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And let the morrow rest

In His beloved hand;

His good is better than our best,
As we shall understand,

If, trusting Him who faileth never,
We rest on Him, to-day, for ever!

FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL.

COMPELLED TO BEAR THE CROSS.

MY Lord, if I had chosen

And asked a cross of Thee

I think unto its bearing
My heart would stronger be.
Who takes his cross and follows
With solemn will and choice,
He feels Thy hand uplifting,
He hears Thy calling voice.
But my reluctant spirit
It faints at toil and pain,
And back to easy living
Turns ever and again.

I think of the Cyrenian
Who crossed the city gate
When forth the stream was pouring

That bore Thy cruel fate.

From quiet country places

The startled man was caught

By that fierce human tumult
Where maddest passion wrought.

I ponder what within him
The thoughts that woke that day,
As his unchosen burden

He bore, that unsought way.

For I, O Lord, Thou seest

A heavy cross I bear,

Yet in its choice, or making,
I had nor will, nor share.
The souls that lived before me
This load for me did make,
They left it me for birthright,
I could not choose but take.
This will toward good uncertain
Yet vehement toward wrong,
These yearnings that are feeble,
These passions that are strong—
Low, stubborn facts that cramp me,
High visions that are vain,

The spirit that aspires,

The body that's a chain,

This nature's not my choosing —

This cross, I cannot see

How bearing it I ever

Can follow after Thee.

Yet, "Tempted He as we are " ! Oh Lord, was Thy cross mine? Am I, like Simon, bearing

A burden that is Thine?

Thou must have looked on Simon
Turn, Lord, and look on me

-

Till I shall see, I follow

And bear Thy cross with Thee.
Then though I was compelled,
I'll claim as boon the woe

Through which my feet are learning

The path where Thou dost go.

HARRIET WARE HALL.

FROM "IN MEMORIAM."

STRONG SON OF GOD.

TRONG Son of God, immortal Love,

STRONG

Whom we, that have not seen Thy face,

By faith, and faith alone, embrace, Believing where we cannot prove!

Thou seemest human and divine,

The highest, holiest manhood, Thou; Our wills are ours, we know not how ; Our wills are ours, to make them Thine.

Our little systems have their day;

They have their day and cease to be ;
They are but broken lights of Thee,
And Thou, oh Lord, art more than they.

We have but faith: we cannot know;
For knowledge is of things we see ;
And yet we trust it comes from Thee,
A beam in darkness: let it grow.

Let knowledge grow from more to more,
But more of reverence in us dwell;
That mind and soul, according well,
May make one music, as before.

H1

XXXII.

ER eyes are homes of silent prayer, Nor other thought her mind admits But, he was dead, and there he sits, And he that brought him back is there.

Then one deep love doth supersede
All other, when her ardent gaze
Roves from the living brother's face,
And rests upon the Life indeed.

All subtle thought, all curious fears,
Borne down by gladness so complete,
She bows, she bathes the Saviour's feet
With costly spikenard and with tears.

Thrice blest whose lives are faithful prayers,
Whose loves in higher love endure;
What souls possess themselves so pure,
Or is there blessedness like theirs?

XXXIII.

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THOU that after toil and storm

Mayst seem to have reached a purer air, Whose faith has centre everywhere,

Nor cares to fix itself to form,

Leave thou thy sister, when she prays,
Her early Heaven, her happy views;
Nor thou with shadowed hint confuse
A life that leads melodious days.

Her faith through form is pure as thine,
Her hands are quicker unto good.
O, sacred be the flesh and blood
To which she links a truth divine!

See, thou that countest reason ripe
In holding by the law within,
Thou fail not in a world of sin,
And e'en for want of such a type.

XXXVI.

HOUGH truths in manhood darkly join,

THOU

Deep-seated in our mystic frame,

We yield all blessing to the name

Of Him that made them current coin;

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