Tribulation worketh patience.

S the harp strings only render

All their treasures of sweet sound,
All their music, glad or tender,
Firmly struck or tightly bound.

So the hearts of Christians owe,
Each its deepest, sweetest strain,

To the pressure firm of woe,
And the tension tight of pain.

Spices crushed their pungence yield,
Trodden scents their sweets respire;
Would you have its strength revealed?
Cast the incense in the fire.

Thus the crushed and broken frame
Oft doth sweetest graces yield;
And through suffering, toil, and shame,
From the martyr's keenest flame,
Heavenly incense is distill'd!

The Voice of Christian Life in Song.

Clinging to Thee.

OLY Saviour, friend unseen,

Since on Thine arm Thou bidst me lean,
Help me, throughout life's varying scene,
By faith to cling to Thee!

Blest with this fellowship divine,
Take what Thou wilt, I'll ne'er repine,

E'en as the branches to the vine

My soul would cling to Thee!

Far from her home, fatigued, opprest,
Here she has found her place of rest;

An exile still, yet not unblest

While she can cling to Thee!

Without a murmur I dismiss

My former dreams of earthly bliss;

My joy, my consolation this,

Each hour to cling to Thee!

What though the world deceitful prove,
And earthly friends and joys remove;
With patient, uncomplaining love

Still would I cling to Thee!

Oft when I seem to tread alone

Some barren waste with thorns o'ergrown,

Thy voice of love, in tenderest tone,

Whispers "Still cling to Me;"

K

Though faith and hope awhile be tried
I ask not, need not, aught beside:
How safe, how calm, how satisfied,

The souls that cling to Thee!

They fear not Satan or the grave,
They feel Thee near and strong to save,
Nor fear to cross e'en Jordan's wave,

Because they cling to Thee!

Blest is my lot, whate'er befall;

What can disturb me, what appal,

Whilst as my Rock, my Strength, my All,
Saviour, I cling to Thee?

Cast down but not destroyed.

UCH have I borne, but not as I should bear;
The proud will unsubdued, the formal prayer,
Tell me Thou yet wilt chide, Thou can'st not spare
O Lord, Thy chastening rod!
O help me, Father! for my sinful heart
Back from this discipline of grief would start,
Unmindful of His sorer, deeper smart,

Who died for me, my God!

Yet if each wish denied, each woe and pain, Break but some link of that oppressive chain Which binds us still to earth and leaves a stain Thou only canst remove—

Then am I blest-O bliss from man concealed!
If here to Christ, the weak one's tower and shield,
My heart through sorrow be set free to yield
A service of deep love.

Thankfulness.

Y God, I thank Thee who hast made
The earth so bright;

So full of splendour and of joy,
Beauty and light;

So many glorious things are here,
Noble and right!

I thank Thee, too, that Thou hast made

Joy to abound;

So many gentle thoughts and deeds

Circling us round,

That in the darkest spot of earth
Some love is found.

I thank Thee more, that all our joy
Is touched with pain;

That shadows fall on brightest hours,
That thorns remain;

So that earth's bliss may be our guide,
And not our chain.

F. F.

For Thou who knowest, Lord, how soon
Our weak heart clings,

Hast given us joys, tender and true,
Yet all with wings,

So that we see gleaming on high
Diviner things!

I thank Thee, Lord, that Thou hast kept
The best in store;

We have enough, yet not too much
To long for more:

A yearning for a deeper peace

Not known before.

I thank Thee, Lord, that here our souls,
Though amply blest,

Can never find, although they seek,

A perfect rest

Nor ever shall, until they lean

On Jesus' breast.

A. A. Procter.

Contentment.

OME murmur, when their sky is clear

And wholly bright to view,

If one small speck of dark appear

In their great heaven of blue:
And some with thankful love are filled
If but one streak of light,

One ray of God's good mercy gild

The darkness of their night.