Where the blaze of the skies

Comes soft to our eyes,

Through a veil of mystical imageries.

But could I see

As in truth they be,

The glories of heaven that encompass me,
I should lightly hold

The tissued fold

Of this marvellous curtain of blue and gold.

And soon the whole,

As a parchéd scroll,

Shall to my amazed sight uproll;

And without a screen,

At one burst be seen,

The presence in which I have ever been.

Oh! who shall bear

The blinding glare

Of the majesty that shall meet us there?

What eye can gaze

On the unveiled blaze

Of the light-gilded throne of the Ancient of days?

Christ us aid!

Himself be our shade,

That in that dread day we be not dismayed.

Whytehead.

The Bright and Morning Star.

HE last sand from time's hour-glass

Shall soon disappear,

And like vapour shall vanish
This old rolling sphere.

On the floor like the chaff-stream
In the dark wintry day,

From the fan of destruction
Shall suns drift away.

And the meteors of glory
Which wilder the wise,
Only gleam till we open

In true worlds our eyes.

But aloft in God's heaven
There blazeth a star,
And I live while I'm watching
Its light from afar.

From its lustre immortal

My soul caught the spark,
Which shall beam on undying,
When sunshine is dark.

So transforming its radiance,
Its strength so benign,
Dull clay burns a ruby,

And man grows divine.

To the zenith ascended,
From Joseph's dark tomb,
Star of Jesse; so rivet

My gaze through the gloom,

That Thy beauty imbibing
My dross may refine,
Till in splendour reflected
I burn and I shine.

Heavenward.

EAVENWARD doth our journey tend,
We are strangers here on earth,
Through the wilderness we wend

Towards the Canaan of our birth.

Here we roam a pilgrim band,
Yonder is our native land.

Heavenward stretch, my soul, thy wings,

Heavenly nature canst thou claim,
There is nought of earthly things
Worthy to be all thine aim;

Every soul that God inspires,
Back to Him, its source, aspires.

Heavenward! doth His spirit cry,
When I hear Him in His word

Showing thus the rest on high,

Where I shall be with my Lord.
When His word fills all my thought,
Oft to heaven my soul is caught.

Heavenward ever would I haste,
When Thy table, Lord, is spread;
Heavenly strength on earth I taste,
Feeding on the Living Bread;
Such is e'en on earth our fare
Who Thy marriage feast shall share.

Heavenward! faith discerns the prize,
That is waiting us afar,

And my heart would swiftly rise,
High o'er sun and moon and star,
To that light behind the veil
Where all earthly splendours pale.

Heavenward death shall lead at last,
To the home where I would be,
my sorrows overpast,

All

I shall triumph there with Thee, Jesus who hast gone before,

That we too might heavenward soar.

Heavenward! heavenward! only this

Is
my watchword on the earth;
For the love of heavenly bliss
Counting all things little worth.
Heavenward all my being tends
Till in heaven my journey ends.

Lyra Germanica.

The Building of the House.

HAVE a wondrous house to build,
A dwelling, humble yet divine;
A lowly cottage to be filled

With all the jewels of the mine.
How shall I build it strong and fair?
This noble house, this lodging rare,

So small and modest, yet so great? How shall I fill its chambers bare, With use, with ornament, with state?

My God hath given the stone and clay,
'Tis I must fashion them aright;
'Tis I must mould them day by day,

And make my labour my delight;
This cot, this palace, this fair home,
This pleasure house, this holy dome,
Must be in all proportions fit,
That heavenly messengers may come
To lodge with him who tenants it.

No fairy bower this house must be,
To totter at each gale that starts,
But of substantial masonry,
Symmetrical in all its parts:
Fit in its strength to stand sublime
For seventy years of mortal time,
Defiant of the storm and rain,
And well attemper'd to the clime,

In every cranny, nook, and pane.