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O Silent Land to

ve! Enough, if there alone be Love, And mortal need can ne'er outgrow What it is waiting to bestow !

7. G. Whittier.

Autumin, 43 159. Footsteps of angels. Vesper, 50. When the hours of day are numbered,

And the voices of the night
Wake the better soul that slumbered,

To a holy, calm, delight;
With a slow and noiseless footstep

Come my messengers divine,
Take the vacant chair beside me,

Lay a gentle hand in mine. Uttered not, yet comprehended

Is the spirit's voiceless prayer; Soft rebuke, in blessing ended,

Breathing from the lips of air. 0, though oft depressed and lonely,

All my fears are laid aside, If I but remember only

Such as these have lived and died.

161. 6- Green pastures and Autumn, 43.

still waters.” Vesper, 50. CLEAR in memory's silent reaches

Lie the pastures I have seen, Greener than the sun-lit spaces

Where the May has flung her green: Needs no sun and needs no star-light

To illume these fields of mine, For the glory of dead faces

Is the sun, the stars, that shine. Yet, О well I can remember,

Once I called my pastures, Pain; And the waters were a torrent

Sweeping through my life amain! Now I call them Peace and Stillness,

Brightness of all Happy Thought, Where I linger for a blessing

From my faces that are naught. Naught? I fear not! If the Power

Maketh thus his pastures green, Maketh thus his quiet waters,

Out of waste his heavens serene, I can trust the mighty Shepherd

Loseth none he ever led: Somewhere yet a greeting waits me

On the faces of my dead!

H. W. LONGFELLOW.

W.C. GANNETT.

160. Auld lang syne.

Lloyd, 24. It singeth low in every heart,

We hear it each and all, -
A song of those who answer not,

However we may call;
They throng the silence of the breast;

We see them as of yore,-
The kind, the brave, the true, the sweet,

Who walk with us no more. More home-like seems the vast unknown,

Since they have entered there;
To follow them were not so hard,

Wherever they may fare.
They cannot be where God is not,

On any sea or shore;
Whate'er betides, thy love abides,

Our God, for evermore!

Hamburg, 12. 162. The angel.

Ward, 18. To weary hearts, to mourning homes, God's meekest angel gently comes, Angel of Patience! sent to calm Our feverish brows with cooling balm. There's quiet in that angel's glance, There's rest in his still countenance; And in his tenderest love, our dear And heavenly Father sends him here. He walks with us, that angel kind, And gently whispers “Be resigned! Bear up, bear on, the end shall tell, The dear Lord ordereth all things well.”

7. G. Whittier.

J. W. CHADWICK.

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Away from forms I needs must turn; No prayer have I that I must learn: I ask but help to love thee more, And thy dear will in peace adore.

MRS. L. J. HALL

163.
A song of trust.

Lloyd, 24. O Love Divine, of all that is

The sweetest still and best!
Fain would I come and rest to-day

Upon thy tender breast;
And yet the spirit in my heart

Says, “Wherefore should I pray
That thou shouldst seek me with thy love,

Since thou dost seek alway?
I pray not, then, because I would, -

I pray because I must;
There is no meaning in my prayer

But thankfulness and trust.
And thou wilt hear the thought I mean,

And not the words I say;
Wilt hear the thanks among the words

That only seem to pray.
I would not have thee otherwise

Than what thou still must be;
Yea, thou art God, and what thou art

Is ever best for me.
And so, for all my sighs, my heart

Doth sing itself to rest,
O Love Divine, most far and near,

Upon thy tender breast.

Ellacombe, 53 165. He knoweth.

Webb, 54. Unto our heavenly Father

We will not fear to pray
For little needs and longings

That fill our every day;
And when we dare not whisper

A want that lieth dim,
We say, “Our Father knoweth,”

And leave it all to him.
For his great love has compassed

Our nature and our need;
We know not; but he knoweth,

And he will bless indeed.
Therefore, O heavenly Father,

Give what is best to me;
And take the wants unanswered

As offerings made to thee.

ANON.

J. W. CHADWICK.

164.

Prayer.

Hebron, 13. No words of labored prayer I know,I cannot seek my Father so; It gushes up in sudden hours, As sing the birds, as bloom the flowers. And is it prayer? or is it praise? I only know, in loving ways, When joy and sorrow touch the springs, To thee my spirit inly sings.

166. The thought of God. Marlow, 27. The thought of God. the thought of thee

Who liest in my heart,
And yet beyond imagined space

Outstretched and present art:-
It is a thought which ever makes

Life's sweetest smiles from tears;
And is a daybreak to our hopes,

A sunset to our fears.
It is not of his wondrous works,

Nor even that he is;
Words fail it,—but it is a thought

That by itself is bliss.

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What is our þeing but a cry,

A restless longing still,
Which thou alone canst satisfy,

Alone thy fullness fill!
Thrice blessed be the holy souls

That lead the way to thee,
That burn upon the martyr-rolls

'And lists of prophecy. And sweet it is to tread the ground

O’er which their faith hath trod; But sweeter far, when thou art found,

The soul's own sense of God!
The thought of thee all sorrow calms;

Our anxious burdens fall;
His crosses turn to triumph-palms

Who finds in God his all!

F. L HOSMER.

169.

My prayer. Laban, 33.
ONE gift, my God, I seek,-

To know thee always near;
To feel thy hand, to see thy face,

Thy blessed voice to hear.
Where'er I go, my God,

0, let me find thee there; Where'er I stay, stay thou with me,

A presence everywhere.
And if thou bringest peace,

Or if thou bringest pain,
But come thyself

with all that comes,
And all shall go for gain.
Long listening to thy words,

My voice shall catch thy tone,
And, locked in thine, my hand shall grow

All loving like thine own.

B. T.

170

Never far. Boylston, 32. FOREVER with the Lord!

Within a thought so great, our souls

Little and modest grow;
And by its vastness awed, we learn

The art of walking slow.
The very thinking of the thought,

Without or praise or prayer,
Gives light to know, and life to do,

And marvellous strength to bear.

F.W. FABER.

St. Agnes, 31. 167. The thought of God.

Balerma, 21.
ONE thought I have, my ample creed,

So deep it is and broad,
And equal to my every need, -

It is the thought of God.
Each morn unfolds some fresh surprise,

I feast at Life's full board;
And rising in my inner skies

Shines forth the thought of God.
At night my gladness is my prayer;

I drop my daily load,
And every care is pillowed there

Upon the thought of God.
I ask not far before to see,

But take in trust my road;
Life, death, and immortality

Are in my thought of God.
To this their secret strength they owed

The martyr's path who trod;
The fountains of their patience flowed

From out their thought of God.
Be still the light upon my way,

My pilgrim staff and rod,
My rest by night, my strength by day,

O blessed thought of God!

F. L. HOSMER.

168. Divine help. Naomi, 28.
O NAME, all other names above,

What art thou not to me,
Now I have learned to trust thy love

And cast my care on thee!

So, Father, let it be!
Life from the dead is in that word,-

'T is immortality!

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Here in the body pent,

Seeking for thee I roam;,
And nightly pitch my moving tent

A day's march nearer home.
I hear at morn and even,

At noon and midnight hour,
The choral harmonies of heaven

Earth's Babel-tongues o'erpower.
And then I feel that he,

Remembered or forgot,
The Lord, is never far from me,
Though I perceive him not.

7. Montgomery. 171.

Thine. Laban, 33. BlEst be thy love, dear Lord,

That taught us this sweet way,
Only to love thee for thyself

And for that love obey.
O thou, our souls' dear Hope,

We to thy goodness fly;
Where'er we are, thou canst protect,

Whate'er we need, supply.
Whether we eep or wake,

To thee we both resign,
By night we see, as well as day,
If thy light on us shine.
Whether we live or die,

Both we submit to thee;
In death we live as well as life,

If thine in death we be.

173. The retreat. Hamburg, 12.
Now, hushing every adverse sound,
Songs of defence my soul surround,
As if all saints encamped about
One trusting heart pursued by doubt.
And O, how solemn, yet how sweet,
Their one assured, persuasive strain!
“The Lord of Hosts is thy retreat,
Still in his hands thy times remain.”
O tender word! O truth divine!
Lord, I am altogether thine;
I have bowed down, I need not flee;
Peace, peace is mine in trusting thee.

ANNA L. WARING.

Rooted.

Pleyel, 40. 174.

Noyes, 38. O thou Lord of heaven above! Earth beneath is all thine own; In the depths of heavenly love Let my human heart be sown. Where the silent waters flow, It shall multiply its root; It shall blossom, it shall grow, It shall bear immortal fruit.

J. AUSTIN.

ANNA L. WARING.

172. Yes, for me. Benneson, 44. YES, for me, for me he careth,

With a Father's tender care; Yes, with me, with me he beareth

Every burden, every fear. Yes, in me abroad he sheddeth

Joys unearthly, love and light; And, to cover me, he spreadeth

His protecting wing of might.

Azmon, 20. 175. The peace of God.

Balerina, 21. We ask not, Father, the repose

Which comes from outward rest, If we may have through all life's woes

Thy peace within our breast.

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That peace which suffers and is strong,

Trusts where it cannot see, Deems not the trial way too long,

But leaves the end with thee. That peace which, through the billows'

moan

And angry tempests' roar,
Sends forth its calm, unfaltering tone

Of joy forevermore.
That
peace

which flows serene and deep, A river in the soul, Whose banks a living verdure keep,

God's sunshine o'er the whole.

In quiet hours the tranquil soul
Reflects the beauty of the sky;
No passions rise or billows roll,
And only God and heaven are nigh.
The tides of being ebb and flow,
Creating peace without alloy;
A sacred happiness we know,
Too high for mirth, too deep for joy.
Like birds that slumber on the sea,
Unconscious where the current runs,
We rest on God's infinity
Of bliss, that circles stars and suns.
His perfect peace has swept from sight
The narrow bounds of time and space,
And looking up with still delight
We catch the glory of his face.

ANOX,

176. The calm of the soul. Whittier, 62. WHEN winds are raging o'er the upper

ocean, And billows wild contend with angry

roar, 'f'is said, far down beneath the wild com

motion, That peaceful stillness reigneth ever

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more.

Far, far beneath, the noise of tempests

dieth, And silver waves chime ever peacefully, And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er it

flieth, Disturbs the sabbath of that deeper sea. So to the heart that knows thee, Love

Eternal ! There is a temple sacred evermore; And all the Babel of life's angry voices Dies in hushed stillness at its peaceful

door. Far, far away, the roar of passion dieth, And loving thoughts rise calm and

peacefully; And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er it

flieth, Disturbs the soul that dwells, O Lord!

in thee.

FATHER, thy paternal care
Has my guardian been, my guide!
Every hallowed wish and prayer
Has thy hand of love supplied :
Thine is every thought of bliss
Left by hours and days gone by ;
Every hope thine offspring is,
Beaming from futurity.
Every sun of splendid ray;
Every moon that shines serene;
Every morn that welcomes day;
Every evening's twilight scene;
Every hour which wisdom brings;
Every incense at thy shrine;
These, and all life's holiest things,
And its fairest, -all are thine.
And for all, my hymns shall rise
Daily to thy gracious throne;
Thither let my asking eyes
Turn unwearied, Righteous One!

MRS. A. B. STOWE.

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