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And if, perchance, the reed were crushid,

It could not more be used, ---
Its mellow music marr'd and hush'd,

He brake it, when so bruised.
But Thou, good Shepherd, who dost feed

Thy flock in pastures green,
Thou dost not break the bruised reed

That sorely crush'd hath been ;-
The heart that dumb in anguish lies,

Or yields but notes of woe, Thou dost retune to harmonies'

More rich than angels know!
Lord, once my love was all a-blaze,

But now it burns so dim !
My life was praise, but now my days

Make a poor broken hymn ;
Yet ne'er by Thee am I forgot,

But help'd in deepest need, -
The smoking flax Thou quenchest not,
Nor break'st the bruised reed.

W. B. Robertson.

Our outward lips confess the Name

All other names above :
Love only knoweth whence it came,

And comprehendeth love.
Blow, winds of God, awake, and blow

The mists of earth away; Shine out, O Light divine ! and show

How wide and far we stray. Hush every lip, close every book,

The strife of tongues forbear : Why forward reach, or backward look,

For love that clasps like air ? We may not climb the heavenly steeps

To bring the Lord Christ down : In vain we search the lowest deeps,

For Him no depths can drown.
Nor holy bread, nor blood of grape,

The lineaments restore
Of Him we know in outward shape

And in the flesh no more.
He cometh not a King to reign ;

The world's long hope is dim:
The weary centuries watch in vain

The clouds of heaven for Him.

Death comes ; life goes; the asking eye

And ear are answerless;
The grave is dumb; the hollow sky

Is sad with silentness.

The letter fails, and systems fall,

And every symbol wanes: The Spirit over-brooding all,

Eternal Love, remains,

475. CHRIST. Kingdom of
O North, with all thy vales of green!

O South, with all thy palms !
From peopled towns and fields between

Uplift the voice of psalms.
Raise, ancient East! the anthem high,
And let the youthful West reply.
Lo! in the clouds of heaven appears

God's well-beloved Son.
He brings a train of brighter years,

His kingdom is begun.
He comes a guilty world to bless
With mercy, truth, and righteousness.
O Father ! haste the promised hour,

When at His feet shall lie
All rule, authority, and power,

Beneath the ample sky;
When He shall reign from pole to pole,
The Lord of every human soul ;
When all shall heed the words He said,

Amid their daily cares,
And by the loving life He led

Shall strive to pattern theirs :
And He who conquer'd Death shall win
The mightier conquest over Sin.-Bryant.

And not for signs in heaven above

Or earth below they look,
Who know with John His smile of love,

With Peter His rebuke.
In joy of inward peace, or sense

Of sorrow over sin,
He is His own best evidence :

His witness is within.
No fable old, nor mythic lore,

Nor dream of bards and seers,
No dead fact stranded on the shore

Of the oblivious years ;
But warm, sweet, tender, even yet

A present help is He:
And faith has still its Olivet;

And love, its Galilee.
The healing of His seamless dress

Is by our beds of pain :

476. CHRIST. Ode to IMMORTAL Love, for ever full,

For ever flowing free,
For ever shared, for ever whole,

A never-ebbing sea!

We touch Him in life's throng and press,

And we are whole again. Through Him the first fond prayers are said

Our lips of childhood frame; The last low whispers of our dead

Are burden'd with His name.
O Lord and Master of us all!

Whate'er our name or sign,
We own Thy sway, we hear Thy call,

We test our lives by Thine.
Thou judgest us ; Thy purity

Doth all our lusts condemn ;
The love that draws us nearer Thee

Is hot with wrath to them.
Our thoughts lie open to Thy sight ;

And, naked to Thy glance,
Our secret sins are in the light

of Thy pure countenance. Thy healing pains; a keen distress

Thy tender light shines in ;
Thy sweetness is the bitterness,

Thy grace the pang, of sin.
Yet, weak and blinded though we be,

Thou dost our service own :
We bring our varying gifts to Thee,

And Thou rejectest none.
To Thee our full humanity,

Its joys and pains, belong :
The wrong of man to man on Thee

Inflicts a deeper wrong.
Who hates, hates Thee ; who loves, becomes

Therein to Thee allied :
All sweet accords of hearts and homes

In Thee are multiplied.
Deep strike Thy roots, O heavenly Vine !

Within our earthly sod,
Most human and yet most Divine,

The flower of man and God.
O Love! O Life!-our faith and sight

Thy presence maketh one ;
As through transfigured clouds of white

We trace the noonday sun.
So, to our mortal eyes subdued,

Flesh-veil'd, but not concealid,
We know in Thee the fatherhood

And heart of God reveal'd. We faintly hear, we dimly see,

In differing phrase we pray ; But, dim or clear, we own in Thee

The Light, the Truth, the Way.

The homage that we render Thee

Is still our Father's own : Nor jealous claim or rivalry

Divides the Cross and Throne. To do Thy will is more than praise,

As words are less than deeds; And simple trust can find Thy ways

We miss with chart of creeds. No pride of self Thy service hath,

No place for me and mine: Our human strength is weakness, death

Our life, apart from Thine.
Apart from Thee, all gain is loss,

All labour vainly done :
The solemn shadow of Thy cross

Is better than the sun.
Alone, O Love ineffable !

Thy saving name is given :
To turn aside from Thee is hell,

To walk with Thee is heaven.
How vain, secure in all Thou art,

Our noisy championship!
The sighing of the contrite heart

Is more than flattering lip.
Not Thine the bigot's partial plea,

Nor Thine the zealot's ban :
Thou well canst spare a love of Thee

Which ends in hate of man.

Our Friend, our Brother, and our Lord,

What may Thy service be?
Nor name, nor form, nor ritual word,

But simply following Thee.
We bring no ghastly holocaust,

We pile no graven stone :
He serves Thee best who loveth most

His brothers and Thy own.
Thy litanies, sweet offices

Of love and gratitude ;
Thy sacramental liturgies,

The joy of doing good.
In vain shall waves of incense drift

The vaulted nave around,
In vain the minster turret lift

Its brazen weights of sound.
The heart must ring Thy Christmas-bells,

Thy inward altars raise :
Its faith and hope Thy canticles ;

And its obedience, praise. —Whittier.

477. CHRIST : our Example.

Most holy Jesus, Fount of light!
As crystal clear, for ever bright,

Thou Stream o'erflowing, pure and free;
The brightness of the cherubim,
The glow of burning seraphim,
Are darkness when compared with Thee.

Be Thou my pattern bright,
My study and delight,

My all in all.
Oh, teach Thou me, that I may be
All pure and holy, like to Thee !- Crasselius.

Out of the sunshine, warm and soft and bright,
Out of the sunshine into darkest night;
I oft would faint with sorrow and affright.
Only for this, I know He holds my hand,
So whether led in green or desert land,
I trust, although I may not understand.
And by “still waters '—no, not always so ;
Osttimes the heavy tempests round me blow,
And o'er my soul the waves and billows go.
But when the storms beat loudest, and I cry
Aloud for help, the Master standeth by
And whispers to my soul, 'Lo, it is I.'
Above the tempest wild I hear Him say:
‘Beyond the darkness lies the perfect day,
In every path of thine I lead the way.'

478. CHRIST: our Life. O GLORIOUS Head, Thou livest now!

Let us, Thy members, share Thy life;
Canst Thou behold their need, nor bow

To raise Thy children from the strife
With self and sin, with death and dark distress,
That they may live to Thee in holiness?
Earth knows Thee not, but evermore

Thou liv'st in Paradise, in peace ;
Thither my soul would also soar,

Let me from all the creatures cease :
Dead to the world, but to Thy Spirit known,
I live to Thee, O Prince of Life! alone.
Break through my bonds whate'er it cost;

What is not Thine within me slay ;
Give me the lot I covet most,

To rise as Thou hast risen to-day.
Nought can I do, a slave to death I pine :
Work Thou in me, O Power and Life Divine !
Work Thou in me, and heavenward guide

My thoughts and wishes, that my heart
Waver no more nor turn aside,

But fix for ever where Thou art.
Thou art not far from us : who love Thee well
While yet on earth, in heaven with Thee



481. CHRIST. Questions about Art thou weary, art thou languid, art thou sore

distrest? 'Come to me,' saith One, -and coming, be at rest!' Hath He marks to lead me to Him,-if He be my

Guide ? In His feet and hands are wound-prints, and His

side! Is there diadem, as monarch, that His brow adorns? Yea : a crown, in very surety,—but of thorns ! If I find Him, if I follow, what His guerdon here? Many a sorrow, many a labour, many a tear ! If I still hold closely to Him, what hath He at last ? Sorrow vanquish'd, labour ended, Jordan past ! If I ask Him to receive me, will He say me nay? Not till earth and not till heaven pass away! Finding, following, keeping, struggling, is He sure to

bless ? Angels, martyrs, prophets, pilgrims, answer, Yes!

Stephen, tr. by 7. M. Neale.

479. CHRIST: the Bread of Life.
The ages show their garner'd sheaves of thought,
By all the gleaning generations brought,
Some secret mildew on them all hath wrought,

No food is there.
But in an upper room in Palestine,
Is one that giveth mystic bread and wine,
I reach out for that nourishment divine,

And faint no more.

482. CHRIST. Selling

If to-day thou turn'st aside
In thy luxury and pride,
Wrapp'd within thyself, and blind
To the sorrows of thy kind,
Thou a faithless watch dost keep-
Thou art one of them that sleep:
Or if, waking, thou dost see
Nothing of divinity
In our fallen, struggling race-
If in them thou see'st no trace
Of a glory dimm'd, not gone,
Of a future to be won,
Of a future, hopeful, high,
Thou, like Peter, dost deny :

480. CHRIST : the Good Shepherd. 'In pastures green '—not always—sometimes He Who knoweth best, in kindness leadeth me In weary ways, where heavy shadows be.

I wrap it round my soul ;

In this I'll live and die. -Bonar.

484. CHRIST. Sufficiency of

But if, seeing, thou believest,
If the Evangel thou receivest,
Yet, if thou art bound to sin,
False to the ideal within,
Slave of ease, or slave of gold,
Thou the Son of God hast sold.

A. C. Lynch. 483. CHRIST: a Sin-bearer.

Thy works, not mine, O Christ,

Speak gladness to this heart;
They tell me all is done ;
They bid my fear depart.

To whom save Thee,

Who can alone

For sin atone,

Lord, shall I flee !
Thy pains, not mine, O Christ,

Upon the shameful tree,
Have paid the law's full price,

And parchased peace for me.
Thy tears, not mine, O Christ,

Have wept my guilt away;
And turn'd this night of mine

Into a blessed day.
Thy bonds, not mine, O Christ,

Unbind me of my chain,
And break my prison-doors,

Ne'er to be barr'd again.,
Thy wounds, not mine, O Christ,

Can heal my bruised soul;
Thy stripes, not mine, contain

The balm that makes me whole.
Thy blood, not mine, O Christ,

Thy blood so freely spilt,
Can blanch my blackest stains,

And purge away my guilt.
Thy cross, not mine, O Christ,

Has borne the awful load
Of sins, that none in heaven

Or earth could bear, but God.
Thy death, not mine, O Christ,

Has paid the ransom due:
Ten thousand deaths like mine,

Would have been all too few.

He is a path, if any be misled ;
He is a robe, if any naked be;
If any chance to hunger, He is bread;
If any be a bondman, He, He is free ;

If any be but weak, how strong is He !
To dead men, life He is; to sick men, health ;
To blind men, sight ; and, to the needy, wealth ;
A pleasure without loss, a treasure without stealth.

Giles Fletcher. 485. CHRIST: suggested.

Earth has nothing sweet or fair,
Lovely forms or beauties rare,
But before my eyes they bring
Christ, of beauty Source and Spring.
When the morning paints the skies,
When the golden sunbeams rise,
Then my Saviour's form I find
Brightly imaged on my mind.
When the day-beams pierce the night,
Oft I think on Jesu's light,
Think how bright that light will be,
Shining through eternity.
When, as moonlight softly steals,
Heaven its thousand eyes re

Then I think : Who made their light
Is a thousand times more bright.
When I see, in spring-tide gay,
Fields their varied tints display,
Wakes the thrilling thought in me,
What must their Creator be!
If I trace the fountain's source,
Or the brooklet's devious course,
Straight my thoughts to Jesus mount,
As the best and purest fount.
Sweet the song the night-bird sings,
Sweet the lute, with quivering strings;
Far more sweet than every tone
Are the words Maria's Son.'
Sweetness fills the air around,
At the echo's answering sound;
But more sweet than echo's fall
Is to me the Bridegroom's call.
Lord of all that's fair to see!
Come, reveal Thyself to me;
Let me, 'mid Thy radiant light,
See Thine unveil'd glories bright.
Angelius Silesius, tr. by F. E. Cox.

Thy righteousness, O Christ,

Alone can cover me; No righteousness avails

Save that which is of Thee. Thy righteousness alone

Can clothe and beautify:

486. CHRIST. Star of

WHEN, marshall’d on the nightly plain,

The glittering host bestud the sky, One star alone of all the train

Can fix the sinner's wandering eye. Hark! hark! to God the chorus breaks

From every host, from every gem; But one alone the Saviour speaks ;

It is the Star of Bethlehem.

I see Thee not, I hear Thee not,

Yet art Thou oft with me;
And earth hath ne'er so dear a spot

As where I meet with Thee.
Like some bright dream that comes unsought,

When slumbers o'er me roll,
Thine image ever fills my thought,

And charms my ravish'd soul.
Yet though I have not seen, and still

Must rest in faith alone,
I love Thee, dearest Lord, -and will,

Unseen, but not unknown.
When death these mortal eyes shall seal,

And still this throbbing heart,
The rending veil shall Thee reveal,

All glorious as Thou art.-Ray Palmer.

Once on the raging seas I rode, • The storm was loud, the night was dark, The ocean yawn'd, and wildly blow'd

The wind that toss'd my foundering bark. Deep horror then my vitals froze;

Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem; When suddenly a star arose :

It was the Star of Bethlehem.
It was my guide, my light, my all ;

It bade my dark foreboding cease ;
And through the storm and danger's thrall

It led me to the port of peace.
Now safely moor’d-my perils o'er-

I'll sing, first in night's diadem,
For ever and for evermore,
The Star! the Star of Bethlehem !

H. K. White.

489. CHRISTIAN. The : his future glory.

(To a Butterfly.) Child of the sun! pursue thy rapturous flight, Mingle with her thou lovest in fields of light; And, where the flowers of Paradise unfold, Quaff fragrant nectar from their cups of gold : There shall your wings, rich as an evening sky, Expand and shut with silent ecstasy. Yet wert thou once a worm; a thing that crept On the bare earth, then wrought a tomb, and slept ! And such is man ; soon from the cell of clay To burst a seraph, in the blaze of day.-Rogers.

487. CHRIST : the way, the Truth, and the Life.

Thou art the Way; to Thee alone

From sin and death we flee; And he who would the Father seek,

Must seek Him, Lord, by Thee.

Thou art the Truth ; Thy word alone

True wisdom can impart ;
Thou only canst inform the mind,

And purify the heart.
Thou art the Life! the rending tomb

Proclaims Thy conquering arm ; And those who put their trust in Thee

Nor death nor hell shall harm.

490. CHRISTIAN. The: his peace.

* Let not your heart be faint :

My peace I give to you, —
Such peace as reason never plann'd,

As worldlings never knew.
'Tis not the noiseless calm

That bodes a tempest nigh,
Or lures the heedless mariner

Where rocks and quicksands lie.
'Tis not fallen nature's sleep,

The stupor of the soul
That knows not God, nor owns His hand,

Though wide His thunders roll.
'Tis not the sleep of death,

Low in the darksome grave,
Where the worm spreads its couch, and feeds, -

No hand put forth to save.
It speaks a ransom'd world,

A Father reconciled,
A sinner to a saint transformid,

A rebel to a child.

Thou art the Way, the Truth, the Life ;

Grant us that Way to know;
That Truth to keep, that Life to win,

Whose joys eternal flow.-Doane.

488. CHRIST : unseen, yet loved.

JESUS, these eyes have never seen

That radiant form of Thine ; The veil of sense hangs dark between

Thy blessed face and mine.

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