THE LOST CHERITH.

"He drank of the brook. And it came to pass after a while that the brook dried up." 1 KINGS Xvii. 6, 7.

HOU hast but claimed Thine own. Lord, I surrender

THE

Thy precious loan; for I would do Thy will. Let me not doubt Thy love, so true and tender; Say to my quivering heart-strings, "Peace; be still!"

Thou heard'st my cry when sore athirst and weary,
And on my path in pity cast Thine eyes;
Then, in the arid waste, all parched and dreary,
Thou bad'st for me a bubbling streamlet rise.

"Drink," Lord, thou saidst; and I in mute thanksgiving Drank of the stream that by the wayside burst, Sweet drops of love from Thy deep fount upspringing, That soothed my weariness, and quenched my thirst.

Now at Thy word dries up my pleasant Cherith ;
Oh, let me not in selfish grief repine !

Only Thy voice my mourning spirit heareth;
Thou hast not taken mine, O Lord, but Thine.

“Nay, thine and Mine" (thus came a whisper stealing On my sad heart, and tenderly it fell) ; "That spring of joy I sent, My love revealing,

And its deep secret thou must ponder well.

"'T is Mine and thine.

It was My love that lent it,

Thy lonely pilgrim path to wander by;

Fear not, my child, it was thy Father sent it,
And the same love now bids the brook run dry.

"The cistern fails - the fountain flows for ever!

Child, to My care thy dearest ones resign. My arms uphold thee, I will leave thee never, And all I am and all I have are thine."

O Lord! Thou art my fountain ever flowing;
Love passing knowledge, knowing no decline;
All, all is love, in taking or bestowing,

And my sweet wayside brook is Thine and mine.

ANNA SHIPTON.

MY QUEST.

LONG had I wavered 'twixt belief and doubt,
This way and that, turning my faith about,

To keep the truth and sift the error out.

My hold on truth seemed lessening day by day,
The ancient landmarks failed to point the way;
I could not reason, I could only pray

That He who gladly hungry souls doth feed
Might give me what was lacking to my need,
And into ways of truth my footsteps lead.

And while my strong desire to God I brought,
That He would grant the light and peace I sought,
These words of Christ sprang sudden to my thought, -

"More blessed 't is to give than to receive."

No more

no mystic dogma to believe,

Only a thread in each day's life to weave;

Only a common duty, in such wise
Transfigured by new light, that straight my eyes
Saw how above all truth true loving lies;

Saw that, forgetful of my own soul's need,
Filling my life with gracious thought and deed,
I might leave time and God

to shape my creed.

My prayer was answered; not as I had thought,
I had not found the knowledge that I sought,
To live without it was the lesson taught.

The end of all my long and weary quest
Is only failure; yet a sense of rest,

Of deep, unwonted quiet, fills my breast.

And though some vexing doubts still hold their place, Yet is my faith no measure for His grace,

Whose hand still holds me though He hide His face.

And day by day I think I read more plain
This crowning truth, that, spite of sin and pain,
No life that God has given is lived in vain ;

But each poor, weak and sin-polluted soul
Shall struggle free at last, and reach its goal,
A perfect part of God's great perfect whole.

My heart believes — yet still I long for light,
Surely the morning cometh after night,

When Faith, the watcher, shall give place to sight!

LITTELL'S LIVING AGE.

FROM "IN MEMORIAM."

THAT

CXXII.

HAT which we dare invoke to bless;
Our dearest faith, our ghastliest doubt;
He, They, One, All; within, without ;
The Power in darkness whom we guess;

I found Him not in world or sun,

Or eagle's wing, or insect's eye;
Nor through the questions men may try,
The petty cobwebs we have spun:

If e'er when faith had fallen asleep,

I heard a voice, "Believe no more,"
And heard an ever-breaking shore
That tumbled in the Godless deep;

A warmth within the breast would melt
The freezing reason's colder part,
And like a man in wrath the heart

Stood up and answered, “I have felt.”

No, like a child in doubt and fear :
But that blind clamor made me wise;
Then was I as a child that cries,
But, crying, knows his father near;

And what I am beheld again

What is, and no man understands;
And out of darkness came the hands
That reach through nature, moulding men.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

LORD, I HAVE LAIN.

LORD, I have lain

Barren too long, and fain

I would redeem the time, that I may be
Fruitful to Thee;

Fruitful in knowledge, love, obedience,
Ere I go hence:

That when I come

At harvest to be reapéd, and brought home,
Thine angels may

My soul in Thy celestial garner lay,
Where perfect joy and bliss
Eternal is.

If to entreat

A crop of purest wheat,

A blessing too transcendent should appear

For me to hear,