As strangers here in foreign lands we roam, Oh, why should not the exile sigh for home? A thousand snares beset our thorny way, And night is round us—why not wish for day? The storm is high, beneath its wintry wing The blossom fades—oh, why not wish for Spring?

The waters roll o'er treasures buried deep, And sacred dust the lonely churchyards keep— Homes are dissolved and ties are rent in twain, And things that charm can never charm again, On every brow we mark the hand of time, Oh, why not long for the celestial clime?

Wave after wave rolls inward to the land, Then comes the wail and then the parting hand, And those for whom we would have freely died Are borne away upon the ebbing tide; We weep and mourn, we bid the sea restore, It mocks our grief—and takes one idol more.

'Tis well for us that ties which bind the heart Too strongly here are rudely snapped apart; 'Tis well the pitcher at the fountain breaks, The golden bowl is shattered for our sakes, To show how frail and fleeting all we love, To raise our souls to lasting things above.

We are but pilgrims—like the tribes who roam In every land but call no land their home,— And what their ancient Canaan is to them, So is to us the New Jerusalem; Then while our hopes, our hearts, our homes are there, "Thy Kingdom come" must be our fervent prayer!



THE SOUL'S CONSOLATION.

Ah, well it is for thee that there is one ear that will listen, one eye that pities, one heart that will take thee in—"Thou God seest me!" Was ever consolation contained in so few words? Oh, repeat it when the heart is breaking—when between thee and every earthly object yawns a gulf dark and impassable. Thou God seest me! Thou God lovest me—lovest me! Thou knowest the agony of my spirit: thou knowest what I suffer, and thou must give me strength and grace to endure all, and to say in truth and sincerity, Thy will not mine be done.



"WE SEE THROUGH A GLASS, DARKLY."

We weep when from the darkened sky The thunderbolts are driven, And wheresoe'er we turn our eye Our earthly hopes are riven; But could we look beyond the storm That threatens all before us, We might observe a heavenly form Guiding the tempest o'er us.

The eye that sees, the sparrow's fall, That never sleeps nor slumbers, Beholds our griefs however small, And every sigh he numbers. The angels fly at his command, With love their bosoms swelling, They lead us gently by the hand,— They hover round our dwelling.

And when the fading things of earth Our hearts too fondly cherish, Forgetful of their mortal birth, How suddenly they perish! But 'tis in mercy and in love Our Father thus chastises, To fix our thoughts on things above; He strikes, yet sympathizes.

We know not, and we may not know Till dawn the endless ages, Why round his children here below The howling tempest rages; But this we know, that life nor death Our souls from him can sever! We'll praise him with our latest breath We'll sing his praise forever!



WORDS OF CHEER FOR FAINTING CHRISTIANS.

Poor pilgrim, weary with the toils of life, distressed and afflicted on every hand, persecuted and forsaken by thy fellowmen, hast thou ever fathomed the depths of that glorious declaration, "I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee"?—Heb. 13:5. Hast thou ever realized that in whatever situation thou mayest be placed—on the mountains of delight or in the vale of humiliation, in sickness or in health, in prosperity or in adversity, in life or in death—thou art under the immediate protection of the great Shepherd of Israel, who never sleeps nor slumbers? The heavens may gather blackness, the storm may come down in fury, but He who whispered, "Peace, be still," to the raging billows, is "the same yesterday, to-day and forever"; and though now invisible his presence is with thee as truly and as really as it was with the timid band of disciples on the stormy sea of Galilee. The same Jesus that walked the streets of Jerusalem,—the pitiful, the affectionate, the tender-hearted,—is an eye-witness of all thy tears, thy trials and temptations. His ear, which was never closed to the cry of the poor and needy, is still open to thy call; and the heart which embraced the whole universe has a place for thee. The fires upon thy altar may have grown dim; the sacrifice may have been the poor and lean of thy flock; but the coals of divine love are bright upon the heavenly altar; and the great Sacrifice—the Lamb without spot or blemish-whispers of Calvary and Gethsemane, and mentions thee in his intercession.

Amazing love! love never to be fathomed. Angels who wait to do his' bidding, seraphim and cherubim who behold his face in glory, can ye comprehend the height and depth, the length and breadth of the Saviour's love? Ah! angels, and seraphim, and cherubim still bend above the mercy-seat and "desire to look into" these things; but ages on ages of eternity may roll away and the love that bowed the heavens for sinful and degraded mortals shall still remain an unsounded deep! And this love is for thee—for thee—, poor pilgrim. Plunge then deeply into this unfathomable ocean. Fear not to loosen thy hold upon the shore: there is nothing there worthy thy love. Thou art an heir of immortality, and the pleasures which endure for a season should be nothing to thee. Wealth, and honor, and power are only the gildings of a groaning and sin-cursed earth. The shouts of mirth and revelry borne upon the midnight air, are only the prelude to tears and sighs and mourning. Behind thee is the blackness of despair, before thee the everlasting sunshine. Away, away! tarry not to sip water from the broken cistern, for the living fountain gushes forth, clear as crystal; and the invitation is for all: "Ho, every one that thirsteth" (Isa. 55: 1; Rev. 21:6; 22:17).—Aug. 10, 1856.



MISCELLANY.

THE DYING YEAR.

Hark! there comes at midnight hour Sound like funeral knell, Chaining us with magic power, Whispering, "Farewell."

'Tis the dying year's last sigh Mingling with the storm; Closes now his hollow eye, Sinks his feeble form.

Still at midnight, dark and lone, Mournful echoes ring, Murmuring in solemn tone, "Time is on the wing."



INCOMPREHENSIBILITY OF GOD.

O God, where art thou? where thy mighty throne? Why is thy face unseen, and thou unknown?— Source and support of all, why is thy form Hidden from mortal eyes? when every storm That sweeps athwart the dark and angry sky, When all the bright and burning orbs on high, When the deep sea that in its fury roars, When all its beautiful and fertile shores, When every river, hill and lowly dale, When every mountain, tree, and flowery vale, When every bird, and e'en the springing Whisper aloud, "There is, there is a God!"

These are thy works; but where, O God, art thou? Pavilioned in deep darkness, is thy brow Hid in dark folds, ne'er to be drawn apart? Will mortal never see thee as thou art? Yes; when the wheels of time have ceased to run, When yon bright orb its glorious, task has done, Then will the veil be rent which once concealed The throne of God, the mighty unrevealed; Then human eyes will view his dwelling-place, And saints, as angels, see him face to face.



THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM.

Lo in the east the Star begins to rise. The glorious centre for admiring eyes Of men and angels—Herald of the morn So long foretold, the Prince of peace is born! O'er all the earth let hallelujahs ring, Let all the earth a fitting tribute bring— With gold and silver, frankincense and myrrh. Come from the south, or, clad in robes of fur, Come from the frozen north, from east and west, Prince, priest and warrior, earth's great ones and best, Come to the manger, humbly there lay down The sword, the mitre and the jeweled crown.

The rich and noble celebrate the day With pomp and show; but who are these? make way Ye sons of wealth! ye rulers stand aside! This is no place, this is no hour for pride; The sick, the lame, the Wind, the deaf, the dumb, The sinful, poor and sorrowful may come; And even I can bring my little store— A weary, sin-sick heart—I've nothing more: The world may frown, the lofty may despise, The gift is precious in my Saviour's eyes. To him as sacred are the tears that fall In lowly cottage as in princely hall,— No rich, no poor his loving bosom knows, He cares for all and pities all their woes, In the same censer offers up their prayers, And on his heart their names alike he bears.

O Star above all stars! whose blessed light Illumes the darkness of our moral night, Still guide our wandering feet till He whose birth Thou didst announce shall come again to earth, And wise and simple, king and subject meet To hear their doom before the judgment-seat,— Till nature's groans with human groans shall cease, And Earth itself, once more with Heaven at peace, Shall put her robes of deathless beauty on, Time be no more, and the millennium dawn!



GOD MADE ME POOR.

God made me poor—am I to blame? And shall I bow my head As though it were some dreadful shame I had inherited?

Shall I among the rich and great Like trembling culprit stand, Or like obedient servant wait To do their least command?

And when they pass me by in scorn— As they have often done,— Shall I regret that I was born An humble farmer's son?

No! should it ever cause a sigh This were indeed a shame; For all unworthy then were I To bear my father's name.

I'll pay to all the homage due Whatever rank they hold; But to my manhood ever true, I will not bow to gold,



THE STRANGER GUEST.

Came a stranger, sad and weary, To my humble cot one day, And he asked me for a shelter,— Long and rough had been the way He had traveled On that sultry summer day.

Pain and grief had marred his beauty, And a tear was in his eye As he asked me for a shelter, And then waited a reply. Tears did gather In mine own, I knew not why.

'Neath my humble roof I led him, As he crossed the threshold o'er "Peace to thee," he softly whispered; Peace I never knew before Filled my bosom, As the stranger filled my door.

Be my friend and guest forever, In a trembling voice I said; And he smiled and laid so gently One dear hand upon my head; It was bleeding, And I knew for me it bled!

"I will be thy guest forever," Said the stranger unto me; "But the cost—say, hast thou counted— Counted what the cost will be? Earthly pleasures, Wilt thou leave them all for me?

"Wilt thou take my yoke upon thee? Wilt thou humbly bear my name? Crush the risings of ambition, And the hopes of earthly fame? Freely suffering, For my sake, reproach and shame?"

Then I said, Both fame and pleasure Willingly I can resign; Let me only feel thy presence, Let me know that thou art mine, And dear Saviour, All I have and am are thine!



A LONG DELIGHTFUL WALK.

While reading to-day an account of the descendants of Adam my mind was particularly struck with the short but comprehensive narrative of Enoch: "He walked with God, and he was not; for God took him" (Gen. 5:21-24). He "walked with God," and how long? "Three hundred years" after he begat Methuselah. Oh, how strange that it should be so hard for me to walk in the commandments of the Lord even for a few days! O God, give me more of the love and more of the faith that Enoch possessed.—Aug. 18,1853.



"THE SERVANT IS NOT ABOVE HIS MASTER."

Lonely pilgrim, art thou sinking 'Neath the weight of grief and care? Bitter dregs of sorrow drinking From the cup of dark despair? Mourn not, for thy Master's footsteps The same gloomy paths have trod He has drained the cup of anguish,— He, the mighty Son of God.

Does gaunt poverty surround thee, With its pale and meagre train? Do they gather closely round thee, Want, and suffering and pain? Mourn not, for the chilly dew-drops, Fell upon thy Master's bed; Mourn not, for the Prince of Glory Had not where to lay his head!

Are thy kindred lowly lying In the cold and silent tomb, Heedless of thy plaintive sighing, Heedless of thy grief and gloom? Know thy Master's tears descended, Where a dearly-loved one slept; He knows well thy weight of sorrow; Murmur not, for Jesus wept.

Do the friends that once caressed thee Pass thee by with frowning brow? Has the friendship that once blessed thee Changed to bitter hatred now? Weep not, for thy Masters brethren In his sorrow turned aside, Scorned to own that once they loved him; Weep not,—Jesus was denied!

Does a scoffing world deride thee, And expose to scorn and shame? Do thy foes rise up beside thee, Blast thy character and name? Know thy Master was derided, Scorned in Pilate's judgment-hall. Mourn not; Christ, the great Redeemer, Was despised and loathed by all.

Art thou torn with grief and anguish? Racked with many a burning pain? Does thy weary body languish? Fearful pangs torment thy brain? Murmur not; from Calvary's mountain List thy Master's dying groan! Murmur not; thy great Redeemer Gave his life to save thine own!

Does the monster Death look dreary? Fill thy mind with fears and gloom? Does thy spirit, faint and weary, Shrink in terror from the tomb? Know thy Master's gone before thee, Crossed the dark and narrow tide, Disarmed Death of all his terrors: Then fear not—thy Saviour died!

Yes, he died,—the Prince of Glory,— Died upon the cursed tree; Pilgrim, spread the joyful story: Jesus died, and died for thee! And he rose,—he rose triumphant,— Burst the bars of death in twain. Lonely pilgrim, that same Jesus Will return to earth again!

See the first faint beams of morning Chasing night and clouds away, All the glorious sky adorning; Pilgrim, it is break of day! Rouse thee, pilgrim, weep no longer; Let thy glad Hosanna ring! Jesus comes in power and glory; Hail thy Saviour and thy King!



ELIJAH.

He calmly stands on the mountain's brow. God shield thee, thou lonely prophet, now! For thy friends are few, and thy foes are strong, And each heart beats high in that mocking throng; And every eye is fixed upon thee, As thou standest alone in thy majesty.

The prophets of Baal are many and great, And they move along in princely state; With a scornful eye and a haughty air, They have proudly taken their station there; While the blood of thy comrades stains the sod, And thou only art left a prophet of God.

Yet firm is thy step, and calm thy brow— The Lord God of hosts is for thee now; And, strong in his strength, thou mayest advance, And defy the world with thy piercing glance; While the prophets of Baal bend at thy nod, And the people own that the Lord, he is God.

The sun shines bright in the azure sky, And the morning breeze sweeps gently by, And all is quiet on earth, in air— Not a sound escapes from that multitude there; Though eager each eye and troubled each mien, Yet the stillness of death reigns over the scene.

But a voice is heard; and clear and loud It breaks on the ears of the listening crowd; They quickly obey. A space is cleared; The bullock is slain, the altar is reared; While the prophets of Baal around it bend, And implore their god an answer to send.

The day wears on, and the sun is high— Still round that altar they madly cry; But the sky is serene as ever before, And, frantic with rage, they shout the more; But 't is all in vain; and the day has past, And the prophets of Baal have yielded at last.

Each heart beats high with anxiety there, As Elijah, with calm, majestic air, Alone and exposed to a nation's frown, Rebuilds the altar long since thrown down. 'T is the hour for the evening sacrifice now, And he solemnly kneels on the mountain's brow.

On, the name of the Lord his God he calls; When, lo! quick as lightning, the fire falls! A smoke ascends to the vaulted sky, And with it arises a mingled cry; And bowed is each head, and bent is each knee As "The Lord, he is God!" rings loud o'er the sea.

'T is night, and the evening breeze grows chill; The prophet pleads with Jehovah still; He has seen the prophets of Baal slain. And now he implores for the falling rain. The heavens grow black at Jehovah's word; Arise, Elijah, thy prayer is heard!



THE SACRED PAGE.

Golden-headed youth and silver-headed age Bend together earnestly o'er the Sacred Page; One amid spring blossoms, while the falling leaves Gather round the other sitting 'mid the sheaves; One amid the twilight of the coming day, While the shadows deepen round the other's way.

Golden-headed youth and silver-headed age, Read the same sweet lessons from the Sacred Page; Eyes that brim with laughter, eyes that dim with years, Resting there pay tribute in a flood of tears; Rosy lips and pallid trembling at the cry— Mournfully repeating the Sabachthani!

Golden-headed youth and silver-headed age Draw their consolation from the Sacred Page; One is in the valley where the grass is green, While the other gazes on a wintry scene; Both have lost their birth-right-both have felt their loss, And they both regain it through the blessed Cross!

Golden-headed youth and silver-headed age, Find their way to Heaven in the Sacred Page; Like the little children waiting to be blessed, One goes forth rejoicing to the Saviour's breast, While the other clingeth to his mighty arm, 'Mid the swelling Jordan feeling no alarm.

Golden-headed youth and silver-headed age, Come, and seek for treasures in the Sacred Page; To the one how tender is the Saviour's call; Yet the invitation He extends to all; Earthly fountains fail you—hasten to assuage Every grief of childhood—every pang of age!

Oh, what a book is the Bible! There is enough in one verse to condemn the whole world, and enough in another to redeem it.

No man in a dark night can behold himself in a mirror until a lamp is lighted,—and not even then distinctly and perfectly until the dawn of day: so no man can see himself in God's mirror until the beams of the divine lamp [the Holy Spirit] illume his soul,—nor even then can he see perfectly what a wretched and distorted being he is "until the day break" and, being made like his Saviour, he contrasts what he is with what he once was.



BEHOLD HOW HE LOVED US.

While on the cross the Saviour bleeds, While friend nor foe his anguish heeds, While many a taunt and bitter jeer Break harshly on his holy ear, He prays,—what can that last prayer be? Oh, wondrous love, he prays for me!

Deep anguish fills his troubled soul, The streams of blood in torrents roll; And louder railings now are heard; He breathes not one complaining word; Yet, hark! he prays,—what can it be? Oh, wondrous love, he prays for me!

He bows his head, Immanuel dies; Darkness o'erspreads the azure skies, Loud thunders shake the earth and air, And earthquakes heave in horror there; Angels the act with wonder see; Oh, matchless love, he dies for me!

He leaves the dark and gloomy grave, While angel-pinions round him wave, And rising from the mountain's brow, Appears before his Father now; He pleads,—what can those pleadings be? Oh, deathless love, he pleads for me!

And can I then such scenes behold, And still be careless, still be cold? Can I, with air of sinful pride, Cast such unbounded love aside? My soul, oh, can it, can it be? Has Jesus died in vain for thee?

Oh, no! the crimson streams that glide From Calvary's deeply blood-stained side, Invite my soul, so stained with sin, To wash away its guilt therein; And in those precious drops I see Christ has not died in vain for me!

The Saviour pleads, in thrilling tone, Before his mighty Father's throne, That for his sake my guilty name Within the book of life may claim A place. He smiles; and now I see Christ does not plead in vain for me!

Amazing love! what tongue can tell The wondrous depths that in thee dwell? What angel's mind can e'er explore The riches of thy boundless store? Oh, matchless love beyond degree,— Christ bled, he died, and pleads for me!



LOVE YOUR ENEMIES.

Arrows dipped in poison flew From the fatal bow; And they pierced my bosom through, And they laid me low.

Every nerve to anguish strung, In distress I cried: And the waste around me rung, But no voice replied.

"Cruel was the hand," I said, "That could draw the bow: Curses rest upon the head Of my heartless foe!"

Turning straightway at the sound, In the tangled wood, Pale, and bearing many a wound, There a stranger stood.

Mournfully on me he gazed, Not a word he said: But one hand the stranger raised, And I saw it bled.

Blood was flowing from his side And his thorn-pierced brow; "Who has wounded thee?" I cried, And he answered, "Thou!"

Then I knew the Stranger well, And with sobs and tears Prostrate at his feet I fell, But he soothed my fears.

"Thou hast wounded me, but live,— And my blessing take: Henceforth wilt thou not forgive Freely for my sake?"

Resting in his fond embrace, Eased of every woe,— Then I said, with smiling face, "Jesus, bless my foe!"



THE ORPHAN.

The storm was loud; a murky cloud O'erhung the midnight sky, And rude the blast that wildly passed A lonely orphan by; But ruder still the bitter thrill Of woe that rent his heart; Darker his fears, sadder the tears That evermore would start.

"Bleak is the storm, and on my form The winds in fury beat; A racking pain, torments my brain, And sore these weary feet; No ray of light illumes the night, And here, alas! I roam, Where tempests howl and wild beasts growl; Oh, that I had a home!

"Full many a day has rolled away Since I have laid me down, To cease to weep, and fall asleep, Save on the cold, damp ground; And many more may pass me o'er Ere I may cease to roam; One year ago it was not so,— For then I had a home!

"Then on his child a father smiled, And fondly me caressed; When sorrow came, or bitter pain, I leaned upon his breast; He'd kiss my cheek, and kindly speak In soft and soothing tone; Oh, what a strange and dreary change— For then I had a home!

"When evening gray shut out the day, Beside my mother's knee, With simple air I breathed the prayer That mother taught to me; Then laid me down, not on the ground, Not on this cold, damp stone; But on my bed, love made instead,— For then I had a home!

"The livelong day I spent in play Around our peaceful cot, Or plucked the flowers from blooming bowers, And to my mother brought. Then bliss and joy without alloy, And love around me shone; Then hope could rest within my breast— For then I had a home!

"My father died, and by his side My darling mother sleeps; And now their child in anguish wild Wanders around and weeps! The pleasant cot my father bought A stranger calls his own; With tearful face I left the place, For it was not my home!

"No home have I, no shelter nigh, And none my grief to share; But I've a Friend, to him I'll bend, And he will grant my prayer. He'll lend an ear for he can hear, Though high his mighty throne; My steps he'll guide, and he'll provide The orphan with a home!

"Dark grows the sky, my lips are dry, And cold my aching brow; Is this a dream?—for, lo! I seem To see my mother now! Faint grows my breath, the arm's of death Are surely round me thrown; Oh, what a light breaks on my sight! There, there's the orphan's home!"

With smiling face in death's embrace The orphan calmly slept; He heard no more the tempest's roar; No more the orphan wept. No longer pain might rack his brain, No longer might he roam, The dearly loved he'd met above, And found with them a home!



SENTENTIOUS PARAGRAPHS.

Rest, but few can comprehend the word. At morn I speak it, but at midnight most, and then 'tis music! Oh, the thought of rest—of perfect freedom, from distress and pain—of health, of vigor in each nerve and limb. The thought inspires, consoles, and makes me pray for fear I shall lose the blessing. Grant me, O God, a patient heart; and may my will be so conformed to thine, that I may wait thy own good pleasure, whatsoever it be.

There are moments when Calvary overshadows Mount Sinai; when the blessed words, "It is finished," swell long and loud above the roar of thunder and the sound of trumpets; when the Cross conceals the Tables of stone bearing the holy law of the Almighty, and then I can boldly reply to the upbraidings of Conscience, "There is now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus."

Sing, my heart, for the day cometh wherein the night shall be no more at all remembered; the clouds shall melt like vapor, and the voice of mourning and lamentation shall be heard no more forever. Awake and sing!



"YE DID IT NOT TO ME."

'Twas night—a dark and stormy night: The wintry winds were high; Within the fire was blazing bright And as I trimmed the cheerful light I heard a pleading cry.

"Come in," in hasty tones I said, The door flew open wide— The tempest roared—I shrieked with dread, For, lo, a Spectre from the dead Was standing by my side!

One icy hand was on mine own, I would have turned and fled: But ah! my limbs were chilled to stone, As in a low, sepulchral tone The sheeted Spectre said:

"It was a night like this I died, Scorned by my fellow men; To me a shelter was denied But when they slumber by my side, We shall, be equals then.

"I starved—and thou wast clothed and fed, And had enough to spare; Thou mightst have come with gentle tread, And stood beside my dying bed, And found a blessing there.

"But now my curse: nor mine alone— The moment yet will be When thou wilt stand before the Throne, And hear it said in thunder tone: 'Thou didst it not to Me.'"

The light grew dim throughout the room, Soon darkness reigned supreme, But that pale Spectre from the tomb Still eyed me through the dusky gloom,— Thank God, 'twas but a dream!



HEAR AND HELP ME.

Darkness and death are round me, The night is late; Yet once the Shepherd found me In such a state! He lulled my fears to rest, He took me to his breast; Is he less kind to-day? Lord Jesus, hear me pray!

Oh, hear me pray! Remove the hateful sin Which cankers all within And shrouds my way. Oh, hear me in my anguish, My Saviour God! I droop, I faint, I languish Beneath thy rod: I tremble on the brink, Support me or I sink: Oh, hear me while I cry; Oh, save me or I die!



FAREWELL.

We stood upon the lonely shore And watched the bounding bark Which far away the loved ones bore, On billows wild and dark; And then there came a gloomy sound Mournfully, mournfully stealing around— And the sound was this, As it rose and fell O'er the broad expanse,— "Farewell, farewell!"

We sought our home—once bright and fair, No word of hope we said, For Sorrow entered with us there, With slow and silent tread; And came a voice from every room Mournfully, mournfully through the gloom; And the voice was this, As it sadly fell On our aching hearts,— "Farewell, farewell!"

The garden that at morn was gay, And the sequestered bower, Seemed to have wept their bloom away, All in one little hour; We heard a voice upon the breeze Sigh mournfully, mournfully through the trees, And the voice was this, As it rose and fell On the balmy air,— "Farewell, farewell!"

Years, weary years have passed us o'er Since that unhappy morn, And in our arms we clasp once more With rapture our first-born. And thankful for our Father's care Gratefully, gratefully raise the prayer, That when life is o'er Our anthems may swell Where lips breathe no more— Farewell, farewell!



NO MOTHER.

No mother! well, the burning tears may flow And bathe thy pillow, hapless orphan, now; No mother's tender voice may soothe thy woe, No mother's kiss is on thy aching brow.

Thou hearest footsteps passing by the door, Oft hast thou heard thy mother's footsteps there; But ah! she comes, unhappy boy, no more To say "Good night" or hear thy evening prayer.

Weep on: there's none to wipe away thy tears, There's none on earth thy mother's place to fill; The night seems dark, but when the morn appears Darkness and gloom will be around thee still.

For thou hast lost what time can ne'er restore, What other friends, though kind, can never be; She had bright visions of a better shore But asked to live—it was alone for thee.

Kneel, wretched orphan, kneel beside thy bed; Thy voice is choked, thy sobs have louder grown; No mother's hand is lying on thy head, No mother's heart is lifted with thy own.

But thou canst pray, and on the Saviour's breast, Which feels for every grief and every care, Pillow thy head and sweetly sink to rest, A more than mother will protect thee there.



TO A MOTHER ON THE DEATH OF HER CHILD.

Mother, thy loved one slumbers now In deep, unbroken rest; But slumbers not with smiling brow Upon thy tender breast. Oh, no! for Death with cruel dart, Unheeding anguish wild, Has rudely torn thy yearning heart, And borne away thy child.

Thy home is drear at break of day, And drear at set of sun; For, lo! the grave enwraps the clay Of thy departed one. And vainly does thy spirit sigh, With yearnings deep and wild, To clasp once more within thy arms Thy dear, thy darling child.

Cold Death has snatched thy lovely flower; But, lo! the day draws near, When even Death shall lose his power, And thy sweet child appear All glorious with immortal life, In Eden's garden fair. Oh, mother, mother! would'st thou meet Thy dearly loved one there?

Oh, would'st thou join the blood-washed throng On that immortal shore? Oh, would'st thou swell the Conqueror's song And greet thy child once more? Then turn to Him who died for thee A death of woe and pain; And at the resurrection morn Embrace thy child again!



IN GOODNESS IS TRUE GREATNESS.

[The following lines were addressed to her brother on receiving a locket containing his daguerreotype.]

I touch the spring—and lo, a face Which for these many years Within my heart has had a place, A tender place—appears.

The large dark eyes look up to mine, So like thyself!—the cheek, The brow, the features, all are thine: Speak to me, brother, speak!

And tell me of each grief and care: For be they great or small, A sister's heart would take a share— And, if it could, take all!

And tell me of each hopeful plan, And how the future seems,— Oh, may that future to the man Be all the boy now dreams.

I've heard thee say thou wouldst be great, And with the gifted shine; 'T is well; but there's a nobler fate, I pray it may be thine:

It is to be an honest man,— To elevate thy race, And like the good Samaritan Do good in every place;

To struggle bravely for the right, Though kings defend the wrong; To live as in thy Maker's sight, And in his strength be strong;

To put the spotless garment on, To keep it pure and white, And when the endless day shall dawn Receive a crown of light.

Dear brother, fame is but a breath, So I implore for thee A holy life, a happy death, A blest eternity.



SIMILES.

Beneath the snow and frost of winter there are living seeds which shall produce abundant harvests: so beneath a cold exterior there may be a heart full of high resolves and glorious impulses, which at the right season shall burst into blossom and bear precious fruit.

How often the sun rises in a cloudless sky, to be obscured before noonday! Human life is like our fickle clime: to-day all sunshine, and to-morrow clouds. The sun is the same by day and night, but the earth comes betwixt his light and us: so when the Sun of righteousness seems to have left our horizon and we turn in vain to the right and the left to find him, may it not be that the dark, dense earth has come betwixt us and his life-giving beams, while He remains "the same yesterday, to-day and forever"?

The thistle has a fragrant smell, and the thorn a pleasant fruit. It is a disease in the shell-fish that makes the pearl: so your sickness, my friend, may be the means of your winning the Pearl of great price.

What plant would thrive if the sun shone forever? and what should we be if the sun of prosperity always shone upon our pathway? Along life's dusty thoroughfare I see the world, but not as I saw it once: sickness and sorrow have given me another pair of eyes.

Gentle breezes, balmy breezes, There is vigor in your breath, But ye cannot bring the roses To the leaden cheeks of death!

The soil that produces the rankest weeds would by proper care and cultivation produce the richest crops: so will the human heart when regenerated by grace and truth.

The violet cannot become the rose, the daisy cannot be the lily; and if they could all be the loveliest flower, earth would lose half its beauty. Without variety, a scene however fair within itself soon wearies us. Knowest thou the moral? Be content in thy proper sphere: then mayest be the violet or the daisy, but envy not the rose and the lily; all are beautiful when in their appointed place.

At morn the shadows slant toward the west, but toward the east at night: so when the sun of life declines the shadows stretch away toward the everlasting hills whence the eternal beams of day shall arise.



THE CRUCIFIED OF GALILEE.

Methought I stood, at close of day, Where soft the balmy breezes play, And bright beneath the Eastern skies The sacred hills of Canaan rise, And saw him on the shameful tree,— The Crucified of Galilee!

I heard the mocking throng deride The anguish of the Crucified; I saw the brilliant sun grow dim; I heard creation shriek for him; I saw him die, and die for me,— The Crucified of Galilee!

And then I saw the veil upraised From the eternal world, and gazed Upon the scene in deep surprise; One form alone could fix my eyes; I knew him, yes, indeed 'twas he,— The Crucified of Galilee!

And though upon his lovely brow A beam of glory rested now; Though angels praised his holy name; Yet still I knew he was the same Who hung upon the shameful tree,— The Crucified of Galilee!

I knew him by his tender air; I knew him by the fervent prayer He breathed for those for whom he died; I knew him by his wounded side; By these I knew that it was he,— The Crucified of Galilee!

I knew him by the loving smile With which he welcomed sinners vile; I knew him, for he took a share In all his children's griefs and care; I knew him by his love for me,— The Crucified of Galilee!

The vision faded from afar; But still 't is memory's guiding star, To cheer the night and point a way Unto an everlasting day, When I, with unveiled eyes, shall see The Crucified of Galilee!



THE ASCENSION.

A well-known group stood on the mountain side And in their midst appeared the Crucified. Oft had they stood in that sequestered place, Their beaming eyes fixed on their Saviour's face; But never met on Olivet's fair brow With such emotions as they cherished now; And never with such eager spirits hung Upon the words that fell from Jesus' tongue; For never had their Master's voice before Sounded so sweet as when—his mission o'er,— He gathered round him that devoted band, To give his blessing and his last command: "Go ye, and teach all nations in my name— The Jew and Greek, the bond and free, the same; But first proclaim a Saviour's love to those Who thirsted for his blood, and mocked his woes, That they, believing, through his death may live, And know their risen Saviour can forgive. Ye shall declare salvation's waters free, And bid all nations to the fountain flee; And though ye meet with perils dark and drear, And tribulation be your portion here,— Though persecution, with uplifted sword, Shall call for blood, and your own blood be poured,— Yet know that I, your Saviour and your friend, Will be with you till life itself shall end; And with all those who boldly shall proclaim To a lost world salvation through my name, In every land, in every age and clime, Till the last trump shall sound the knell of time."

* * * * *

The humble followers of the Nazarene In silent awe gazed on the wondrous scene; Beheld their Lord in power and glory rise Up the bright pathway of the parting skies; And while they strove with piercing eyes in vain To catch one glimpse of that dear form again, Two angels left the bright and heavenly shore, And messages of joy and love they bore. Oh, glorious message to that faithful band, Who on the mountain's top bewildered stand! Oh, glorious sound to every ransomed soul, From sea to sea, from spreading pole to pole In every age, oh, tell the tidings o'er— "That very Jesus shall return once more!" Hark! angel-voices rend the vaulted sky, In thrilling tones those shining angels cry, "Why stand ye gazing on yon glistening dome? Heaven has received your risen Master home! The time will come, when, as ye saw him rise, He shall descend in power the parted skies."



THE HEBREW'S LAMENT.

Thou art the land of all my dreams,— Thy wanderer's heart is thine, And oft he lingers by thy streams, O holy Palestine!

A stranger in a stranger's land O'er hill and vale I roam; But hope forever points her hand Towards my father's home.

They tell me that on Zion's hill The Cross and Crescent shine: But oh, my heart is with thee still, Beloved Palestine.

I know that Israel's weary race Are scorned on every shore, And scarcely find a dwelling-place Where they were lords before.

Yet, 'mid the darkness and the gloom, A light begins to break; O Israel, from the dreary tomb Thy buried hopes awake,—

And lips that raise the fervent prayer, "How long, O Lord, how long?" Shall change the wailings of despair To the triumphant song.

And I may live to see the hour— The hour that must be near,— When in his royalty and power Our Shiloh will appear.

Till then my prayers will rise for thee, Till then my heart be thine, O land beyond the stormy sea, O holy Palestine.



WHEN SHALL I RECEIVE MY DIPLOMA?

For many long years I have been in the school of affliction, and during that time how often I have asked the questions, When will my course be completed? when shall I receive my diploma? But let me first consider: Am I prepared for the grand examination in which angels are to be the spectators, and God himself judge? Here teachers and professors—however skilled in human wisdom, friends and relatives— however anxious for my welfare, must step aside and leave me alone before the dread tribunal! In the presence of my fellow-creatures I might wear the robes of hypocrisy and appear in reality what I am not; but what would this avail me in the presence of Him who knows every thought even before it is formed, and whose searching eye can take in at a single glance the past, present, and future of my history?

O dreaded hour! who can wonder that timid mortals put it far in the distance, and even strive to shut their eyes to its stern reality? What folly! Were the light of revelation quenched forever, there is that within every human breast which warns of a judgment to come and of a righteous retribution. Swift as the planets roll in their orbits around the sun, still swifter advances that terrible scene around which the hopes and fears, the joys and miseries of eternity cluster. It is the great centre of attraction, not only for one age or one nation, but for all who have drawn the breath of life from the grand creation anthem of stars and angels (Job 38:4-7) till stars and angels again lift up their voices in concert, and swear that "Time shall be no longer." Yet the life, the heart of each individual there will be as closely examined as if the court of Heaven were sitting for him alone, and he the only person for whom the joys of Paradise or the pains of Hell were prepared by eternal Justice!



ALONE WITH JESUS.

Alone with Jesus! leave me here, Without a wish, without a fear,— My pulse is weak and faint my breath But is He not the Lord of death? And if I live, or if I die, 'T is all the same when He is nigh.

Alone with Jesus! ye who weep, And round my bed your vigils keep, My love was never half so strong, And yours—oh, I have proved it long, But when had earthly friend the power To comfort in a dying hour!

Alone with Jesus! oh, how sweet In health to worship at his feet! But sweeter far when day by day We droop, and pine, and waste away, To feel his arms around us close, And in his bosom find repose!

Alone with Jesus! how secure, Vile in myself, in him how pure; The tempests howl, the waters beat, They harm me not in my retreat; Night deepens—'mid its gloom and chill He draws me nearer to him still.

Alone with Jesus! what alarms The infant in its mother's arms? Before me death and judgment rise,— I turn my head and close mine eyes, There's naught for me to fear or do, I know that he will bear me through!

Alone with Jesus! earth grows dim,— I even see my friends through him; Time, space, all things below, above, Reveal to me one Life, one Love,— That One in whom all glories shine, All beauties meet—that One is mine!



THE LOST BABE.

There was a bower that love had reared And beautified with care; One day a messenger appeared And asked admission there.

He was not welcome to the bower, For something in his face, Where'er he went, had always power To cloud the brightest place.

Love barred the door, and cried, "Forbear, Thou art no bidden guest"; Then gathered up her jewels rare And hid them in her breast.

Still louder knocked he than before, And still he was denied; Then, laughing at the well-barred door, He threw it open wide.

"I come from Paradise above," The messenger began: "Oh, not in anger but in love God worketh out his plan.

"Sent from the King's eternal throne My mission to fulfill, I ask one jewel of thine own,— It is the Master's will:

"One birdling from the parent nest, One lamb from out thy fold, To nestle in the Saviour's breast As did the babes of old.

"How safe! Her resting-place how sweet! But thou wilt sadly miss The busy hands, the dancing feet, The prattle and the kiss.

"There comes an hour, so long foretold That many deem it vain, When in his arms thou shalt behold That precious lamb again.

"When earth and sea at God's command Their treasures shall restore Then thou shalt clasp this little hand, Nor dread a parting more."

Love wept—her very bosom bled For that lost little one; But Faith supported her and said, "The Master's will be done."



THE DAY OF WRATH.

"The great day of his wrath is come; and who shall be able to stand?" —Rev. 6:17.

The nations tremble, and the isles are moved; All cheeks are gathering paleness; lips are dumb That smiled in scorn but yesterday, or proved The day of wrath would not for ages come; Each eye is fixed—there seems nor life nor breath In that vast human sea,—but ah! it is not death.

The morning broke in splendor, as it rose Upon the fated Cities of the Plain; And men went forth refreshed from their repose, Where duty called them, or the love of gain; When sudden as the lightning's vivid glare Like heated furnace glowed the earth, the sea, the air.

From the Equator to the frozen Pole, All nations saw, and understood "the sign"; The seventh angel sounded! like a scroll The heavens departed, and a Form divine And awful in its grandeur was revealed,— The sun and moon grew pale, and earth astounded reeled.

Then rose a wail of anguish and despair— By men, by angels, never heard before; The tones of earth and hell were mingled there, Henceforth to be thus mingled evermore Beyond the reach of Mercy's loving ear, Who wept and pleaded once—but will no longer hear.

But hark! in contrast what a shout of joy Goes up to heaven; it tells of victory won O'er sin and death, o'er all that can destroy,— It tells of life eternal just begun,— Of bliss coeval with the endless years,— Of love that waited long for Him who now appears.

My soul consider—'t is no idle flight Of fancy, when she pictures thus the day When sun and planets shall withdraw their light, And heaven and earth like smoke shall pass away; God hath declared it; and our Saviour hath, And lo, it hastens fast—that dreadful day of wrath.

Where wilt thou find a shelter from the storm? Not wealth, nor power, nor friends can succor then; How wilt thou gaze upon that glorious Form That seals the doom of angels and of men? How wilt thou stand before the judgment seat And every idle word, and thought, and action meet?

O Lamb of God whose blood was shed for me,— Redeemer, Saviour, Lover of mankind,— Spread over me thy robes that I in Thee A shelter from that dreadful storm may find,— And calm amid the tumult and despair Look at the great white throne, and see my Surety there!



THE BELIEVER'S SAFETY.

Ah, Christian, why is thy heart sad and thy brow clouded? Hast thou been gazing down into the depths of thine own soul, and—art thou startled at what thou hast there seen? Hast thou met with evil thoughts which thou wouldst gladly never have harbored, and art thou despairing because of thy short-comings and unworthiness? Art thou looking to the future with dread, and trembling lest in the hour of trial and temptation thou wilt fall?

Turn away thine eyes from the pollution of thine own sinful heart, and gaze upon One who has become a perfect sin-offering for thee. True, thou art frail and unworthy, but the Lamb that was slain is worthy, and his perfection is enough for thee; his righteousness alone recommends thee to the Father. Dost thou trust in him with all thy heart? Dost thou hope for eternal life because he died? Then thou art safe. "The eternal God is thy refuge, and underneath thee are the everlasting arms." The storms may howl, and tempests may gather around thee; the billows may rage, but they only lash the Rock upon which thou standest. "Though the earth be removed, and the mountains be cast into the midst of the sea;" yet thou art safe, for he who made the heavens and the earth is thy Father. He who commandeth the sun, and it riseth not, and sealeth up the stars; "who alone spreadeth out the heavens and treadeth upon the waves of the sea," is thy nearest and dearest friend. The same voice which said, "Let there be light, and there was light;" which commanded the raging waters, "Hitherto shalt thou come, but no farther: and here shall thy proud waves be stayed," is still whispering in thine ear, "Fear thee not, for I am with thee; be not dismayed, for I am thy God." Yes, thou art safe! thou art trusting in the mighty One of Israel, and thou shalt never be confounded.

Thou hast been looking away into the regions of the blessed; thou hast beheld with an eye of faith the things which God has prepared for those that love him, and amid the ineffable glory of that beautiful world thou hast heard the voices of the redeemed from the earth, saying: "Salvation to our God which sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb," until thou hast longed to join with them in the song of redemption, singing praises forever and ever to him who has ransomed thee with his own precious blood. Then a cloud has gathered over thee, thy sinfulness has risen like a mountain, and thou hast sighed in thy spirit, "Oh, that I were sure of a part with them; oh, that I was safe as they!" and thou art as safe this moment with thy feet upon the Rock of Ages, as if thou didst walk the golden streets of the New Jerusalem, or bow with the angelic hosts around the dazzling throne of thy Creator. Thou art safe, for thy "life is hid with Christ in God"; and could'st thou ask for a surer hiding-place! Thou hast entered into an everlasting covenant with the King of kings, and while thou dost cling to his side shall it ever be broken? Thou hast entrusted thy soul into his hands, and is he not able to "keep that which thou hast committed unto him?" Thine enemies are many and powerful, but what are they compared to the living God? In the hour of temptation "he will never leave thee nor forsake thee"; when thy foes surround thee on every side, and the darkness of midnight gathers over thy soul, the Almighty arm shall lift up a standard, and thou shalt safely repose "under the shadow of his wings." "The Lord is thy rock, and thy fortress, and thy deliverer." "The Lord is thy light and thy salvation; whom shalt thou fear? The Lord is the strength of thy life, of whom shalt thou be afraid?"

Then look up, Christian! 'tis no time for desponding. The glittering spires of the Eternal City are already heaving in sight; perchance another storm, another beating against the fragile bark, and thou art there! Already the music of that glorious land steals softly over the roaring billows, and reminds thee thou art nearing the peaceful shore. Already the dark cloud which gathers above thy head is tinged with the beams of immortal glory, and away in the distance thou canst behold the first faint glimmerings of the Morning Star. Joy for thee, O wanderer! the shadows of the night are passing away, and the unclouded morning comes on apace!

Yes, thou art safe! lift up thine eyes, And calm thy anxious fears; The Sun of glory gilds the skies, And Christ thy life appears.

THE END