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That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need Either man's work or his own gifts; who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his

state

Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed, And post o'er land and ocean without rest; They also serve who only stand and wait."

SAID I NOT SO.

MILTON.

SAID I not so, that I would sin no more?
Witness, my God, I did;

Yet I am run again upon the score:

My faults cannot be hid.

What shall I do?- Make vows and break them still?

"T will be but labor lost;

My good cannot prevail against mine ill :
The business will be crost.

O, say not so; thou canst not tell what strength
Thy God may give thee at the length.
Renew thy vows, and if thou keep the last,
Thy God will pardon all that 's past.
Vow while thou canst; while thou canst vow,
thou mayst

Perhaps perform it when thou thinkest least.

Thy God hath not denied thee all,
Whilst he permits thee but to call.
Call to thy God for grace to keep

Thy vows; and if thou break them, weep. Weep for thy broken vows, and vow again : Vows made with tears cannot be still in vain. Then once again

I vow to mend my ways;

Lord, say Amen,

And thine be all the praise,

GEORGE HERBERT

ON JORDAN'S STORMY BANKS.

ON Jordan's stormy banks I stand,
And cast a wishful eye

To Canaan's fair and happy land,
Where my possessions lie.

O the transporting, rapturous scene
That rises to my sight!
Sweet fields arrayed in living green,

And rivers of delight.

There generous fruits, that never fail,
On trees immortal grow;
There rock, and hill, and brook, and vale
With milk and honey flow.

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THE SPIRIT-LAND.

FATHER! thy wonders do not singly stand,
Nor far removed where feet have seldom strayed;
Around us ever lies the enchanted land,
In marvels rich to thine own sons displayed;
In finding thee are all things round us found;
In losing thee are all things lost beside;
Ears have we, but in vain strange voices sound;
And to our eyes the vision is denied ;
We wander in the country far remote,
Mid tombs and ruined piles in death to dwell;
Or on the records of past greatness dote,
And for a buried soul the living sell;
While on our path bewildered falls the night
That ne'er returns us to the fields of light.

JONES VERY.

THERE IS A LAND OF PURE DELIGHT.
THERE is a land of pure delight,
Where saints immortal reign;
Infinite day excludes the night,
And pleasures banish pain.

There everlasting spring abides,

And never-withering flowers;
Death, like a narrow sea, divides
This heavenly land from ours.

Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood
Stand dressed in living green;
So to the Jews old Canaan stood,
While Jordan rolled between.

But timorous mortals start and shrink
To cross this narrow sea,
And linger shivering on the brink,
And fear to launch away.

O, could we make our doubts remove,
Those gloomy doubts that rise,
And see the Canaan that we love
With unbeclouded eyes,

Could we but climb where Moses stood,
And view the landscape o'er,

Not Jordan's stream, nor death's cold flood,
Should fright us from the shore.

ISAAC WATTS.

Within the brightness of thy face,

And our soul

In the scroll

Of life and blissfulness enroll,

HEAVEN.

BEYOND these chilling winds and gloomy skies,
Beyond death's cloudy portal,

That we may praise thee to eternity. Allelujah! There is a land where beauty never dies,

JEREMY TAYLOR.

Where love becomes immortal;

A land whose life is never dimmed by shade,

Whose fields are ever vernal;
Where nothing beautiful can ever fade,
But blooms for aye eternal.

We may not know how sweet its balmy air,
How bright and fair its flowers;

We may not hear the songs that echo there,
Through those enchanted bowers.

The city's shining towers we may not see
With our dim earthly vision,

For Death, the silent warder, keeps the key
That opes the gates elysian.

But sometimes, when adown the western sky
A fiery sunset lingers,

Its golden gates swing inward noiselessly,
Unlocked by unseen fingers.

And while they stand a moment half ajar,
Gleams from the inner glory

Stream brightly through the azure vault afar
And half reveal the story.

O land unknown!

O land of love divine!

Father, all-wise, eternal!

O, guide these wandering, wayworn feet of mine
Into those pastures vernal !

"ONLY WAITING."

ANONYMOUS.

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poor;

They 'll home again, full laden, to thy door;
The streams of love flow back where they begin,
For springs of outward joys lie deep within.

Even let them flow, and make the places glad
Where dwell thy fellow-men. Shouldst thou be sad,
And earth seem bare, and hours, once happy, press
Upon thy thoughts, and make thy loneliness
More lonely for the past, thou then shalt hear
The music of those waters running near;
And thy faint spirit drink the cooling stream,

[A very aged man in an almshouse was asked what he was doing And thine eye gladden with the playing beam

now. He replied, "Only waiting."]

ONLY waiting till the shadows

Are a little longer grown,

Only waiting till the glimmer

Of the day's last beam is flown; Till the night of earth is faded

From the heart, once full of day; Till the stars of heaven are breaking Through the twilight soft and gray.

Only waiting till the reapers

Have the last sheaf gathered home, For the summer time is faded,

And the autumn winds have come. Quickly, reapers! gather quickly

The last ripe hours of my heart, For the bloom of life is withered, And I hasten to depart.

Only waiting till the angels

Open wide the mystic gate,

At whose feet I long have lingered,
Weary, poor, and desolate.
Even now I hear the footsteps,
And their voices far away;

That now upon the water dances, now
Leaps up and dances in the hanging bough.

Is it not lovely? Tell me, where doth dwell
The power that wrought so beautiful a spell?
In thine own bosom, Brother? Then as thine
Guard with a reverent fear this power divine.

And if, indeed, 't is not the outward state,
But temper of the soul by which we rate
Sadness or joy, even let thy bosom move
With noble thoughts and wake thee into love,
And let each feeling in thy breast be given
An honest aim, which, sanctified by Heaven,
And springing into act, new life imparts,
Till beats thy frame as with a thousand hearts.
Sin clouds the mind's clear vision,
Around the self-starved soul has spread a dearth.
The earth is full of life; the living Hand
Touched it with life; and all its forms expand
With principles of being made to suit

Man's varied powers and raise him from the brute.
And shall the earth of higher ends be full,
Earth which thou tread'st,

be dull?

and thy poor mind

Thou talk of life, with half thy soul asleep?

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