Thy hand in all things I behold,

And all things in Thy hand;
Thou leadest me by unsought ways,
And turnest my mourning into praise.

GRATEFULNESSE.

SAMUEL Longfellow.

THOU

HOU that hast given so much to me,
Give one thing more, a gratefull heart.

Not thankfull, when it pleaseth me,
As if thy blessings had spare dayes:
But such a heart, whose pulse may be

Thy praise.

THE SON.

GEORGE HERBERT.

FAT

`ATHER, I wait Thy word. The sun doth stand
Beneath the mingling line of night and day,
A listening servant, waiting Thy command
To roll rejoicing on its silent way;

The tongue of time abides the appointed hour,
Till on our ear its solemn warnings fall;

The heavy cloud withholds the pelting shower,
Then every drop speeds downward at Thy call;

The bird reposes on the yielding bough, With breast unswollen by the tide of song; So does my spirit wait Thy presence now To pour Thy praise in quickening life along, Chiding with voice divine man's lengthened sleep, While round the Unuttered Word and Love their vigils keep.

JONES VERY

ALL'S WELL.

PROPHETIC Hope, thy fine discourse

Foretold not half life's good to me;

Thy painter, Fancy, hath not force
To show how sweet it is to be!

Thy witching dream

And pictured scheme

To match the fact still want the power;

Thy promise brave
From birth to grave

Life's boon may beggar in an hour.

Ask and receive, 'tis sweetly said;
Yet what to plead for know I not;
For Wish is worsted, Hope o'ersped,
And aye to thanks returns my thought.
If I would pray,

I've naught to say

But this, that God may be God still,

For Him to live

Is still to give,

And sweeter than my wish His will.

O wealth of life beyond all bound!
Eternity each moment given !
What plummet may the Present sound?
Who promises a future heaven?
Or glad, or grieved,
Oppressed, relieved,

In blackest night, or brightest day,
Still pours the flood
Of golden good,

And more than heartfull fills me aye.

My wealth is common; I possess

No petty province, but the whole; What's mine alone is mine far less Than treasure shared by every soul. Talk not of store,

Millions or more,

Of values which the purse may hold,

But this divine!
I own the mine

Whose grains outweigh a planet's gold.

I have a stake in every star,

In every beam that fills the day;
All hearts of men my coffers are,
My ores arterial tides convey;
The fields, the skies,
The sweet replies

Of thought to thought are my gold-dust, —

The oaks, the brooks,

And speaking looks

Of lovers' faith and friendship's trust.

Life's youngest tides joy-brimming flow
For him who lives above all years,
Who all-immortal makes the Now,

And is not ta'en in Time's arrears;
His life's a hymn
The seraphim

Might hark to hear or help to sing,
And to his soul

The boundless whole

Its bounty all doth daily bring.

"All mine is thine," the sky-soul saith;
"The wealth I am, must thou become;
Richer and richer, breath by breath, -
Immortal gain, immortal room!”
And since all his
Mine also is,

Life's gift outruns my fancies far,
And drowns the dream
In larger stream,

As morning drinks the morning-star.

DAVID A. WASSON, 1855

BLEST BE THY LOVE.

BLE

LEST be thy love, dear Lord,
That taught us this sweet way,
Only to love Thee for Thyself,
And for that love obey.

O Thou, our souls' chief hope!
We to Thy mercy fly;

Where'er we are, Thou canst protect,
Whate'er we need, supply.

Whether we sleep or wake,

To Thee we both resign;
By night we see, as well as day,
If Thy light on us shine.

Whether we live or die,

Both we submit to Thee;
In death we live, as well as life,
If Thine in death we be.

JOHN AUSTIN, 1668.

SACRED JOY.

O

TELL me whence that joy doth spring,
Whose diet is divine and fair,
Which wears heaven like a bridal ring,
And tramples on doubts and despair?

Sure, holyness the magnet is,

And love the lure that woos thee down; Which makes the high transcendent bliss Of knowing thee, so rarely known!

HENRY VAUGHAN.