114

A PILGRIM'S SONG.

Then, O my Lord, prepare

My soul for that sweet day;
O wash me in thy precious blood,
And take my sins away.

'Tis but a little while

And He shall come again,

Who died that we might live, who lives

That we with Him may reign.

Then, O my Lord, prepare

My soul for that glad day;

O wash me in thy precious blood,
And take my sins away.

QUIS SEPARABIT

'Tis thus they press the hand and part,
Thus have they bid farewell again;
Yet still they commune, heart with heart,
Linked by a never-broken chain.

Still one in life and one in death,
One in their hope of rest above;
One in their joy, their trust, their faith,
One in each other's faithful love.

Yet must they part, and parting, weep; What else has earth for them in store? These farewell pangs, how sharp and deep, These farewell words, how sad and sore!

Yet shall they meet again in peace,
To sing the song of festal joy,

Where none shall bid their gladness cease,

And none their fellowship destroy.

116

QUIS SEPARABIT.

Where none shall beckon them away,

Nor bid their festival be done ;*
Their meeting-time the eternal day,
Their meeting-place the eternal throne.

There, hand in hand, firm linked at last,
And, heart to heart, enfolded all,
They'll smile upon the troubled past,
And wonder why they wept at all.

Then let them press the hand and part,
The dearly loved, the fondly loving,
Still, still in spirit and in heart,

The undivided, unremoving.

*"Ibi festivitas sine fine."-Augustine.

FAR BETTER.

O SAFE at home, where the dark tempter roams not,
How I have envied thy far happier lot!
Already resting where the evil comes not,
The tear, the toil, the woe, the sin forgot.

O safe in port, where the rough billow breaks not, Where the wild sea-moan saddens thee no more; Where the remorseless stroke of tempest shakes not ;When, when shall I too gain that tranquil shore?

O bright, amid the brightness all eternal,
When shall I breathe with thee the purer air?-
Air of a land whose clime is ever vernal,
A land without a serpent or a snare.

Away, above the scenes of guilt and folly,
Beyond this desert's heat and dreariness,
Safe in the city of the ever-holy,

Let me make haste to join thy earlier bliss.

Another battle fought, and oh, not lost—
Tells of the ending of this fight and thrall,
Another ridge of time's lone moorland crossed,
Gives nearer prospect of the jasper wall.

Just gone within the veil, where I shall follow,
Not far before me, hardly out of sight-
I down beneath thee in this cloudy hollow,
And thou far up on yonder sunny height.

Gone to begin a new and happier story,

Thy bitterer tale of earth now told and done; These outer shadows for that inner glory Exchanged for ever.-O thrice blessed one!

O freed from fetters of this lonesome prison,
How I shall greet thee in that day of days,
When He who died, yea rather who is risen,
Shall these frail frames from dust and darkness

raise.