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Unchanging law binds all,
And Nature all we see : Thou art a star, far off, too far,
Too far to follow Thee !
-Ah, sense-bound heart and blind !
Is nought but what we see?
Can we not follow Thee?
Is what we trace of law
The whole of God's decree?
And bid not follow Thee?
O heavy cross-of faith
In what we cannot see !
And help to follow Thee !
If not as once Thou cam'st
In true humanity,
That burns to follow Thee.
Within our heart of hearts
In nearest nearness be: Set up
thy throne within thine own:Go, Lord : we follow Thee.
FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE. RESTORATION OF BELIEF.
FOLLOW me, Jesus said, and they uprose,
Peter and Andrew rose and followed him, Followed him even to Heaven through death most grim, And through a long hard life without repose, Save in the grand ideal of its close. “Take up your cross and follow me,' He said, And the world answers yet through all her dead, And still would answer had we faith like those.
Oh, who will speak again such words of fire !
WILLIAM BELL SCOTT.
O GOD, IMPART THY BLESSING. O GOD, impart thy blessing to my cries !
I trust but faintly, and I daily err; The waters of my heart are oft astir, An angel's there! and yet I cannot rise ! Ah ! would my Lord were here amongst us still, Proffering his bosom to his servant's brow; Too oft that holy life comes o'er us now Like twilight echoes from a distant hill ;
We long for his pure looks and words sublime;
FEVER, and fret
, and aimless stir,
Make up the sum of life.
Love adds anxiety to toil,
And sameness doubles cares,
The flagging temper wears.
The light and air are dulled with smoke;
The streets resound with noise ;
Chasing their joyless joys.
Voices are round me; smiles are near;
Kind welcomes to be had;
Fretful, outworn, and sad.
A weary actor, I would fain
Be quit of my long part: The burden of unquiet life
Lies heavy on my heart.
Sweet thought of God! now do thy work,
As thou hast done before ; Wake up, and tears will wake with thee,
And the dull mood be o'er.
The very thinking of the thought,
Without or praise or prayer, Gives light to know, and life to do,
And marvellous strength to bear.
Oh, there is music in that thought
Unto a heart unstrung,
Most musically rung.
Beauty or blest abode,
Of the Eternal God.
It is not of his wondrous works,
Nor even that He is;
Which by itself is bliss.
Sweet thought! lie closer to my heart,
That I may feel thee near,
As one who for his weapon feels
In some nocturnal fear.
When sadness makes us lowly,
Of humble melancholy.
To spirits over free,
FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER.
IS not the body more than meat? The soul
Is something greater than the food it needs: Prayers, sacraments, and charitable deeds, They realize the hours that onward roll Their endless way, “to kindle or control.' Our acts and words are but the pregnant seeds Of future being, when the flowers and weeds, Local and temporal, in the vast whole Shall live eternal. Nothing ever dies ! The shortest smile that flits across a face Which lovely grief hath made her dwelling-place, Lasts longer than the earth or visible skies ! It is an act of God, whose acts are truth, And vernal still in everlasting youth.