THE SECRET OF CONTENT. E thou content; be still before His face, at whose right hand doth reign Fulness of joy for evermore, Without whom all thy toil is vain. He is thy living spring, thy sun, whose rays Make glad with life and light thy dreary days. Be thou content. BE In Him is comfort, light, and grace, And changeless love beyond our thought; The sorest pang, the worst disgrace, If He is there, shall harm thee not. He can lift off thy cross, and loose thy bands, And calm thy fears, nay, death is in His hands. Be thou content. Or art thou friendless and alone, Hast none in whom thou canst confide? Comfort and help will He provide. Thy heart's unspoken pain He knows, To Him thou mayest with boldness tell; He is not far away, but ever nigh, And answereth willingly the poor man's cry. Be not o'ermastered by thy pain, But cling to God, thou shalt not fall; The floods sweep over thee in vain, Thou yet shalt rise above them all; For when thy trial seems too hard to bear, Lo! God, thy King, hath granted all thy prayer: Be thou content. Why art thou full of anxious fear How thou shalt be sustained and fed? Canst thou not trust His rich and bounteous hand, He who doth teach the little birds To find their meat in field and wood, Sayst thou, I know not how or where, When thou and I His hand no longer trace, Though long His promised aid delay, Though thy heart sink in sore dismay, What we have won with pains we hold more fast, Lay not to heart whate'er of ill Thy foes may falsely speak of thee, Let man defame thee as he will, God hears, and judges righteously. Why shouldst thou fear, if God be on thy side, Man's cruel anger, or malicious pride? Be thou content. We know for us a rest remains, When God will give us sweet release And turn our sufferings into peace. Home to the chosen ones, who here And there in peace for ever dwell; The Everlasting is their joy and stay, Be thou content. AT SEA. PAUL GERHARDT, 1670 THE night is made for cooling shade, For silence, and for sleep; And when I was a child, I laid My hands upon my breast and prayed, Each movement of the swaying lamp It starts and shudders, while it burns, Now swinging slow, and slanting low, And yet I know, while to and fro With restless fall and rise, The steady shaft is still upright, Poising its little globe of light. O hand of God! O lamp of peace! O promise of my soul! The ship's convulsive roll, A heavenly trust my spirit calms, My soul is filled with light: Under the cottage-roof, again I heard the soothing summer-rain. J. T. TROWBRIDGE MY PSALM. MOURN no more my vanished years: I An April rain of smiles and tears, The west winds blow, and, singing low, No longer forward nor behind |