Not known by bustle but by useful deeds,
Quiet and gentle, clear and fair as light;
Yet full of its all-penetrating power,
Its silent but resistless influence;

Wasting no needless sound, yet ever working.
Hour after hour, upon a needy world!

Sunshine is ever calm;

There are no tempests in yon sea of beams,
That bright Pacific on whose peaceful bosom
All happy things come floating down to us.
Light has no hurricane, no angry blast,
No turbid torrent laying waste our plains.
Morn after morn goes by, and the fresh light
Pours in upon the darkness, yet no storm
A wakes, no eddy stirs the tranquil glow ;
No crested billow rises, and no foam
Drifting along, tells of some tumult past.

Sunshine is ever strong;

No blast can break or bend one single ray ;

In seven-fold strength it faces wave and wind; Heedless of their opposing turbulence,

It passes through them in its quiet power

Unruffled, and unbroken, and unbent.

No might of armies, and no rage of storms,
Can turn aside one sunbeam from its path,
Or bate its speed, or force it back again
To the far fountain-head from whence it came.

Sunshine is ever pure ;

No art of man can rob it of its beauty,
Nor stain its unpolluted heavenliness.

It is the fairest, purest thing in nature,
Fit type of that fair heaven where all is pure,
And into which no evil thing can enter,

Where darkness comes not, where no shadow falls,
Where night and sin can have no dwelling-place.

Sunshine is ever joyous ;

Its birthplace is in yon bright orb which flings,
O'er cliff and vale, its wealth of rosy smiles.
Each sunbeam seems the very soul of joy;
No sadness soils it; scattering gladsomeness,
Like a bright angel, onward still it moves.
The very churchyard brightens as the ray
Alights upon its tombstones, and the turf
Seems strangely heaving to the radiant glow,
As if fore-dating the expected sunrise,

When, at the first gleam of the Morning-Star

The faithful

grave shall render up

its treasure,

And sunshine, such as earth has never known,

Shall fill these skies with mirth, and smiles, and

beauty,

Erasing each sad wrinkle from their brow,

Which the long curse had deeply graven there.

THE NIGHT AND THE MORNING.

To dream a troubled dream, and then awaken
To the soft gladness of a summer sky ;

To dream ourselves alone, unloved, forsaken,

And then to wake 'mid smiles, and love, and joy ;

To look at evening on the storm's rude motion,
The cloudy tumult of the fretted deep;
And then at day-burst upon that same ocean,

Soothed to the stillness of its stillest sleep,

So runs our course,

-so tells the church her story,

So to the end shall it be ever told;

Brief shame on earth, but after shame the glory,
That wanes not, dims not, never waxes old.

Lord Jesus, come, and end this troubled dreaming! Dark shadows vanish, rosy twilight break!

Morn of the true and real, burst forth, calm-beaming, Day of the beautiful, arise, awake!

HOPE OF DAY.

TILL the day dawn,

And the Day-star arise,—
Father, O keep thy son,
Thy feeble, faithless one!

O guide him through the waste,
Till the long gloom be past.

It is a night of fear;

The path is rough and drear;

Clouds frown, blasts rush along,

The tempests gather strong;

Strange perils compass me,

Of flood, fire, rock, and sea ;
Yet I, in loneliness,

Would fain still onward press.

O felt and known, but yet unseen, be nigh;
O loved and longed for, hear each hidden sigh;
Leave me not, struggling thus, to sink and die.

Till the day dawn,

And the Day-star arise,-
O Saviour, let thy love,
Down-dropping from above,
This withered soul renew
With thy flower-freshening dew!
O never-changing Friend,
My failing steps attend;
Hold thou me up, and so
I shall pass safely through.
Still keep me at thy side

Thou who for me hast died;

O light me on my way,

My joy, my strength, my stay.

O clasp me closer to thy pierced side,

Thou who for me the death of deaths has died ;

Let not this staggering faith be too too sorely tried.