O hand of God! O lamp of peace! O promise of my soul ! Though weak, and tossed, and ill at ease, The ship's convulsive roll, A heavenly trust my spirit calms, Happy as if, to-night, Under the cottage-roof, again I heard the soothing summer-rain. J. T. TROWBRIDGE, I MY PSALM. MOURN no more my vanished years: An April rain of smiles and tears, My heart is young again. The west winds blow, and, singing low, The windows of my soul I throw . Wide open to the sun. No longer forward nor behind I look in hope or fear; But, grateful, take the good I find, The best of now and here. I plough no more a desert land, To harvest weed and tare; The manna dropping from God's hand I break my pilgrim staff, Aside the toiling oar; I lay The angel sought so far away The airs of spring may never play Nor freshness of the flowers of May Yet shall the blue-eyed gentian look Shall see its image given ; - The woods shall wear their robes of praise, And sweet, calm days in golden haze Not less shall manly deed and word The graven flowers that wreathe the sword But smiting hands shall learn to heal, To build as to destroy; Nor less my heart for others feel That I the more enjoy. All as God wills, who wisely heeds And knoweth more of all my needs Enough that blessings undeserved His chastening turned me back; That more and more a Providence Making the springs of time and sense That death seems but a covered way, Which opens into light, Wherein no blinded child can stray That care and trial seem at last, That all the jarring notes of life And so the shadows fall apart, JOHN G. WHittier. OW UNSEEN. How do the rivulets find their way? How do the flowers know the day, I see the germ to the sunlight reach, I see the hare from the danger hide, And the stars through the pathless spaces ride; He is Eyes for All who is eyes for the mole ; O God! I can trust for the human soul. BY THE AMMONOOSUC, 1862. CHARLES G. AMES. FROM "THE MEETING." So sometimes comes to soul and sense The feeling which is evidence That very near about us lies The realm of spiritual mysteries. The low and dark horizon lifts, Blows down the answer of a prayer: J. G. WHITTier. "The Lord is my portion, saith my soul; therefore will I hope in Him." — LAM. iii. 24. Y heart is resting, O my God, — MY I will give thanks and sing; My heart is at the secret source Now the frail vessel Thou hast made For the waters of the earth have failed, I thirst for springs of heavenly life, And here all day they rise I seek the treasure of Thy love, |