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PRESENTIMENT is that long shadow on the lawn
I NEVER saw a moor,
I never saw the sea;
And what a wave must be.
I never spake with God,
Nor visited in heaven;
As if the chart were given.
Or he deserts us at the hour
The fight is all but lost; And seems to 'leave us to ourselves
Just when we need him most.
The palace walls I almost see
Where dwells my Lord and King !
Ill masters good, good seems to change
To ill with greatest ease ; And, worst of all, the good with good
Is at cross-purposes.
"Blessed are they who are homesick, for they shall come at last to
their Father's house." – HEINRICH STILLING.
Ah ! God is other than we think ;
His ways are far above, Far beyond reason's height, and reached
Only by childlike love.
Workman of God! 0, lose not heart,
But learn what God is like ; And in the darkest battle-field
Thou shalt know where to strike.
Thrice blest is be to whom is given
The instinct that can tell That God is on the field when he
Is most invisible.
Not as you meant, О learned man, and good !
Do I accept thy words of truth and rest ;
God, knowing all, knows what for me is lust, And gives me what I need, not what he could,
Nor always as I would !
Him and the Elder Brother face to face, -
Not as a homesick child who all day long
Whines at its play, and seldom speaksin song. If for a time some loved one goes away,
And leaves us our appointed work to do,
Can we to him or to ourselves be true
And so our work delay ?
The absence brief by doing well our task, Not for ourselves, but for the dear One's sake. And at his coming only of him ask
Approval of the work, which most was done,
Blest, too, is he who can divine
Where real right doth lie, And dares to take the side that seems
Wrong to man's blindfold eye.
For right is right, since God is God;
And right the day must win ;
FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER.
A DYING HYMN. EARTH, with its dark and dreadful ills,
Recedes and fades away ; Lift up your heads, ye heavenly hills ;
Ye gates of death, give way!
Our Father's house, I know, is broad and grand ;
In it how many, many mansions are !
And, far beyond the light of sun or star, Four little ones of mine through that fair land
Are walking hand in hand!
These of my loins? Still this world is fair,
Yet I'm not homesick, and the children here
My soul is full of whispered song,
My blindness is my sight; The shadows that I feared so long
Are full of life and light.
The while my pulses fainter beat,
My faith doth so abound ; I feel grow firm beneath my feet
The green, immortal ground.
I would be joyful as my days go by,
Counting God's mercies to me. He who bore
Life's heaviest cross is mine forevermore, And I who wait his coming, shall not I
On his sure word rely ?
Be heavy for the grief he sends to me,
To work his blessed will until he come
ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH.
That faith to me a courage gives
Low as the grave to go : I know that my Redeemer lives, —
That I shall live I know.
That nothing walks with aimless feet ;
That not one life shall be destroyed,
Or cast as rubbish to the void, When God hath made the pile complete ;
WHY THUS LONGING ? Why thus longing, thus forever sighing
For the far off, unattained, and dim, While the beautiful, all round thee lying,
Offers up its low perpetual hymn ? Wouldst thou listen to its gentle teaching,
All thy restless yearnings it would still ; Leaf and flower and laden bee are preaching
Thine own sphere, though humble, first to fill.
That not a worm is cloven in vain ;
That not a moth with vain desire
Is shrivelled in a fruitless fire, Or but subserves another's gain.
Poor indeed thou must be, if around thee
Thou no ray of light and joy canst throw, -If no silken cord of love hath bound thee . To some little world through weal and woe ;
Behold, we know not anything ;
I can but trust that good shall fall
At last - far off — at last, to all, And every winter change to spring.
So runs my dream : but what am I?
An infant crying in the night :
An infant crying for the light : And with no language but a cry.
THE LOVE OF GOD. Thou Grace Divine, encircling all,
A soundless, shoreless sea ! Wherein at last our souls must fall,
O Love of God most free!
When over dizzy heighis we go,
One soft hand blinds our eyes, The other leads us, safe and slow,
O Love of God most wise !
If no dear eyes thy fond love can brighten, -
No fond voices answer to thine own;
By daily sympathy and gentle tone.
Not by works that gain thee world-renown, Not by martyrdom or vaunted crosses,
Canst thou win and wear the iminortal crown. Daily struggling, though unloved and lonely,
Every day a rich reward will give ; Thou wilt find, by hearty striving only,
And truly loving, thou canst truly live. Dost thou revel in the rosy morning,
When all nature hails the Lord of light, And his smile, the mountain-tops adorning,
Robes yon fragrant fields in radiance bright? Other hands may grasp the field and forest,
Proud proprietors in pomp may shine; But with fervent love if thou adorest,
Thou art wealthier, --- all the world is thine. Yet if through earth's wide domains thou rovest,
Sighing that they are not thine alone,
And their beauty and thy wealth are gone.
Sweetly to her worshipper she sings;
HARRIET WINSLOW SEWALL,
O YET WE TRUST THAT SOMEHOW
FROM "IN MEMORIAM."
Will be the final goal of ill,
To pangs of nature, sins of will,
LOVE DIVINE, ALL LOVE EXCELLING.
Love divine, all love excelling,
Joy of heaven to earth come down,
All thy faithful mercies crown) ;