And win me for Thy grateful guest
By love that will not be denied.
Try me with Thy refining fire;
Array me in Thy white attire;
Be wisdom, righteousness to me;
The river of my pleasures be,
And fill my life with love to Thee.

VII.

"Thou, Lord, art good, and ready to forgive; and plenteous in mercy unto all them that call upon Thee." -PSALM LXXxvi. 5.

My Saviour, whose infinite grace

Most kindly encompasses me,
Whose goodness more brightly I trace,
The more of my life that I see-
The sins that I mournfully own,

Thy meekness and mercy exalt;
And sweet is the voice from Thy throne,
That tenderly shows me a fault.

Even now, while my praises arise,
A sorrowful spirit is mine-

A spirit Thou wilt not despise,

For, oh! it is mourning with Thine.

My joy is in light from above,

The light which Thy kindness displays;

My grief is for lack of the love

That would tune my whole life to Thy praise.

My faithful Redeemer, forgive

The sin it has grieved Thee to see,
And let me remember to live

In the Spirit that glorifies Thee.
Though much in Thy child Thou hast borne,
Thy counsels still gently repeat,

And give me, if still I must mourn,
To mourn as a child at Thy feet.

VIII.

A NEW-YEAR'S MORNING SONG.

"He hath put a new song in my mouth, even thanksgiving unto our God."-PSALM xl. 3.

THANKSGIVING and the voice of melody,
This new-year's morning call me from my sleep;
A new, sweet song is in my heart for Thee,

Thou faithful, tender Shepherd of the sheep; Thou knowest where to find and how to keep

The feeble feet that tremble where they stray: O'er the dark mountains, through the whelming deep,

Thy everlasting mercy makes its way.

The past is not so dark as once it seemed,

For there Thy footprints now distinct I see; And seed in weakness sown, from death redeemed, Is springing up, and bearing fruit in Thee. Not all that hath been, Lord, henceforth shall be ; A low, sweet, cheering strain is in mine ear: Thanksgiving and the voice of melody

Are leading in, from Heaven, a blest new year.

With voice subdued my listening spirit sings,
As backward on the trodden path I gaze,
While ministering angels fold their wings,
To fill with lowly thoughts my song of praise.
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Will make them clear to my instructed sight; For the heart's knowledge of Thy sacred ways, Even in its deepest, darkest shades, is light.

I am not stronger, yet I do not fear
The present pain, the conflict yet to be;
Experience is a kind voice in mine ear,

And all my failures bid me lean on Thee.
No future suffering can seem strange to me,
While in the hidden part I feel and know
The wisdom of a child at rest, and free
In the tried love whose judgment keeps him low.

Thanksgiving and the voice of melody!

Oh, to my tranquil heart how sweet the strain! Father of mercies, it arose in Thee,

And to Thy bosom it returns again.
There let my grateful song, my soul, remain,
Calm in the risen Saviour's tender care;
And welcome any trial, any pain,

That serves to keep Thy faithful children there.

Thoughts of Thy love-and oh, how great the sum!

Enduring grief, obtaining bliss for me The world, life, death, things present, things to come,

All swell the new-year's opening melody. Past, present, future, all things worship Thee;

And I, through all, with trembling joy behold, While mountains fall, and treacherous visions flee, Thy wandering sheep returning to the fold.

IX.

"Thou hast turned for me my mourning into danoing: Thou hast put off my sackcloth and girded me with gladness; to the end that my glory may sing praise to Thee, and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give thanks unto Thee for ever."-PSALM XXX. 11, 12.

STRENGTH of the still secluded thought,
That fears, yet longs, its joy to show-
The hope, the awe, in mercy taught
To make me strong, to keep me low;
Now shall my girded heart rejoice,

In praise poured out, in love expressed; Now will I bless Thee, with a voice

That shall not break this sacred rest.

Once, moved by every mortal pain,
By every pleasure quickly past,
I feared to speak in joyful strain

Of hidden life that might not last. Now, from a well that will not fail,

In Thee my deep rejoicing springs; Now, from Thy rest within the veil,

My spirit looks on passing things.

Once, with Thy tired ones homeward bent,
In hope that rose their fears above,
My leaping heart could be content

To greet them with a silent love;
I, too, had walked with weary feet,
And heard the exulting shout too near;
I, too, had felt the toil and heat,
The wind and storm I did not fear.

Perhaps the heavenward look in store,
The speechless prayer for strength or rest,

Might help those needy spirits more

Than hope set forth, or joy expressed. But I was changed, I knew not how,

By the same love that chose their ways; I might be just as weary now,

And yet rejoice to hear Thy praise.

Now would I cheer the faint in heart
With sound of joy they too shall see;
Now would I put the fear apart,

That bids me hide Thy strength in me.
What though the mortal flesh be frail,
The willing spirit prone to sink-
There is a stream in Baca's vale,
Whereof Thy feeblest child may drink.

Some, in their sorrow, may not know

How near their feet those waters glideHow peaceful fruits for healing grow,

And flowers for beauty by their side.
They may not see, with weeping eyes
Upon the dreary desert bent,
How glorious, straight before them, lies
The Eden of their soul's content.

But, O my Saviour, I can see

For them, what once for me was seen; I know, whate'er their sufferings be, The tender mercy which they mean. I do not watch, with anxious care,

To see the end of their distress; Thou knowest what the heart must bearThe human heart which Thou wilt bless.

And in their daily deepening need

Of heavenly love, for strength or rest, They are already blest indeedYea, and much more they shall be blest. Wrapt in the spirit of Thy praise,

As from Gerizim's height, I see
Blessing poured out on all the ways
That prove Thy children's need of Thee.

Oh, wondrous love, so strong to smite-
So meek the opposing will to tame!
It was Thy hand, put forth in might,
That led me through the flood, the flame.
When, needing strength to bear Thy rod,
By the smooth stream I found repose,
It was Thy grace, All-seeing God,

Thy love that smote me, ere I rose.

How could I look for lengthened rest,
With Thy deep sufferings scarcely known,
Or lay forever on Thy breast

The perfect heart which Thou wilt own?The heart, that, guilty of Thy woes,

Looks only upon Thee to mourn, And feels the cross Thy love bestows, A burden easy to be borne.

And yet that pause was not in vainIt was a blessing meet to give Strength, for the labor and the pain, Whereby alone my soul might live. How gently thence Thy mighty hand My lingering spirit onward bare! How precious, in a barren land,

The footsteps of Thy people were!

There many hearts that knew Thy ways
The safety of my soul could see;
And there I heard the song of praise,
That Faith poured out to Heaven for me.
Oh, more than all the ease I sought,

That song the desert path could bless ; And dearer in my deepest thought,

The love that met me in distress.

Now that Thy mercies on my head
The oil of joy for mourning pour,
Not as I will, my steps be led,

But as Thou wilt, for evermore. Henceforth, whate'er my heart's desire, Fulfil in me Thy own design;

I need the fountain and the fire-
And both, O King of Saints, are Thine.

Now that my sense of rest in Thee

Rules over every rising fear, Pain, pleasure, all I feel and see,

Thy counsels to my soul endear. Now can my girded heart rejoice,

In praise poured out, in love expressed; Now may I bless Thee, with a voice

That shall not break this sacred rest.

X.

"The Lord is my portion, saith my soul; therefore will I hope in Ilim."-LAMENTATIONS iii. 24.

My heart is resting, O my God!
I will give thanks and sing;
My heart is at the secret source
Of every precious thing.
Now the frail vessel Thou hast made
No hand but thine shall fill;
For the waters of the earth have failed.
And I am thirsty still.

I thirst for springs of heavenly life,
And here all day they rise;

I seek the treasure of Thy love,
And close at hand it lies:
And a new song is in my mouth,
To long-loved music set.
Glory to Thee for all the grace

I have not tasted yet!

Glory to Thee for strength withheld,
For want and weakness known,

And the fear that sends me to Thy breast
For what is most my own.

I have a heritage of joy

That yet I must not see;

But the hand that bled to make it mine, Is keeping it for me.

There is a certainty of love

That sets my heart at rest-
A calm assurance for to-day,

That to be poor is best-
A prayer reposing on His truth

Who hath made all things mine, That draws my captive will to Him, And makes it one with Thine.

I will give thanks for suffering now,

For want and toil and loss

For the death that sin makes hard and slow,
Upon my Saviour's cross;
Thanks for the little spring of love
That gives me strength to say,
If they will leave me part in Him,
Let all things pass away.

Sometimes I long for promised bliss,

But it will not come too late;
And the songs of patient spirits rise
From the place wherein I wait;
While, in the faith that makes no haste,
My soul has time to see

A kneeling host of Thy redeemed
In fellowship with me.

Take from me anything Thou wilt,
But go not Thou away;
And let the storm that does Thy work
Deal with me as it may.

On Thy compassion I repose,
In weakness and distress:
I will not ask for greater ease,
Lest I should love Thee less.
Oh, 't is a blessed thing for me
To need Thy tenderness.

While many sympathizing hearts
For my deliverance care,
Thou, in Thy wiser, stronger love,
Art teaching me to bear-
By the sweet voice of thankful song,
And calm, confiding prayer.

Thy love has many a lighted path
No outward eye can trace,

And my heart sees Thee in the deep,
With darkness on its face,

643

And communes with Thee, 'mid the storm, As in a secret place.

O Comforter of God's redeemed,

Whom the world does not see,

What hand should pluck me from the flood
That casts my soul on Thee?

Who would not suffer pain like mine,
To be consoled like me?

When I am feeble as a child,

And flesh and heart give way, Then on Thy everlasting strength, With passive trust I stay. And the rough wind becomes a song, The darkness shines like day.

Oh, blessed are the eyes that see,

Though silent anguish show, The love that in their hours of sleep. Unthanked may come and go; And blessed are the ears that hear Though kept awake by woe.

Happy are they that learn, in Thee, Though patient suffering teach, The secret of enduring strength, And praise too deep for speechPeace that no pressure from without, No strife within, can reach.

There is no death for me to fear,

For Christ, my Lord, hath died; There is no curse in this my pain, For He was crucified.

And it is fellowship with Him

That keeps me near His side.

My heart is fixed, O God, my strength!
My heart is strong to bear;

I will be joyful in Thy love,
And peaceful in Thy care.
Deal with me, for my Saviour's sake,
According to His prayer.

No suffering, while it lasts, is joy,
How blest soe'er it be,

Yet may the chastened child be glad

His Father's face to see;

And oh, it is not hard to bear

What must be borne in Thee.

It is not hard to bear by faith,
In Thine own bosom laid,
The trial of a soul redeemed,

For Thy rejoicing made.

Well may the heart in patience rest, That none can make afraid.

Safe in Thy sanctifying grace,
Almighty to restore-

Borne onward-sin and death behind,
And love and life before.
Oh, let my soul abound in hope,

And praise Thee more and more!

Deep unto deep may call, but I
With peaceful heart will say:
Thy loving-kindness hath a charge
No waves can take away;

And let the storm that speeds me home,
Deal with me as it may.

XII.

A RESURRECTION HYMN.

"The Lord is risen."

DEAR Saviour of a dying world,

Where grief and change must be,

In the new grave where Thou wast laid,
My heart lies down with Thee:
Oh, not in cold despair of joy,

Or weariness of pain,

But from a hope that shall not die,
To rise and live again.

I would arise in all Thy strength
My place on earth to fill-
To work out all my time of war
With love's unflinching will.
Firm against every doubt of Thee

For all my future way-
To walk in Heaven's eternal light
Throughout the changing day.

Ah, such a day as Thou shalt own When suns have ceased to shineA day of burdens borne by Thee,

And work that all was Thine. Speed Thy bright rising in my heartThy righteous kingdom speedTill my whole life in concord say, "The Lord is risen indeed."

Oh, for an impulse from Thy love
With every coming breath,
To sing that sweet undying song
Amid the wrecks of death!
A "hail!" to every mortal pang
That bids me take my right
To glory in the blessed life

Which Thou hast brought to light.

I long to see the hallowed earth
In new creation rise-
To find the germs of Eden hid
Where its fallen beauty lies-
To feel the spring-tide of a soul
By one deep love set free,
Made meet to lay aside her dust,
And be at home with Thee.

And then-there shall be yet an endAn end now full to bless!

How dear to those who watch for Thee
With human tenderness!

Then shall the saying come to pass
That makes our hope complete,
And, rising from the conquered grave,
Thy parted ones shall meet.

Yes, they shall meet, and face to face
By heart to heart be known,
Clothed with Thy likeness, Lord of Life,
And perfect in their own.

For this corruptible must rise

From its corruption free,

And this frail mortal must put on
Thine immortality.

Shine then, Thou Resurrection LightUpon our sorrows shine!

The fulness of Thy joy be ours,

As all our griefs were Thine.
Now in this changing, dying life,
Our faded hopes restore,
Till, in Thy triumph perfected,
We taste of death no more.

XIII.

"Sing, O heavens; and be joyful, O earth: for the Lord hath comforted His people."—ISAIAH xlix. 13.

A LIVING, loving, lasting word,
My listening ear believing heard,

While bending down in prayer;
Like a sweet breeze that none can stay,
It passed my soul upon its way,
And left a blessing there.

Then joyful thoughts that come and go,
By paths the holy angels know,
Encamped around my soul;
As in a dream of blest repose,
'Mid withered reeds a river rose,
And through the desert stole.

I lifted up my eyes to see-
The wilderness was glad for me,

'Its thorns were bright with bloom; And onward travellers still in sight Marked out a path of shining light,

And shade unmixed with gloom.

Oh, sweet the strains of those before:
"The weary knees are weak no more,
The faithful heart is strong;
But sweeter, nearer, from above,
That word of everlasting love,
The promise and the song.

DORA GREENWELL was born in England about 1830. Her first publication was "Christina, and other Poems," 1848. Her subsequent poetical publications are, "Stories that Might be True," 1851; a collected edition of her poems, 1867; and "Carmina Crucis," 1869. In prose she has published "The Power of Faith Exemplified in

Life," 1849; "Two Friends," 1862; "The Patience of Hope," 1863; "A Present Heaven," 1863; and "Essays," 1866. Most of her works have been republished in the United States, "The Patience of Hope" with an introduction by John G. Whittier, who first called attention to the beauty of some of her sonnets.

REPENTANCE.

I did what I thought to be the best, and I said just what came to my mind;

heaven as thick and fast as the fall

Of the drops of rain or the flakes of snow, I'd love Him and thank Him for all;

But the gift that I'd crave and the gift that I'd keep, if I'd only one to choose,

Is the gift of a broken and contrite heart-and that He will not refuse.

For what is my wish and what is my hope, when I've toiled and prayed and striven,

All the days that I live upon earth? It is this -to be forgiven.

And what is my wish and what is my hope, but to end where I begin,

With an eye that looks to my Saviour and a heart that mourns for its sin!

Well, perhaps you think I'm going to say I'm the chief of sinners; and then

You'll tell me, as far as you can see, I'm no worse than other men.

I've little to do with better or worse-I haven't to judge the rest;

If other men are no better than I, they are bad enough at the best.

I've nothing to do with other folks; it is n't for me to say

What sort of men the Scribes might be, or the Pharisees in their day;

But we know that it was n't for such as they that the kingdom of heaven was meant; And we 're told we shall likewise perish, unless we do repent.

And what have I done, perhaps you 'll say, that I should fret and grieve?

I did n't wrangle, nor curse, nor swear; I did n't lie nor thieve;

I'm clear of cheating and drinking and debt.
-Well, perhaps, but I cannot say ;
For some of these I had n't a mind, and some
did n't come in my way.

For there's many a thing I could wish undone, though the law might not be broken; And there's many a word, now I come to think, that I could wish unspoken.

sure that I was n't kind.

We'll come to the things that I might have done, and then there 'll be more to say: We'll ask for the broken hearts I healed, and the tears that I wiped away.

I thought for myself and I wrought for myselffor myself, and none beside: Just as if Jesus had never lived, as it He had never died.

But since my Lord has looked on me, and since He has bid me look

Once on my heart and once on my life and once on His blessed Book,

And once on the cross where He died for me, He If I'd have Him to be my Saviour and keep Him has taught me that I must mend, to be my Friend.

Since He's taken this long account of mine and has crossed it through and through, Though He's left me nothing at all to pay, He has given me enough to do;

He has taught me things that I never knew, with all my worry and care

Things that have brought me down to my knees, and things that will keep me there.

He has shown me the law that works in Him and the law that works in meLife He has made me weary of self and of pelf; yes, my Saviour has bid me grieve For the days and years when I did n't pray,

unto life and death unto death-and has asked how these agree;

when I did n't love nor believe.

Since He's taken this cold, dark heart of mine, and has pierced it through and through, He has made me mourn both for things I did, and for things that I did n't do: And what is my wish and what is my thought, but to end where I begin, With an eye that looks to my Saviour, and a heart that mourns for its sin!