenly light. The clouds that round their monarch stay A light and radiance gain ; While those which tarry far away Such brightness ne'er attain. So those who, in this wilderness, Still near their Master stay, The beauty gain of holiness, Of heaven's own light a ray. Now, soon the darkening shades of night Will o'er these scenes be thrown, The sun's last ray of golden light Wiil far away be flown. Then hasten to our heavenly home, That land more fair, more bright ; Where shades of darkness never come, Where there is no more night THE SPIRIT'S LONGINGS. WHEN the loveliest flowers are waking, Whispering thoughts of silent joy, And the lark, his nest forsaking, Carols in the beaming sky ; When her mantle Beauty flings Over Nature's gladsome things : Yet the 'soul it doth not fill, Something seeks it fairer still. When the crystal streams are glancing From the Fount of Poesy, Mingling with the all-entrancing Sweetness of calm melody : When the spirit, thirsting long, Feels the wondrous power of song, Yet it yearns for something more, Something which may be in store. When the heart is warmly glowing Toward the dearest ones around, And with joyous love overflowing, Fancies happiness is found, 88 EARLY POEMS. Softly hushing noisy mirth, Finds the purest joy of earth ; Even then it must aspire, Ever seeking something higher. When the weary spirit turneth From the dark low earth away, And with contrite sorrow mourneth Till the shadows flee away ; When the soul on Jesus' breast Sinks in lowly peaceful rest, Then its yearnings all are stilled, And with perfect bliss 'tis filled. THE OLD AND THE NEW EARTH. WHEN the first bright dawn of a Sabbath- day O'er the purple hills of the far east gleamed ; When in pristine loveliness Eden lay, And the fairest spot of the fair earth seemed ; When the first sweet lay of the nightingale Rang in liquid music o'er every hill, And the verdant waste of the new-formed vale Heard the first wild song of the sparkling rill ; When in first fresh beauty the young flow- ers stood, And their leafy banners the trees unfurled ; When the Maker of all called it 'very good,' I would I had seen our beautiful world. When the dwelling bright of the Shining Ones, The abode of Him who is Love and Light, Heard the joyous song of God's holy sons, As the new-born world met their ravished sight ; When the morning stars caught the ca- dence sweet, And took up the strain of the heavenly song, And each bright one joined from his glo- rious seat In the chorus swelling so loud and long ; Praising Him who made by His mighty Word The new earth in beauty and purity ; I would that the echo I might have heard Of their thrilling celestial melody. When in Eden's lovely and thornless bow- ers, All unstained by sin, our first parents dwelt ; When on wings of joy flew their sunny hours, And the touch of sorrow they had not felt ; When their sole companions were seraphs bright, And their sweetest music the angels' lays ; When a gleam of heaven's own glorious light Might often meet their enraptured gaze ; When while dwelling here Love was still their guide, And the dread angel, Death, did not wait To unlock for them heaven's portals wide ; I would I had shared in their blissful state. But the time will come, when, all purified From its ev'ry spot by a fiery flood, Our earth shall hear, as recedes the tide, Once again the words, ' It is very good. ' When the song of the stars shall be 'heard again THOUGHTS AWAKENED BY ASTLEY BELLS. 8 9 O'er their sister joying, the holy earth ; When the purest love shall for ever reign, And immortal joys have their blissful birth; There shall be no sorrow and no more sin, Pain shall pass away, Death himself shall die, To that fairer Eden may we go in, And entering, dwell there eternally. THOUGHTS A WAKENED BY AST- LEY BELLS. SWEET Astley bells ! your distant chime, So tuneful, yet so sad, Recalls my childhood's earliest time : I sigh, and yet am glad. My thoughts return, on swift unsteady wings, Along the trodden path whose misty light Revealed dim visions of unspoken things, Passing, yet bright. Oh, years have glided by so fast, That twenty-one have almost past, And now those softened bells, With wondrous spells, Have called the solemn train of by-gone times Back from Eternity's mysterious chimes. They come, a fearful crowd, And gaze with spectral eyes ; Before this witness cloud My spirit silent lies : No sound is there, yet strange wild echoes thrill The inmost caverns of my soul, where all seemed waste and still. Scenes arise before me Fairer than the light, Visions hover o'er me Darker than the night ; While my spirit haileth Those wilh fond delight, Yet at these it quaileth, Shrouded in affright. For the past years press me closer round, And I cannot bear their gaze; With a brazen fetter I am bound, While their deep reproachful voices sound And their piercing eyebeams blaze. They speak of thoughtless words and wasted hours, Of hopes forgotten, resolutions broken ; Their breath recalls once bright, now faded flowers, Their tones bring back the words which sainted lips have spoken. Again is heard that spirit-wakening bell ; Each stroke is branding deep my heavy heart, Like some inevitable knell, Saying, ' Thou too must soon depart/ And 'tis a knell ! My youth is past, That very chime hath told me so ! This year hath been the last, the last ; My spring is gone, I know ! The sound hath melted o'er the hill, And all is still ! Again the peal is ringing, Like angel voices singing, ' May there not be A summer yet for thee ? Without the chilling frosts of spring, Without the piercing wind, Without the yet unclothed spray, These thou hast left behind ! What though the rainbow fade away ? The light which gave it birth Is still the same ; and e'en the cloud May bless the thirsty earth. What though the blossom fall and die? The flower is not the root : EARLY POEMS. A summer's sun may ripen yet The Master's pleasant fruit. What though by many a sinful fall Thy garments be denied ? A Saviour's blood can cleanse them all ; Fear not, thou art His child ! Arise ! to follow in His track, His lowly ones to cheer ; And on an upward path, look back With every brightening year. Arise ! and on thy future way His blessing with thee be, His presence be thy staff and stay Till thou His glory see. What though thy heart distrust thy strength ? The way may not be long, And He will bring thee home at length To learn His own new song. ' Sweet Astley bells ! your distant chime, So tuneful, though so sad, Speaks of a holier, happier time : I sigh, and yet am glad.