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My gallant ships they sailed away
Over the shimmering summer sea,
I stood at watch for many a day-
But one came back to me.
For Joy was caught by pirate Pain-
Hope ran upon a hidden reef—
And Love took fire, and foundered fast
In whelming seas of Grief.
Faith came at last, storm-beat and torn,
She recompensed me all my loss;
For, as a cargo safe, she brought
A Crown linked to a Cross.
NANSWERED yet! the prayers your lips have pleaded
In agony of heart-these many years
Does faith begin to fail? Is hope departing?
And think you, all in vain, those falling tears?
Say not, the Father hath not heard your prayer;
You shall have your desire—sometime—somewhere.
Unanswered yet! though when you first presented
This one petition at the Father's throne,
It seemed you could not wait the time of asking,
So urgent was your heart to make it known;
Though years have passed since then-do not despair;
The Lord will answer you-sometime-somewhere.
Unanswered yet! Nay, do not say ungranted-
Perhaps your work is not yet wholly done.
The work began when your first prayer was uttered,
And God will finish what He has begun.
If you will keep the incense burning there,
His glory you shall see-sometime—somewhere.
Unanswered yet! Faith cannot be unanswered;
Her feet are firmly planted on the rock;
Amid the wildest storms she stands undaunted,
Nor quails before the loudest thunder-shock.
She knows Omnipotence has heard the prayer,
And cries" it shall be done "-sometime-somewhere
FATHER, TAKE MY HAND.
THE way is dark, my Father! Cloud on cloud
Is gathering quickly o'er my head, and loud
The thunders roar above me. See, I stand
Like one bewildered! Father, take my hand,
And through the gloom
Lead safely home
The day goes fast, my Father! And the night
Is drawing darkly down. My faithless sight
Sees ghostly visions. Fears, a spectral band,
Encompass me. O Father, take my hand,
And from the night
Lead up to light
The way is long, my Father!
Longs for the rest and quiet of the goal;
While yet I journey through this weary land
Keep me from wandering, Father, take my hand
Quickly and straight
Lead to Heaven's gate
The path is rough, my Father! Many a thorn
Has pierced me; and my weary feet all torn
And bleeding mark the way. Yet Thy cominand
Bids me press forward. Father, take my band,
Then safe and blest
Lead up to rest
'VE been thinking of home, of "my Father's house,
Where the many mansions be,"
Of the city whose streets are paved with gold
Of its jasper walls so fair to behold,
Which the righteous alone shall see.
I've been thinking of home, where they need not the light
Of the sun, nor moon, nor star;
Where the gates of pearl are not shut by day-
For no night is there-but the weary may
Find rest from the world afar.
I've been thinking of home, of the river of life;
That flows through the city so pure;
Of the Tree that stands by the side of the stream,
Whose leaves in mercy with blessings beam,
The sin-wounded world to cure.
I've been thinking of home, of the loved ones there,
Dear friends who have gone before;
With whom we walked to the death-river side;
And sadly thought, as we watched the tide,
Of the happy days of yore.
I've been thinking of home, yea, "home, sweet home;"
O, there may we all unite
With the white-robed throng, and forever raise
To the triune God sweetest songs of praise,
With glory, and honor, and might!
HUS while on earth iniquities abound,
By earnest seekers God may still be found.
The eternal verities of God are hers,
And these she offers to her worshipers;
Pureness in heart, in action righteousness,
With pity for our fellows in distress,
The bright, chivalrous virtues, steadfast faith,
Honor unstained, courage that conquers death,
Just judgment o'er ourselves, warm human love,
And crowning all, a trust in God above;
Though now the commonplace of daily life,
These have been gained from centuries of strife,
And long resisted, have been won at last,
Through suffering in all ages of the past.
Great Truth herself for us all these has gained,
For us the long laborious strife sustained,
Bearing these gifts of God through myriad years,
She comes to us, in sweat, and blood, and tears.
Obscure, by taunts and mockings harshly schooled,
Despised, denounced, rejected, ridiculed,
Suffering the stroke of power, the scorn of pride,
Reviled, tormented, scourged, and crucified;
Until at last, the awful pathway o'er,
She rises up to the right hand of power,
And over all who bless, and all who curse,
Reigns the throned monarch of the universe-
And she shall reign, till, all her work complete,
All earthly things be put beneath her feet.
AID the Corn to the Lilies:
"Press not near my feet.
You are only idlers,
Neither Corn nor Wheat.
Does one earn a living
Just by being sweet?"
Naught answered the Lilies,
Neither yea nor nay,
Only they grew sweeter
All the livelong day.
And at last the Teacher
Chanced to come that way.