But there the pilgrims say,

On these calm heights, the tumult and the noise
Of all our busy cares and restless joys

Has almost in the distance died away;
All the past journey a "right way" appears,
Thoughts of the future wake no faithless fears,
And, through the clouds, to their rejoicing eyes,
The city's golden streets and pearly gates arise.

Courage, poor fainting heart!

These happy ones in the far distance seen
Were sinful wanderers once, as thou hast been,
Weary and sorrowful, as now thou art.
Linger no longer on the lonely plain,

Press boldly onward, and thou too shalt gain
Their vantage-ground, and then with vigor new,
All thy remaining race and pilgrimage pursue.

Ah! far too faint, too poor

Are all our views and aims

we only stand

Within the borders of the promised land,

Its precious things we seek not to secure ;
And thus our hands hang down, and oft unstrung
Our harps are left the willow-trees among.
Lord! lead us forward, upward, till we know

How much of heavenly bliss may be enjoyed below.

ANONYMOUS.

THE DIVINE LIFE.

HUMBLE, and teachable, and mild,

O may I, as a little child,

My lowly Master's steps pursue!
soul unknown;

Be anger

to my

Hate, envy, jealousy, be gone ;

In love create Thou all things new.

My will be swallowed up in Thee;
Light in Thy light still may I see,

Beholding Thee with open face;
Called the full power of faith to prove,
Let all my hallowed heart be love,
And all my spotless life be praise.

CHARLES Wesley.

THRI

TRUE MANLINESS.

HRICE happy he whose name is writ above,
And doeth good though gaining infamy;

Requiteth evil turns with hearty love,

And recks not what befalls him outwardly: Whose worth is in himself, and only bliss

In his pure conscience that doth nought amiss;

Who placeth pleasure in his purgèd soul,
And virtuous life his treasure doth esteem;
Who can his passions master and control,

And that true lordly manliness doth deem;

Who from this world himself hath clearly quit,
Counts nought his own but what lives in his sprite.

So, when his sprite from this vain world shall flit,
It bears all with it whatso'er was dear

Unto itself, passing in easy fit,

As kindly ripened corn comes out of th' ear.
Thus, mindless of what idle men will say,
He takes his own and stilly goes his way.

HENRY MORE.

THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE.

OW happy is he born and taught

HO

That serveth not another's will;
Whose armor is his honest thought,
And simple truth his utmost skill;

Whose passions not his masters are;
Whose soul is still prepared for death,
Untied unto the world by care

Of public fame, or private breath;

Who envies none that chance doth raise,
Nor vice; who never understood
How deepest wounds are given by praise;
Nor rules of state, but rules of good;

Who hath his life from rumors freed;
Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make oppressors great;

Who God doth late and early pray
More of His grace than gifts to lend;
And entertains the harmless day

With a religious book or friend.

This man is freed from servile bands
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall;
Lord of himself, though not of lands,
And having nothing, yet hath all.

SIR HENRY WOTTON.

BEFORE LABOR.

FORTH in Thy name, O Lord, I go,

My daily labor to pursue ;

Thee, only Thee, resolved to know,
In all I think, or speak, or do.

The task Thy wisdom hath assigned,
Oh, let me cheerfully fulfil !

In all my works Thy presence find,
And prove Thy acceptable will.

Preserve me from my calling's snare,
And hide my simple heart above,
Above the thorns of choking care,
The gilded baits of worldly love.

Thee may I set at my right hand,
Whose eyes my inmost substance see;
And labor on at Thy command,

And offer all my works to Thee.

Give me to bear Thy easy yoke,

And every moment watch and pray;
And still to things eternal look,

And hasten to Thy glorious day.

For Thee delightfully employ

Whate'er Thy bounteous grace hath given;
And run my course with even joy,

And closely walk with Thee to heaven.

CHARLES WESLEY.

ENTIRE CONSECRATION.

GOD, what offering shall I give

To Thee, the Lord of earth and skies? My spirit, soul, and flesh receive,

A holy, living sacrifice.

Small as it is, 't is all my store;

More shouldst Thou have, if I had more.

Now then, my God, thou hast my soul;
No longer mine, but Thine I am :
Guard thou Thine own, possess it whole!
Cheer it with hope, with love inflame!
Thou hast my spirit; there display

Thy glory to the perfect day.

Thou hast my flesh, Thy hallowed shrine,

Devoted solely to Thy will:

Here let Thy light for ever shine:

This house still let Thy presence fill: