"COME UNTO ME."

RT thou weary? art thou languid ?

Art thou sore distrest?

"Come to Me," saith One, “and

coming,

Be at rest!"

Hath He marks to lead me to Him,

If He be my Guide?

"In His feet and hands are wound-prints,

And His side."

Is there diadem, as monarch,

That His brow adorns ?

"Yea, a crown in very surety,

But of thorns! "

If I find Him, if I follow,

What His guerdon here?

Many a sorrow, many a labor,

Many a tear."

If I still hold closely to Him,

What hath He at last?

"Sorrow vanquish'd, labor ended,

Jordan past!"

If I ask Him to receive

me,

Will He say me nay?

"Not till earth, and not till heaven

Pass away!"

Tending, following, keeping, struggling,

Is He sure to bless ?

"Angels, martyrs, prophets, pilgrims,

Answer, Yes."

A HYMN OF ANGELUS, OF THE
SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.

LOVE, who formedst me to wear The image of Thy Godhead here; Who soughtest me with tender care Through all my wanderings wild and drear; O Love, I give myself to Thee,

Thine ever, only Thine to be.

O Love, who ere life's earliest dawn
Thy choice on me hath gently laid;
O Love, who here as man wast born,
And wholly like to us wast made;
O Love, I give myself to Thee,
Thine ever, only Thine to be.

O Love, who once in time wast slain,

Pierced through and through with bitter woe;

O Love, who wrestling thus didst gain,
That we eternal joy might know;
O Love, I give myself to Thee,
Thine ever, only Thine to be.

O Love, of whom is truth and light,
The Word and Spirit, life and power,
Whose heart was bared to them that smite,
To shield us in our trial hour;

O Love, I give myself to Thee,
Thine ever, only Thine to be.

O Love, who lovest me for aye,
Who for my soul dost ever plead ;
O Love, who didst my ransom pay,
Whose power sufficeth in my stead;
O Love, I give myself to Thee,
Thine ever, only Thine to be.

O Love, who once shalt bid me rise
From out this dying life of ours;
O Love, who once o'er yonder skies
Shall set me in the fadeless bowers;

O Love, I give myself to Thee,
Thine ever, only Thine to be.

CHRIST ALL IN ALL.

AY, art thou wounded, feeble, weak?
In Jesus thy Physician seek;

Does fever strike, or parching thirst?

He is thy Fountain, best and first;
Or, art thou bowed beneath sin's load?
He is thy Justice- fly to God;
Does soul or body sickness thrall ?
He is the health of both, and all.

If thou wouldst fly the mists of night,
The Sun of Justice is thy light;

He bids the tongue-tied spirit speak,
Unties it in confession meek:

Or seek ye food? He gives thee bread;
Thou art by heavenly manna fed:
O hidden God, what harm can fall?
He gives Himself, He gives thee all.