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When the firmament quivers with daylight's young beam,

And the woodlands awaking burst into a hymn, And the glow of the sky blazes back from the stream,

How the bright ones of heaven in the brightness grow e dim!

0, 'tis sad, in that moment of glory and song,

To see, while the hill tops are waiting the sun, The glittering band that keep watch all night long

O’er love and o'er slumber, go out one by one:

Till the circle of ether, deep, ruddy, and vast,

Scarce glimmers with one of the train that were there; And their leader the day-star, the brightest and last,

Twinkles faintly, and fades in that desert of air.

Thus, Oblivion, from midst of whose shadow we came,

Steals o'er us again when life's twilight is gone; . And the crowd of bright names, in the heaven of fame,

Grow pale and are quenched as the years hasten on.

Let them fade—but we'll pray that the age, in whose

flight, Of ourselves and our friends the remembrance shall die, May rise o'er the world with the gladness and light

Of the morning that withers the stars from the sky.

W. C. Bryant.



How long, O Lord, in weariness and sorrow,

Must Thy poor people tread the pilgrim road, Mourning to-day and fearing for to-morrow,

Finding no place of rest, no sure abode ?Sighing o'er faded flowers and cisterns broken;

Gazing on setting suns, that rise no more; Listening to sad farewells, and last words spoken

By loved ones leaving us on Jordan's shore ! How long, thro’ snares of error and temptation,

Shall noblest spirits stumble on their way?
How long, thro' darkening storms of tribulation,

Must we press forward to eternal day?
How long shall passing faults and trifles sever

Hearts that have known affection's holy tie ? When shall the slanderer's tale be hushed for ever,

And brethren see in all things eye to eye?
How long shall last the night of toil and sadness,

The midnight hour of gloomy doubts and fears? When shall it dawn, that promised morn of gladness,

When Thine own hand shall wipe away our tears? Return! return! come in Thy power and glory,

With all thy risen saints and angel throng; Bring to a close Time's strange, mysterious story, How long dost Thou delay,–0 Lord, how long?

Hymns from Land of Luther.


Leave God to order all thy ways,

And hope in Him whate'er betide, Thou'lt find Him in the evil days

Thine all-sufficient strength and guide ; Who trusts in God's unchanging love, Builds on the rock that nought can move.

Only thy restless heart keep still,

And wait in cheerful hope; content To take whate’er His gracious will,

His all-discerning love hath sent; Nor doubt our inmost wants are known To Him who chose us for His own.

He knows when joyful hours are best,

He sends them as He sees it meet;
When thou hast borne the fiery test,

And now art freed from all deceit,
He comes to thee all unaware,
And makes thee own His loving care.

Sing, pray and swerve not from His ways,
· But do thine own part faithfully,
Trust His rich promises of grace,

So shall they be fulfilled in thee;
God never yet forsook at need
The soul that trusted Him indeed.

C. Winkworth.


One by one the sands are flowing,

One by one the moments fall; Some are coming, some are going;

Do not strive to grasp them all. One by one (bright gifts from heaven)

Joys are sent thee here below;
Take them readily when given,

Ready too to let them go.
One by one thy griefs shall meet thee,

Do not fear an armed band;
One will fade as others greet thee;

Shadows passing through the land.
Do not look at life's long sorrow;

See how small each moment's pain ; God will help thee for tomorrow,

So each day begin again. Every hour that fleets so slowly

Has its task to do or bear, Luminous the crown and holy,

When each gem is set with care. Hours are golden links, God's token;

Reaching heaven; but one by one Take them, lest the chain be broken Ere the pilgrimage be done.

Miss Procter.

Berhem, lest tunce be don



Wearily flaggeth my Soul in the Desert;

Wearily, wearily!
Sand ever sand, not a gleam of the fountain ;
Sun, ever sun, not a shade from the mountain;
Wave after wave flows the sea of the Desert,

Drearily, drearily,

Life dwelt with life in my far native valleys,

Nightly and daily; Labour had brothers to aid and beguile; A tear for my tear, and a smile for my smile; And the sweet human voices rang out; and the valleys

Echoed them gaily.

Under the almond-tree once in the springtime,

Careless reclining;
The sigh of my Leila was hushed on my breast,
As the note of the last bird had died in its nest;
Calm looked the stars on the buds of the springtime,

Calm—but how shining!

Below on the herbage there darkened a shadow;

Stirred the boughs o'er me; Dropped from the almond-tree, sighing the blossom; Trembling the maiden sprang up from my bosom; Then the step of a stranger came mute thro' the shadow,

Pausing before me.

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