every other day there seems to be
A doubtful haziness about the ray
That meets my opening eyelids-a doubt,
So I might choose, if I would wake or not-
It seems to need an effort to go forth
And do the toilsome day's work of the earth,
For some small profit of enjoyment made,
And likely never paid.
O how I love thee! So unlike thy rays
To the precursors of all other days;
They give not sound to battle or to toil.
Drowsy forgetfulness loitering awhile
Upon the wakening senses, ere I know
Why thou art welcome, I can feel thee so.
A gentle stillness waits on thy returnings,
Unlike all other mornings.
What is there for to-day? Nothing to-day,
Except to go our willing, happy way
In search of Him we love; and calmly sit
In lowly adoration at His feet-
To gather deeper knowledge of His ways,
Or list His promises, or sing His praise!
Ye happy, happy moments! Will they say
Ye are not of His appointing? Not a day
That He has hallowed for Himself and claimed,
And, as it were, redeemed
From the long servitude of time
To be from care's long toiling free?
A part reclaimed from what was once His own, His undivided own?
O cease to say so! Why forbid the breast
Its some few moments of recovered rest?
It is of His own doing—a design
So kind, so tender, proves itself divine.
He who in His wisdom bade us toil
To win subsistence from the sin-cursed soil-
First emblem of His mercy's rich behest-
Alone can bid us rest.
"For by grace are ye saved, through faith; and that not of yourselves it is the gift of God.”—Eph. i. 8.
BLIND, weak, and restless, man by nature knows,
Nor heavenly light, nor freedom, nor repose.
His all embarked on life's uncertain sea,
At random driven on and tempest tossed;
The fragile vessel must for ever be,
Without a compass or a pilot, lost.
A tide of sorrow bears him to the grave,
Nor hath he power to repel the wave,
Breaking with mighty force upon that shore,
Where the frail bark, once cast, is seen no more
Amidst the elemental storm,
Behold, an angel form:
She comes -but not with meteor light;
She speaks-but not with syren voice;
Her counsel sets the wanderer right,
And leads him to rejoice.
While peacefully the vessel glides along,
Hers is the harp, and hers the song;
And when the winds prevail,
When the dark waters roll,
She holds the helm, she furls the sail,
And casts the anchor out to stay the soul.
She bids the watchful mariner descry
Dangers unnoticed by the careless eye.
Midst rocks and quicksands then in safety steers
His doubtful way, and still his spirit cheers,
And with fresh energy inspires his breast,
Through adverse currents of contending force,
Directs his steady, his unerring course,
Until in peace he gains the haven of his rest.
For she hath visited the world unknown,
That world-from Reason deep concealed,
Is to the eye of Faith revealed;
Its wonders are unveiled to Faith alone.
But she hath scaled its awful height,
And tasted of its pleasures;
Her wings expanding with delight,
To scan its boundless treasures!
And she can sing of what no eye hath seen
Nor ear discerned, and where no thought hath been,
Save that Great Spirit, that Almighty mind
In splendour inaccessible enshrined;
Who is, who was, who will for ever be
Throned in the praises of eternity!
Believer-canst thou see that land so fair?
Dost thou desire a happy entrance there?
Incline thine ear to what the vision saith.
The Record of Eternal Life receive
In Him of whom it testifies-believe
His Word declares-"The just shall live by faith."
"MY FATHER'S AT THE HELM."
THE curling waves, with awful roar,
A little boat assailed,
And pallid fear's distracting power
O'er all on board prevailed.
Save one, the Captain's darling child,
Who steadfast viewed the storm,
And cheerful, with composure smiled,
At danger's threatening form.
"And sport'st thou thus," a seaman cried,
"While terrors overwhelm ?"
Why should I fear?" the boy replied,
"My father's at the helm."
So when our worldly all is reft,
Our earthly helpers gone,
We still have one true Anchor left-
God helps, and He alone!
He to our prayers will bend an ear,
He gives our pangs relief;
He turns to smiles each trembling tear,
To joy each torturing grief.
Then turn to Him, mid sorrows wild,
When wants and woes o'erwhelm ;
Remembering, like the fearless child,
Our Father's at the helm.
DEATH AND RESURRECTION.
KNOW, Death, that thou must render up thy dead,
And with high interest too! they are not thine;
But only in thy keeping for a season,
Till the great promised day of restitution;
When loud diffusive sound from brazen trump
Of the Archangel, shall awake thy captives,
And rouse the long, long sleepers into life,
Day-light, and liberty:- We know
The illustrious Deliverer of His own,
The Son of God, thee foiled. Him in thy power
Thou couldst not hold: self-vigorous He rose,
And, shaking off thy fetters, soon retook
Those spoils His voluntary yielding lent
(Sure pledge of our releasement from thy thrall).
Twice twenty days He sojourned here on earth,
And showed Himself alive to chosen witnesses
By proofs so strong, that the most slow assenting
Had not a scruple left. This having done,
He mounted up to heaven. Methinks I see Him
Climb the aerial heights, and glide along
Athwart the severing clouds: but the faint eye,
Flung backwards in the chase, soon drops its hold,
Disabled quite, and wearied with pursuing.
Heaven's portals wide expand to let Him in;
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