STRIVE, WAIT, AND PRAY.

TRIVE; yet I do not promise,

STR

The prize you dream of to-day, Will not fade when you think to grasp it, And melt in your hand away; But another and holier treasure, You would now perchance disdain, Will come when your toil is over, And pay you for all your pain.

Wait; yet I do not tell you,

The hour you long for now,

Will not come with its radiance vanished,
And a shadow upon its brow;
Yet far through the misty future,
With a crown of starry light,
An hour of joy you know not
Is winging her silent flight.

The mention of thy glory

Is unction to the breast, And medicine in sickness,

And love, and life, and rest.

one, O onely Mansion!
O Paradise of joy!

Where tears are ever banished,
And smiles have no alloy,
Beside thy living waters

All plants are, great and small, The cedar of the forest,

The hyssop of the wall: With jaspers glow thy bulwarks, Thy streets with emeralds blaze,

The sardius and the topaz

Unite in thee their rays; Thine ageless walls are bonded With amethyst unpriced: Thy saints build up its fabric, And the corner-stone is Christ.

They stand, those halls of Sion,
Conjubilant with song,

And bright with many an angel,
And all the martyr throng;
The Prince is ever in them,
The daylight is serene;
The pastures of the Blessed
Are decked in glorious sheen.

Jerusalem the glorious!

The glory of the Elect!
O dear and future vision
That eager hearts expect!
Even now by faith I see thee,
Even here thy walls discern;
To thee my thoughts are kindled,
And strive, and pant, and yearn.

Exult, O dust and ashes!

The Lord shall be thy part;

His only, His forever,

Thou shalt be, and thou art!

Exult, O dust and ashes!

The Lord shall be thy part;

His only, His forever,

Thou shalt be, and thou art!

THY WILL BE DONE.

E see not, know not; all our way

WE Is night-with Thee alone is day:

From out the torrent's troubled drift,
Above the storm our prayers we lift,
Thy will be done!

The flesh may fail, the heart may faint, But who are we to make complaint,

Or dare to plead, in times like these,
The weakness of our love of ease?
Thy will be done!

We take with solemn thankfulness
Our burden up, nor ask it less,
And count it joy that even we
May suffer, serve, or wait for Thee,
Whose will be done!

Though dim as yet in tint and line,
We trace Thy picture's wise design,
And thank Thee that our age supplies
Its dark relief of sacrifice.
Thy will be done!

And if, in our unworthiness,
Thy sacrificial wine we press,
If from Thy ordeal's heated bars
Our feet are seamed with crimson scars,
Thy will be done!

If, for the age to come, this hour
Of trial hath vicarious power,

And, blest by Thee, our present pain

Be Liberty's eternal gain,

Thy will be done!

Strike, Thou the Master, we Thy keys,

The anthem of the destinies !

The minor of Thy loftier strain,

Our hearts shall breathe the old refrain, Thy will be done!

A

THE LITTLE FAIR SOUL.

LITTLE fair soul, that knew not sin,

Looked over the edge of Paradise,

And saw one striving to come in,
With fear and tumult in his eyes.