THE SLEEP OF THE BELOVED.

187

Darkness seems loaded with oblivious air,
In deep forgetfulness each sense to steep.

Thou hast provided midnight's hour of peace,
Thou stretchest over us the wing of rest;
With more than all a parent's tenderness,
Foldest us sleeping to thy gentle breast.

Grief flies away; care quits our easy couch,
Till wakened by thy hand, when breaks the day-
Like the lone prophet by the angel's touch,-
We rise to tread again our pilgrim-way.

God of our life! God of each day and night!
Oh, keep us still till life's short race is run!
Until there dawns the long, long day of light,

That knows no night, yet needs no star nor sun.

12*

THE LITTLE FLOCK.

A LITTLE flock! So calls He thee,
Who bought thee with his blood;
A little flock-disowned of men,
But owned and loved of God.

A little flock! So calls He thee;
Church of the first-born, hear!
Be not ashamed to own the name;
It is no name of fear.

A little flock! Yes, even so;
A handful among men,
Such is the purpose of thy God;
So willeth He; Amen!

Not

many rich or noble called,

Not many great or wise;

They whom God makes his kings and priests,

Are poor in human eyes.

THE LITTLE FLOCK.

Church of the everlasting God,

The Father's gracious choice, Amid the voices of this earth How feeble is thy voice!

Thy words amid the words of earth,
How noiseless and how low!
Amid the hurrying crowds of time,
Thy steps how calm and slow!

But 'mid the wrinkled brows of earth,
Thy brow how free from care;

'Mid the flushed cheeks of riot here,
Thy cheek how pale and fair!

Amid the restless eyes of earth,
How steadfast is thine eye,

Fixed on the silent loveliness
Of the far eastern sky.

A little flock! 'Tis well, 'tis well;
Such be her lot and name;
Through ages past it has been so,
And now 'tis still the same.

139

140

THE LITTLE FLOCK.

But the chief Shepherd comes at length;

Her feeble days are o'er,

No more a handful in the earth,

A little flock no more.

No more a lily among thorns;
Weary, and faint, and few,

But countless as the stars of heaven,
Or as the early dew.

Then entering the eternal halls,

In robes of victory,

That mighty multitude shall keep

The joyous jubilee.

Unfading palms they bear aloft,
Unfaltering songs they sing;

Unending festival they keep,

In presence of the King.*

* Τῶν ἀγγέλων καὶ τῶν ἁγίων ἀει ἑορταζοντων.—ATHA

NASIUS.

THE NAME OF NAMES.

FATHER, thy Son hath died

The sinner's death of woe;

Stooping in love from heaven to earth,

Our curse to undergo;

Our curse to undergo,

Upon the hateful tree.

Give glory to thy Son, O Lord,

Put honor on that name of names
By blessing me!

Father, thy Son hath borne

The sinner's doom of shame;

Bearing his cross without the gate,
He met the law's full claim;

He met the law's full claim,

Sin's righteous penalty.

Give glory to thy Son, O Lord,

Put honor on that name of names

By pardoning me!