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WAY for all that live! heal us by pain and lofs; Fill all our years with toil, and bless us with thy rod.

Thy bonds bring wider freedom; climbing, by the cross, Wins that brave height where looms the city of our God!

Hallow our wit with prayer: our mastery steep in meek

nefs;

Pour on our study inspiration's holy light;

Hew out, for Chrift's dear Church, a Future without weakness,

Quarried from thine Eternal Beauty, Order, Might!

Met, there, mankind's great Brotherhood of Souls and Powers,

Raise thou full praises from its fartheft corners dim ; Pour down, O steadfast Sun, thy beams on all its tow

ers;

Roll through its world-wide spaces Faith's majestic hymn.

Come, age of God's own Truth, after man's age of

fables!

Seed sown in Eden, yield the nations' healing tree!

Ebal and Sinai, Mamre's tents, the Hebrew tables,
All look towards Olivet, and bend to Calvary.

Fold of the tender Shepherd! rise, and spread !
Arch o'er our frailty roofs of everlasting strength!
Be all the Body gathered to its living Head!
Wanderers we faint: O, let us find our Lord at length!

Rev. F. D. Huntington.

L

IFE'S mystery deep, reftlefs as the Ocean-
Hath surged and wailed for ages to and fro ;
Earth's generations watch its ceaseless motion
As in and out its hollow moanings flow;
Shivering and yearning by that unknown sea,
Let my soul calm itself, O Chrift, in thee!

Life's sorrows, with inexorable power,

Sweep desolation o'er this mortal plain;
And human loves and hopes fly as the chaff

Borne by the whirlwind from the ripened grain :
Ah, when before that blast my hopes all flee,
Let my soul calm itself, O Chrift, in thee!

Between the mysteries of death and life

Thou ftandeft, loving, guiding-not explaining; We afk, and thou art filent-yet we gaze,

And our charmed hearts forget their drear complain

ing!

No crushing fate-no ftony deftiny?

Thou Lamb that hast been flain, we reft in thee!

The many waves of thought, the mighty tides,
The ground-swell that rolls up from other lands,
From far-off worlds, from dim eternal shores

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Whose echo dafhes on life's wave-worn ftrands,
This vague, dark tumult of the inner sea
Grows calm, grows bright, O, risen Lord, in thee!

Thy pierced hand guides the inysterious wheels;
Thy thorn-crowned brow now wears the crown of

power;

And when the dark enigma preffeth sore

Thy patient voice saith, "Watch with me one hour! "

As finks the moaning river in the sea

In filver peace so finks my soul in Thee!

Harriet Beecher Stowe.

GOD.

"Whom have I in heaven but thee? and there is none upon earth that I defire befide thee." Psalm 73: 25.

I

LOVE (and have some cause to love) the earth;

She is my Maker's creature, therefore good:

She is my mother, for fhe gave me birth;

She is my tender nurse; fhe gives me food;

But what's a creature, Lord, compar'd with thee?
Or what's my mother, or my nurse, to me?

I love the air; her dainty sweets refresh
My drooping soul, and to new sweets invite me;
Her fhrill-mouth'd choir suftain me with their flesh;
And with their Polyphonian notes delight me:

But what's the air, or all the sweets, that she
Can bless my soul withal, compar'd to thee?

I love the sea; fhe is my fellow-creature,
My careful purveyor; she provides me store :
She walls me round; she makes my diet greater;
She wafts my treasure from a foreign shore:

But, Lord of oceans, when compar'd with thee,
What is the ocean, or her wealth, to me?

To Heaven's high city I direct my journey,
Whose spangled suburbs entertain mine eye;
Mine eye, by contemplation's great attorney,
Transcends the crystal pavement of the sky:

But what is Heav'n, great God, compar'd to thee?
Without thy presence, Heav'n 's no Heav'n to me.

Without thy presence, earth gives no refection ;
Without thy presence, sea affords no treasure ;
Without thy presence, air's a rank infection;
Without thy presence, Heav'n itself's no pleasure;
If not poffeff'd, if not enjoy'd in thee,
What's earth, or sea, or air, or Heaven, to me?
Francis Quarles.

N all extremes, Lord, thou art ftill

IN

The mount whereto my hopes do flee;

O make my soul deteft all ill,

Because so much abhorred by thee:
Lord, let thy gracious trials fhow
That I am juft, or make me so.

Shall mountain, desert, beaft, and tree,
Yield to that heavenly voice of thine ;

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