The homes of earth are emptied oft by death
With chilling breath;

The loved departed guest may ope no more
The well-known door;

Still in that chamber sealed Thou 'lt dwell with me,
And I with Thee, my God! alone with Thee.

The world's false voice would bid me enter not
That hallowed spot;

And earthly thoughts would follow on the track
To hold me back,

Or seek to break the sacred peace within
With this world's din.

But, by Thy grace, I'll cast them all aside,
Whate'er betide;

And never let that cell deserted be,

Where I may dwell alone, my God, with Thee.

The war may rage!

keep thou the citadel,

And all is well.

And when I learn the fulness of Thy love
With Thee above —

When every heart oppressed by hidden grief
Shall gain relief —

When every weary soul shall find its rest
Amidst the blest -

Then all my heart, from sin and sorrow free,
Shall be a temple meet, my God, for Thee.

LITTELL'S Living Age.

FATHER! replenish with Thy grace

This longing heart of mine,

Make it Thy quiet dwelling-place,
Thy sacred inmost shrine !
Forgive that oft my spirit wears

Her time and strength in trivial cares,
Enfold her in Thy changeless peace,
So she from all but Thee may cease!

ANGELUS SILESIUS, 1657.

HYMN AND PRAYER.

NFINITE Spirit! who art round us ever,
In whom we float, as motes in summer sky,
May neither life nor death the sweet bond sever,
Which joins us to our unseen Friend on high.

Unseen, · yet not unfelt, — if any thought
Has raised our mind from earth,

or pure desire, A generous act, or noble purpose brought, It is Thy breath, O Lord, which fans the fire.

To me, the meanest of Thy creatures, kneeling,
Conscious of weakness, ignorance, sin, and shame,
Give such a force of holy thought and feeling
That I may live to glorify Thy name;

That I may conquer base desire and passion,
That I may rise o’er selfish thought and will,
O'ercome the world's allurement, threat, and fashion,
Walk humbly, softly, leaning on Thee still.

I am unworthy.

Yet for their dear sake

I ask, whose roots planted in me are found, For precious vines are propped by rudest stake, And heavenly roses fed in darkest ground.

Beneath my leaves, though early fallen and faded, Young plants are warmed, they drink my branches' dew;

Let them not, Lord, by me be Upas-shaded ;

Make me for their sake firm, and pure, and true.

For their sake, too, the faithful, wise, and bold, Whose generous love has been my pride and stay, Those who have found in me some trace of gold, For their sake purify my lead and clay.

And let not all the pains and toil be wasted,
Spent on my youth by saints now gone to rest,
Nor that deep sorrow my Redeemer tasted,
When on His soul the guilt of man was pressed.

Tender and sensitive, He braved the storm,

That we might fly a well-deserved fate, Poured out His soul in supplication warm, With eyes of love looked into eyes of hate.

Let all this goodness by my mind be seen,

Let all this mercy on my heart be sealed; Lord, if Thou wilt, Thy power can make me clean! O speak the word, — Thy servant shall be healed! JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE.

"O let not the Lord be angry, and I will pray but

E

this once."

MPTIED of good, with many cares oppressed,

Full oft I long to cast them on Thy breast; But not that I may lose them, Love Divine,

O rather craving Thou wouldst count them Thine.

They are not cares for my poor wants nor loss;
Their sorrows whom I love
- are my worse cross:
Do as Thou wilt with me, all shall me please,
Only be gracious, Perfect Love, to these

Whose souls I thus present before Thy Throne.

It is not hard to trust Thee with mine own,

But these — they mourn for griefs, they may not flee, And I can tell them, Lord, to none but Thee.

O might I pray, "Do Thou as I would do
For those I love - were my love strong as true;
But who may ask Thee thus, though, long withstood,
He mourneth after God and after good?

"As I would do." Ah! now methinks I hear
Thy comforting, kind voice, my Lord, most dear;
I feel Thy grace, Thy sweetness on me shine -
Poor as my treasure-store of love to Thine.

What wouldst Thou have me learn?- my trust, my all;
I call down blessings -- grief and trouble fall.
And yet Thy heavenly whisper teacheth me
Love is of God, and mine is born of Thee.

There is but one love, and its will is one;
But Thy love seeth all things - my love none.
Mine eyes are held, for so, and only so,
My love would cast their lot, if I might know.

Then take, Lord, on Thyself my load of care,
Kind to my fear, and gentle with my prayer;
With these it shall be well, my rest is one,
Because Thou lovest them most

Thy will be done.
JEAN INGELOW.

THE GIFT.

"Cast not away therefore your confidence, which hath great recompense of reward. For ye have need of patience, that, after ye have done the will of God, ye might receive the promise." HEBREWS x. 35, 36.

66

"A

Yea, Lord, I know it;

LL things are yours!"
But oh, how cold my heart must be,
To doubt the love that can bestow it,

And tarry still afar from Thee!

I claim Thy gift; I come to plead it;
Behold, I take Thee at Thy word;
Thou seest how much to-day I need it

Help for the helpless, gracious Lord!