Like whispered voice to calm and bless All unrest and all loneliness; "Not as I will: " because the one Who loved us first and best, has gone Before us on the road, and still For us will all his love fulfil, "Not as we will." H. H. Life's Question, and Faith's Answer. Drifting away like mote on the stream; Whirling away like leaf in the wind; Floating away like cloud on the hill; Crystal the pavement under the stream; Bright leaves may scatter, sports of the wind; Calm is the firmament over the cloud; Clear shine the stars through the rifts of the shroud; Henry Alford. Quiet from God. Quiet from God! how beautiful to keep This treasure, the All-merciful hath given; To feel, when we awake and when we sleep, Its incense round us like a breath from heaven! Who shall make trouble? Not the evil minds What shall make trouble? Not the holy thought Of those undying things his peace hath wrought What shall make trouble? Not slow wasting pain, These do but wear away, then snap the chain Which bound the spirit down to things beneath. Sarah J. Williams. Restored. Dust unto dust, the heart makes cry; Ashes to ashes doth reply. Shall I see God when I shall die? My hands are strong, the Lord God says, My arms are wide, in many ways Not in hard earth thou leav'st thine own, Wherefore, O heart, no longer say But with a faith set heavenward John Tunis. Sometime. Sometime, when all life's lessons have been learned, The things which our weak judgment here have spurned, As stars shine most in deeper tints of blue; And we shall see how all God's plans were right, And we shall see how, while we frown and sigh, Too much of sweet to craving babyhood, And if, sometimes, commingled with life's wine, Pours out this potion for our lips to drink. But wear your sorrow with obedient grace! And you will shortly know that lengthened breath Is not the sweetest gift God sends his friends, And that, sometimes, the sable pall of death Conceals the fairest boon his love can send. If we could push ajar the gates of life, And stand within, and all God's workings see, But not to-day. Then be content, poor heart! Fet a Little While. Oh! for the peace which floweth as a river, A little while for patient vigil-keeping, To face the storm, to wrestle with the strong; A little while to sow the seed with weeping, Then bind the sheaves, and sing the harvest-song. A little while midst shadow and illusion, To strive, by faith, love's mysteries to spell; Then read each dark enigma's bright solution, And he who is himself the Gift and Giver, Jane Crewdson. |