Poems

Front matter

BY

NEW YORK: THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO. No. 13 Astor Place.

PREFACE.

The Offering

THE OFFERING.

"Ye are not your own; for ye are bought with a price." 1 Cor. vi. 19, 20.

No more my own, Lord Jesus! Bought with Thy precious Blood, I give Thee but Thine own, Lord, That long Thy love withstood.

I give the life Thou gavest, My present, future, past; My joys, my fears, my sorrows, My first hope and my last.

I give Thee up my weakness Which oft distrust hath bred, That Thy indwelling power May thus be perfected.

I give the love the sweetest Thy goodness grants to me; Take it, and make it meet, Lord, For offering to Thee.

Smile! and the very shadows In Thy blest light shall shine; Take Thou my heart, Lord Jesus, For thou hast made it Thine.

Thou know'st my soul's ambition, For Thou hast changed its aim (The world's reproach I fear not), To share a Saviour's shame.

Outside the Camp to suffer, Within the Vail to meet, And hear Thy softest whisper From out the Mercy-seat.

Thou bear'st me on Thy bosom, Amidst Thy jewels worn, Upon Thy hands deep graven, By arms of love upborne.

Rescued from sin's destruction, Ransomed from death and hell, Complete in Thee, Lord Jesus: Thou hast done all things well!

O deathless Love that bought me! O price beyond my ken! Life, that hides my own life E'en from my fellow-men!

Now fashion, form, and fill me With light and love Divine: So, one with Thee, Lord Jesus, I'm Thine—for ever Thine!

Praise for All

tpp|PRAISE FOR ALL!| {smaller}"All things are yours."—1 Cor. iii. 21. >><< Praise, my soul, the love that sought thee! Praise the Lord, whose blood hath bought thee!

Praise for all!

"Ye are Christ's." Can any sever Christ and thee? Nay! Then for ever

Praise for all!

Praise for triumph, or for trial, Prayer swift answered, or denial:

Praise for all!

Praise for friends, best loved and loving; And the love in all removing:

Praise for all!

For the days of health and gladness, And the nights of weeping sadness:

Praise for all!

|end=stanza

Tears, though wept for others' sorrow, Or the joy that flies to-morrow: Praise for all!

For the path made plain before thee, For the dark cloud lined with glory: Praise for all!

For the sickness sent to chasten, And the chariot home to hasten: Praise for all!

For the hope that waneth never, For the rest beyond the river: Praise for all!

Conflict

CONFLICT.

Lord! my soul is burdened By a weight of care, And my foot is taken In the fowler's snare;

Darkness gathers o'er me, I shall fall or flee: Helper of the helpless, Rise and succor me!

Dangers seem to threaten, Tempters' wiles assail; In Thy light I see them, Yet I weakly quail. Strange unholy terrors In my bosom rise; "What distrustful language— Heavy groans and sighs!

Thoughts of sin's defilement, Born of faithless mood, Hosts of unclean devils, Guests of hell's dark brood, Leave me lame and mourning, Blind to seek and trace All the glorious beauty Of Immanuel's face.

Look, oh, look upon me! See my wounds! and hear In my soul's veiled chambers, What dishonoring fear!

Withered arms for service, And a palsied frame That hath scarce a heart-throb At Thy precious name.

Touch me, cleanse me, heal me! Thou didst give me life; Speak the word, and save me From this deadly strife. Thine is full salvation, And the gift is free: Helper of the helpless, Rise and succor me!

Hast Thou cast me from Thee? Well Thou mayst. Ah, no! Hold me fast, sweet Jesus! Whither should I go? Should I seek to hide me In some desert spot, Earth no cavern holdeth Where my God is not.

Could I rise to heaven, Thus by fears oppressed, There art Thou! Descending To the grave's dark breast,

Even there Thou reignest; And the shades of night Open lie as noon-day, To Thy piercing sight!

Wherefore am I thus, Lord? I, who fain would show To the thirsty pilgrim Where the waters flow; Where the milk to nourish, Where the wine of home, Are so freely offered Unto all that come.

Father! may I call Thee Abba—Father—mine? Dost Thou look upon me, And still own me Thine? Ah! Thy Spirit shows me Christ! my Priest and King, Sinless, Stainless, Perfect, Is my Offering.

Look on Thine Anointed; Let my tongue be mute, While we gaze together On my Substitute.

Thou art full well pleased With Thy spotless Lamb; And Thy Spirit tells me What, O God, I am!

Lost, abhorred, and loathsome, Leprous and unclean; Yet, enrobed in Jesus, I am spotless seen. Oh, the weight of glory It is mine to share! Even now He calls me "Altogether fair."

Lo, I see Thee, Jesus, Ransom of my soul! Hast Thou not redeemed me? Let the thunders roll. Can the law convict me? Thou hast set me free! Back, thou wily Tempter, Jesus died for me.

Bend, oh, bend my will, Lord! This—my only aim; For in light or darkness Thou art still the same.

Give me, or withhold then, What Thou seest best; Not upon Thy gifts, Lord— On Thyself I rest.

Did He say, "To-morrow I will hear thee"? Nay! Full and free the fountain Floweth every day. Holy Dove, oft grieved, Ere my tears were dried, To my listening spirit Thy still voice replied.

"Child, My child! be patient: I thy sins have borne; I have marked the conflict, And the scoffer's scorn; I have seen the sorrows Of thy broken heart, And in thy afflictions Borne a brother's part.

"Wouldst thou fear the darkness, Didst thou hate the light? "Would thy sin displease thee, Were thy sin delight?

Evil would be welcome, Wert thou of the earth: Child, look up to heaven, Whence thou hadst thy birth.

"Put thy heel on Satan, Draw the Spirit's sword, Prove thy holy breast-plate, Take Me at My word. Am I not thy Fortress? Wherefore fall or fly; Grasp thy palm, rejoicing In My victory.

"'Tis the lowliest conquers; 'Tis by might of love That the weakest soldier Doth the bravest prove. Rest thee, weary trembler! Was the strife unsent? Nay! thy King was with thee: Not a bow was bent,

"But thy Lord who loves thee Guided every dart; See! they only sent thee Nearer to my heart.

At thine hands upraised Half thy foes withdrew; Forward! I have conquered, Thou shalt conquer too.

"Child! in Me abiding, Nought thy foot shall move; Fear not! I will help thee, Mine is changeless love. Take My yoke upon thee, Learn the way from Me; I am meek and lowly, Meek and lowly be.

"Take My yoke—I bore it, Lean upon My breast; I have fought thy battle, Share with me my rest. Soon the plains of glory Sinless thou shalt tread; My right hand upholds thee, Rise—be undismayed.

"Trust Me—only trust Me! Wherefore shouldst thou quail? Can a weapon prosper, Shall a foe prevail,

'Gainst the Lord's Anointed? He hath set their bounds; While thy faith, though feeble, Loving-kindness crowns."

The Fourth Watch

THE FOURTH WATCH.

Many waters cannot quench love; neither can the floods drown it. Sol. Song viii. 7.

He walketh on the waters, Calm in the midnight storm; The seething billow beareth That mild, majestic form; The wind is but His chariot, Obedient to His word. Who knows the path Thou takest? Creator! Jesus! Lord!

He walketh on the waters, He ruleth wind and wave, The storm-tossed bark He steereth, He watcheth but to save. In His right arm is safety, With Him is life and light: Wait for Him, though He tarry Till the fourth watch of the night.

Distrust meets no upbraiding, All terror is allayed; "Be of good cheer," He whispers, "'Tis I; be not afraid." Hark! as the sweet assurance Breaks gently on the ear, Each sinking heart respondeth— "'Tis He! be of good cheer."

'Tis He who cleansed the leper, The Evil One cast out, 'Tis He who fed the hungry; Ye loved ones, can ye doubt? Who, 'neath the vault of heaven, E'er yet the waters trod, Or quenched their foaming fury, Save Christ, the Son of God?

Ah! while on earth they wandered, Those often weary men, Forgat they e'er that whisper That stole upon them then? With every stormy breaker The Master still was near; His love upheld His weak ones— "'Tis I; be of good cheer."

Son of Man! still sleepless, When others toil or weep,

Thou, 'midst the wildest tempest, Dost ceaseless vigil keep. Come, Lord! our fourth watch waneth; Come Thou—deliverance bring; Of thy little band the Brother, The Bridegroom, and the King.

Far o'er the world's wide waters Thy open door is seen: Thy dove, with white wings weary, Prays Thee to take her in. There's light upon the billow As the wild blast sweepeth by; We hear the heavenly message, "Be not afraid, 'tis I."

Oh, chase away the shadows, We long to see Thy face; Each lonely hour hath brought us Nearer to Thine embrace: Come, Lord! We wait Thy coming; With Thee is joy and light; Sweet hope! soon, soon shall vanish The fourth watch of our night.

The Sinner Saved

THE SINNER SAVED.

"Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest."—Matt. xi. 28.

"Tell me, happy Pilgrim, How you sought and found All your peace and gladness, On this barren ground. Why are all our pleasures Dull and tame to you; And your anxious hours Seem so far and few?"

"Not from Earth or Nature, Stranger, doth it spring; Birds that build the lowest Soar aloft to sing. So my strain is gladdest When aloft I rise, Farthest from my earth-nest, Nearest to the skies!

"Once, like you, I questioned: Life seemed nothing worth; Death, a gloomy vision!— And I wandered forth,

Seeking something better Than the worldling's lot; Rest, and peace, and pardon; But I knew not what."

"Thus I worked and fretted, Strove to keep God's law; Vows new-made, and broken, All the fruit I saw. Then I heard of Jesus! And, while drowned in tears, He drew gently near me, Quieting my fears."

"'Come,' He said, 'poor sinner,' (Oh, that welcome word Seemed the sweetest message My poor heart had heard,) 'Come! My work is finished, And thy labor lost; See thy soul's redemption, And the price it cost.'"

"Then I told Him over All my life of sin; 'Now,' I said, 'or never, Will He let me in!'

Not one thought I'd given, All those long years past, To the dear Redeemer I had found at last.

"So I spoke, all trembling' Lord! it is not fit That a ragged beggar At Thy table sit. I would mend my garments, And would fitted be For the King's own presence, Who takes heed of me.'

"Soft He spake, so sweetly, 'Seek no other dress; Not a thread is lacking In My righteousness. I a mantle give thee None beside hath wove; Take it—be partaker Of My Father's love!

"'All the wrath—thy portion I have borne from God; From thy sins I wash thee In my cleansing Blood.'

Then I cried, 'O Saviour! In Thy boundless grace, For the chief of sinners Thou hast found a place.'

"From that day I knew Him,— Christ! my Priest and King! Father! Friend! Physician! Can I cease to sing? Nay, until He call me From my work below, I will tell His praises Wheresoe'er I go.

"Enter, stranger! Welcome! See, the way is clear! 'Tis the Friend of sinners, That awaits thee here. Come! believe, and trust Him! Grace He'll ne'er deny, Since He saved a sinner, Such an one as I!"

He Loveth Me

HE LOVETH ME.

"Who loved me, and gave Himself for me."—Gal. ii. 20.

Whene'er my faithless footsteps stray, I miss my Lord upon the way, And then—how hard it is to say, "He loveth me."

Wild sounds the tempest in my ear, Nor sun, nor stars, for days appear, And yet my Jesus still is near, He loveth me.

All other love can soon forget; Estranged, where once the firmest set. Wandering and weak I am, and yet He loveth me.

How can I doubt Him? for my name Is graven on His breast! He came To bear for me my sin and shame! He loveth me.

Upon the Cross I see Him bleed, Mocked with a crown and broken reed! Made sin for me! soul, indeed He loveth me.

When, drooping, on my way I go, That sweet assurance can bestow Peace in the darkest hour: I know He loveth me.

It smoothes for me the roughest road, It bears me o'er the rising flood; All things together work for good. He loveth me.

It is the shadow from the heat, It is the star to guide my feet, My pillow, and my night-song sweet, "He loveth me."

When clouds upon my spirit fall, And sins affright, and fears appal, Up, sinking heart, and tell Him all! He loveth me.

He loveth me! That thought hath flung A joy and gladness o'er my song; Its burden echoes all day long, "He loveth me."

He loveth me! Take courage, ye Who sigh for Him you cannot see; Sure, none should ever hopeless be. He loveth me.

My Garden-Ground

MY GARDEN-GROUND.

"My Beloved is gone down into His garden, to the beds of spices, to feed in the gardens, and to gather lilies."—Sol. Song vi. 2.

God granted me a garden-ground Within this desert land; And thorns bloomed in the wilderness, By heavenly breezes fanned. A brook ran rippling by the way, And made sweet music there; The fairest vineyard of the south Seemed never half so fair.

One came, when barren lay the field, Of gracious speech was He; As mother to her listening child, Thus spake my Lord to me: "I am the Husbandman, and thou From me this land dost hold; More precious is the smallest blade Than Ophir's purest gold.

"Work for Me, work thy one brief hour, For Me, thy Friend, and ne'er Dread thou the drought, or fear the cloud, But cast on Me thy care.

Far on the breeze, each winged germ May mock thine anxious gaze: Thou'lt find it in the fatherland, The growth of many days.

"Raise thou the bruised and broken plants The storm may bend around; Shelter for me the tender vine Within thy garden-ground. Let not the lack of harvest fruit Thy heart's allegiance move; My hand deals forth the best for thee, And all is done in love.

"'Tis not for thee to judge the need Of watching, tears, and toil; A fairer clime awaits thy plants, Now in a foreign soil. And see! to cheer thy path awhile, This crystal brook shall run; Its voice shall chime in happy praise With thine, my lonely one!"

I answered, "Lord, how good it is! How great Thy mercies be! Yes, I will keep this garden-ground, And tend it but for Thee.

All Thine! for ever, Lord, all Thine! The stream, the flowers, the fruit. Such love beams in Thy gifts to me! My tongue hath long been mute:

"Now I can only say, Tis Thine!' Ask what Thou lovest best, And I will cull my first ripe fruit, For Thou my hand hast blest." So day by day I worked and sang; Though many a night I wept To see the blight or weed arise, But still my watch I kept.

Brightest beside my purling brook My buds of promise grew; I loved the sunshine on the wave, And the sparkling spray it threw. I saw reflected in its face Our April's changing sky, The glory of the sunset eve, And night's fair canopy.

No message came for fruit or flower; But, as I passed along At noon, I missed the warbling brook That cheered me with its song.

I cried, "Oh, anything but this Hadst Thou but chosen, Lord! That brook had sweeter songs for me Than any summer bird."

He eluded not, that Husbandman, But whispered, while I mourned, "Only believe!"and then I thought My little brook returned. It soothed me with an angel tongue, And stilled my falling tear: "O dear one!"thus it seemed to sing, "Rejoice I am not here!

"My voice rings in thy future home, And Jesus loves the strain; Oh, never, never wish me back 'Mid earthly scenes again. No summer heat can reach me there, No winter's frost or snow; And radiant in the light of life My rippling wavelets flow.

"Not lost for thee the silver stream, Not dumb my summer song; Beyond the Jordan's wave it flows Far fairer fields among,

Praising the love that marked the path That once was blindly trod: Thus we together still make glad The city of our God."

So comforted, my sorrowing head Bowed to the silence there; But still I said, "No other brook Was ever half so fair." But I will now but deeper drink From whence its source began; Deep from the rivers of Thy love, Whence, Lord, my brooklet ran.

Still worked I in my garden ground, While autumn days drew nigh, And then the Husbandman returned. He passed my ripe grapes by; He gathered not the pom'granate, Nor bent the green fig's bough; Soft breathing o'er the beds of spice, His voice has found me now.

Close at my side a lily grew, A fragile bud so small; None marked it, but I cherished it The dearest of them all.

He paused beside my flower awhile, My heart grew faint and cold; I cried, "Lord, wait; that little one Will fairer hues unfold."

He heeded not; He plucked my bud, And, smiling on me, said, "I planted it, and it shall bloom In Paradise instead: For it this clime is all too cold; But there, 'mid Eden's bowers, The lily-bud will grow to be The fairest of my flowers.

"Weep not! I am not grieved with thee; Though I thy treasures cull, 'Tis but to give them back again More richly beautiful. I lent them to thy loving heart, And soon thy Lord shall say, 'Thy work is done, thy crown is won, Rise up and come away.'

"Still tend for me one fleeting hour This garden of thy care, Days there will be when thou wilt miss Thy bud and streamlet there:

Look to the plains of Paradise Where joys immortal beam; There thou wilt find thy bud a flower, Thy rippling brook a stream.

"One flows in anthems rich in praise In heaven's eternal rest; Thy folded bud will blossom fair On Jesu's tender breast. Soon shall the singing of the birds Rejoice thy listening ear; The shadows lengthening in the sun Disclose the dawn is near."

Now on I go, and bless the spot Where once the brooklet ran, And trace the wisdom and the love That led the Husbandman To lend awhile the pleasant plant That graced my garden-ground; And those, the dearest to my heart, Christ hath the fairest found.

The Finger of God

THE FINGER OF GOD.

He stooped, and wrote upon the ground: No sound the silence breaks; Quick-heaving breasts and clouded brows Proclaim that conscience wakes: Men feel that God Himself is there, Beneath whose sight the soul lies bare.

We know not what that finger traced To meet each downcast eye, What long-forgotten sins arose In slumbering memory; In darkness veiled—to men unknown, But seen by God, by God alone.

He reads their thoughts, deceitful all; Clear to His sight they shine; Lust, avarice, murder, serpent's guile, And last—their dark design. He bids the sinless cast the stone; And lo, they go forth, one by one!

He stooped and wrote. Oh, tender still To them His pure eyes scanned! Each reads the mystic sign aright None else may understand. The silent witness on the ground Tells not the tale to ears around.

O thou sad woman, bowed in shame! Shalt thou e'er rise again? Behold, the helpless stands before The righteous Judge of men! And now, thy last accuser gone, The Sinless One may cast the stone.

And doth He cast it? Lifting up Himself, He gazed around. Alone with Jesus! leave her there, She hath the Refuge found: Her life, her guilty life is o'er, He bids her "Go, and sin no more."

Thus to the sinner speaks He still, Thus does He speak to me, "From the dark thraldom of thy sin I came to set thee free." Saviour and sinner stand alone: Oh, let the Sinless cast the stone.

Not for dread condemnation here Hath Christ this dark world trod: The holy Saviour, perfect Man, The spotless Lamb of God, Came but a pardon free to give, And bid the weeping sinner live.

O loving, tender Son of Man! More light and life be mine: Teach me Thy finger, Lord, to trace In every mystic sign, Writ on Thy spangled heavens above, Or earth's dark pages,—"God is love."

And when my secret sins arise With fierce confounding might, And Satan, with malicious rage, Darkens my day to night; Shall my accuser then be found? Nay! grace, Thy grace, shall more abound.

Yea, let me be alone with Thee, That Thou my soul mayst scan; Better the chastening hand of God Than tenderest love of man. Thy blood shall then my soul restore, And bid me "Go, and sin no more."

The Morning Cloud

THE MORNING CLOUD.

"Who maketh the clouds His chariots. . . . He watereth the hills from His chambers."—Ps. civ.

A storm cloud rose from its ocean-bed, And as slowly it sailed along, No rest it found on the beautiful earth; It dimmed the smile of the morning's mirth, The joy of the July song.

It seemed to mourn that the fair must fade In the glow of the summer day: It wept o'er the beauty it could not share; Then on to the heavens,—its home was there,— Its dark wings bore it away.

Over the meadows, and over the hills, "Where many a shadow had flown, There swept the cloud, with its gathering reef, Borne wildly along by the wind's wild breath, Alone—and a lonely one!

Its soft tears fell o'er the new-mown grass, And brighter the green that it wore; The water-lily her blossoms outspread, And the drooping daisy upraised her head, Refreshed from that heavenly store.

The parched earth drank up the crystal drops; While the brook, with its gurgling rills, Proclaimed that the cloud had not wept in vain; For down in the valley it wandered again, To sing of the God of the hills.

Then warbled the joyous birds in the brake, For the shower so soft and cool; The panting cattle, that seemed to sink In the noontide stillness, have stooped to drink, Mid-way in the glassy pool.

The wild goat browsed on the herbage scant, Where seldom a foot had trod; In their rocky home gambolled the conies gray, For the heaven-sent cloud had passed that way, And they found their food from God.

The moistened herb breathed its fragrant breath, Where a traveller paused to gaze: The dark cloud borrowed a light from the sky; O'er the path where its shade had passed mournfully, There echoed a song of praise.

The black pall rolled o'er the rocky coast, And parted before his eyes, At the sunset hour: as flowers may bloom From unsightly roots in the earth's dark womb, It spread o'er the western skies.

It gathered the rose of the ruby's rays, And the violet's amethyst shade; Then wrapped the hills in its amber fold, And robed the valley in garments of gold, By the sun's last beams arrayed.

And the traveller sighed for the cloudless land, Till the glory of earth was dim; Most precious of all in his home above The Son of the Father, whose boundless love Gave the Lord of that glory to him.

His soul sped on to his Father's house Afar—to the City of Light, "With its fair foundations and pearly gates, Where Christ in the mansion His loved one waits, In the day that hath no more night.

He blessed the sorrow that darkened his day, The cross it was his to bear; It lifted from earth each low desire, As the cloud of the morn was a chariot of fire,— The fairest, where all is fair.

The cloud must come, and the tears will fall, As God sendeth forth the rain; The shadows are weaving the rainbow's zone, And each bright ray is a lonely one, Till gathered to heaven again.

The Broken Slumber

THE BROKEN SLUMBER.

As the mourning bride, awaking From her slumber, wandered forth; Weeping for her Lord departed, Dwelling on His matchless worth,

Till Jerusalem's careless daughters Listened to her wail of woe, Crying, "Who is thy Beloved, That thou weep'st His absence so?"

Thus I comfort me, recounting, Lord, Thy wondrous works of old, When Thy voice, that woke the tempest, Ruled the waves that o'er me rolled.

I Thy mercies will remember, As my soul desponding lies, And their memory shall upbear me, O'er the earth-mists, to the skies.

By the sleeper ceaseless watching, When temptation's hour was nigh, I declare how faithful Thou, Lord, And Thou know'st how faithless I.

Could I dwell on Thy perfections, Tell how fair Thy features be, Men would leave their senseless pleasures, And go seek my Lord with me.

Yet the lost light, sore lamented, Could alone the shadow leave; If it flee not at my pleading, Sure some blessing it will give.

Like the day-clouds, dark with showers, Which with spring-tide duly come, As the sunny harvest season Ere the grain is gathered home;

So my winter and my summer, Night and morn, and twilight days, Raging heat, and tempest thunder, Shall unite to sing Thy praise.

Lord, it is Thyself I sigh for, And I count past joys my pain; Thoughts of Elim's wells and palm trees Only make me thirst again.

O dull heart! and couldst thou slumber When thy Lord was at the door, And His locks with night-dews heavy? Had He never watched before?

Was there not a lonesome garden? There that head was bowed for thee, Where the myrrh and wormwood mingled 'Neath the mystic olive tree.

Didst thou, when His fond hand beckoned, Read thy name engraved in blood? And His footprints—dost thou follow In the narrow path they trod?

Heart of love, so pierced and broken! Ah, though fierce the soldier's spear, Yet its thrust was ne'er so cruel As my own reluctant ear.

Where was sorrow like His sorrow? Nay; not since the world began Was there one to bear the burden That He bore—the Sinless Man!

Soul! if at thy door He speaketh, Wilt thou rise and open now? Though the thorn-wreath be the glory Of that bruised and bleeding brow.

Wouldst thou? 'Tis the risen Jesus! Answerest thou with closed door, When He comes in love to seek thee, Where so oft ye met before?

Wilt thou find excuse to linger; Or, with listless dull delay, Greet the voice that longs to whisper, "Rise, my love, and come away"?

Rather—up, and gird thy garment! Fear not that thy feet be soiled; He who watcheth by thy lattice Calls thee His—the undefiled!

Canst thou hear a Saviour suing? Wilt thou let Him call in vain; And, thy peace and joy forsaking, Only wake—to sleep again?

Oh, Thy blood, sweet Lamb, hath power: In Thy righteousness complete I would hide me. Blessed Jesus, I behold Thy hands—Thy feet.

By Thy grace, Thy love, I triumph; And my praise shall fuller be, While I tell how rich Thy mercy Unto me, Lord—yea, to me.

The Prayer Vessel

THE PRAYER VESSEL.

1 Peter ii. 5.

"He that had received the five talents went and traded with the same, and made them other five talents."—Matt. xxv. 16.

Of God's divinest blessings, O child, thou art the steward. Send forth thy prayer-girt vessel, By faith's strong hand secured; Chartered by Christ's own promise, Thy frail bark ne'er shall fail, And if becalmed it tarry, Thy breath may swell the sail.

Bear thou thy brother's burden; The tear by pity stirred Begets the sigh for succor, The cheering wayside word. Fast are the seasons passing; Each garnered grain may be Seen in the Land of Glory, In some celestial tree.

If the red gold thou hast not, Nor precious things of earth, Thou hast unfailing riches Where gold is nothing worth;

Thou'lt have some garden spices, Though thy land seem bleak and bare, For 'mid the many mansions There blooms a garden fair.

Send forth thy heart-store bravely, No prayer hath e'er been lost; Thy tears and sighs are numbered; Thy Father knows the cost. "With loving heart devising Burdens for every breeze, Trust thou the wealth to meet them In God's rich granaries.

Send it! In worldly blindness If men should mock thy trade, God's blessings rest upon thee, Lade on! be not afraid; Mean unto them thy measure, The prayer of patient years, Or thy heart's secret service, That Jesus' smile endears.

Thy track may seem all shadow, And hope be lost to sight; Fear not—trust on: the darkness To Christ, the Lord, is light.

He guards thy love-sent vessel, And rich He counts thy store; Thy cargo bears no sorrow Back from the unseen shore.

Thy wealth upon the waters Cast thou, and tremble not; In angel habitations No prayer will be forgot: So speed—speed for thy vessel Upon the trackless main! The breeze that wafts thy treasures Will blessings brine; again.

When from the safe "hereafter" Thou ponderest o'er the past, Thou'lt own Who ruled the waters On which thy bread was cast; For never yet confounded, Since flowed time's changeful flood, Was the merchantman who trusted His goodly store to God.

The Living Saviour

THE LIVING SAVIOUR.

I wept beneath the Cross that bore The Lamb for sinners slain; And oft I wandered, oft returned, To gaze on Him again. My soul had scarce a gleam of hope, Though 'neath the Cross I stood; Yet I could say that Jesus died, And life is in His blood.