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THE

FISHERS OF MEN.

HE boats are out, and the storm is high;
We kneel on the shore and pray:

The Star of the Sea shines still in the sky,
And God is our help and stay.

The fishers are weak, and the tide is strong,
And their boat seems slight and frail ;
But St. Peter has steered it for them so long,
It would weather a rougher gale.

St. John the Belovèd sails with them too,
And his loving words they hear;

So with tender trust the boat's brave crew
Neither doubt, or pause, or fear.

He who sent them fishing is with them still,
And He bids them cast their net;
And He has the power their boat to fill
So we know He will do it yet.

They have cast their nets again and again,
And now call to us on shore;

If our feeble prayers seem only in vain,
We will pray and pray the more.

Though the storm is loud, and our voice is drowned

By the roar of the wind and sea,

We know that more terrible tempests found

Their Ruler, O Lord, in Thee!

OUR TITLES.

TRUST AND REST.

FRET not, poor soul: while doubt and fear

Disturb thy breast,

The pitying angels, who can see
How vain thy wild regret must be,
Say, Trust and Rest.

Plan not, nor scheme,

His choice is best.

but calmly wait;

While blind and erring is thy sight,
His wisdom sees and judges right,
So Trust and Rest.

What dost thou fear? His wisdom reigns

Supreme confessed ;

His power is infinite: His love

Thy deepest, fondest dreams above:
So Trust and Rest.

OUR TITLES.

ARE we not Nobles? we who trace

Our pedigree so high

That God for us and for our race

Created Earth and Sky,

And Light and Air and Time and Space,
To serve us and then die.

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Are we not Princes? we who stand
As heirs beside the Throne;
We who can call the promised Land
Our Heritage, our own;

And answer to no less command
Than God's, and His alone.

Are we not Kings? both night and day,

From early until late,

About our bed, about our way,

A guard of Angels wait;

And so we watch and work and pray

In more than royal state.

Are we not holy? Do not start:

It is God's sacred will

To call us Temples set apart
His Holy Ghost may fill.

Are we not more? Our Life shall be Immortal and divine.

O God, that we can dare to fail,

O God, that we can ever trail
Such banners in the dust,
Can let such starry honors pale,
And such a Blazon rust!

A CHAPLET OF FLOWERS.

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Shall we upon such Titles bring

The taint of sin and shame?
Shall we, the children of the King
Who hold so grand a claim,
Tarnish by any meaner thing
The glory of our name?

A CHAPLET OF FLOWERS.

DEAR, set the casement open,

The evening breezes blow

Sweet perfumes from the flowers
I cannot see below.

I can but catch the waving

Of chestnut boughs that pass, Their shadow must have covered The sun-dial on the grass.

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I love best to my room,

My failing strength no longer

Can bear me where they bloom.

You know I used to love them,
But ah! they come too late,
For see, my hands are trembling
Beneath their dewy weight.

So I will watch you weaving
A chaplet for me, dear,
Of all my favorite flowers,
As I could do last year.

First, take those crimson roses,
How red their petals glow!
Red as the blood of Jesus,

Which heals our sin and woe.

See in each heart of crimson
A deeper crimson shine:
So in the foldings of our hearts
Should glow a love divine.

Next place those tender violets,
Look how they still regret

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The cell where they were hidden, –

The tears are on them yet.

How many souls

His loved ones

Dwell lonely and apart,

Hiding from all but One above
The fragrance of their heart.

Then take that virgin lily,
How holily she stands !
You know the gentle angels

Bear lilies in their hands.

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