IT

REST.

T was Thy will, my Father,
That laid Thy servant low;
It was Thy hand, my Father,
That dealt the chastening blow;
It was Thy mercy bid me rest
My weary soul awhile,
And every blessing I receive
Reflects Thy gracious smile.

It is Thy care, my Father,
That cherishes me now;
It is Thy peace, my Father,
That rests upon my brow;
It is Thy truth, Thy truth alone,
That gives my spirit rest,
And soothes me like a happy child
Upon its mother's breast.

I have known youth, my Father,
Bright as a summer's day,
And earthly love, my Father,

But that too passed away;

Now life's small taper faintly burns,
A little flickering flame,

But Thine eternal love remains

Unchangeably the same.

EUPHEMIA SAXBY.

SOON AND FOR EVER.

"SOON

OON- and for ever!"
Such promise our trust,

Though ashes to ashes,

And dust unto dust.

Soon and for ever
Our union shall be
Made perfect, our glorious
Redeemer, in Thee.

When the sins and the sorrows
Of time shall be o'er ;
Its pangs and its partings
Remembered no more;

When life cannot fail,

And when death cannot sever,

Christians with Christ shall be

Soon and for ever.

Soon

and for ever

The soldier lay down

His sword for a harp,

And his cross for a crown.
Then droop not in sorrow,
Despond not in fear,

A glorious to-morrow

Is brightening and near;
When, blessed reward

Of each faithful endeavor,
Christians with Christ shall be

Soon and for ever.

"Her dying words to her husband were,

ever.""

Manuscript letter.

never,

Soon and for

J. S. B. MONSELL.

WHE

VESPERS.

́HEN I have said my quiet say,
When I have sung my little song,

How sweetly, sweetly dies the day,

The valley and the hill along;

How sweet the summons, "Come away,"
That calls me from the busy throng!
I thought beside the water's flow
Awhile to lie beneath the leaves,
I thought in Autumn's harvest glow
To rest my head upon the sheaves ;
But lo! methinks the day was brief
And cloudy; flower, nor fruit, nor leaf
I bring, and yet accepted, free
And blest, my Lord, I come to Thee.
What matter now for promise lost,
Through blast of spring or summer rains!
What matter now for purpose crost,
For broken hopes and wasted pains!
What if the olive little yields !
What if the grape be blighted! Thine
The corn upon a thousand fields,
Upon a thousand hills the vine.

My spirit bare before Thee stands :
I bring no gift, I ask no sign,
I come to Thee with empty hands,
The surer to be filled from Thine!

DORA GREENWELL..

The Last Hour.

THE MYSTERY OF LIFE.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me."

SLOV

LOWLY-slowly-darkening,
The evening hours roll on ;

And soon behind the cloud-land
Will sink my setting sun.

Around my path life's mysteries
Their deepening shadows throw;

And as I gaze and ponder,

They dark and darker grow.

Yet still, amid the darkness,
I feel the light is near;

And in the awful silence

God's voice I seem to hear:

But I hear it as the thunder,
Or the murmuring of the sea;
The secret it is telling, -

But it tells it not to me.