THY WILL BE DONE.

"Thy will be done!" In devious way
The hurrying stream of life may run ;
Yet still our grateful hearts shall say,
Thy will be done."

66

"Thy will be done!" If o'er us shine A glad❜ning and a prosperous sun, prayer will make it more divine, Thy will be done."

This

"Thy will be done!" Tho' shrouded o'er, Our path with gloom, one comfort, one Is ours; to breathe, while we adore, Thy will be done."

66

WE ARE NOT ALL HERE.

We're not all here-a broken band
Now gathers round our hearth;
A light is from our household gone,
And hushed are joy and mirth.
A voice we loved is silent now,
We see a vacant chair,—
All dreary are our souls and sad,
For O! we're not all here!

We're not all here-a year ago,
When autum's tread was seen,
And drooping flowers and withering leaves
Appeared where life had been;
When through the lone and silent wood
Was heard the mournful strain,

And life and beauty had decayed

Mid autum's dreary reign:

No flower had faded in her bower,
No deep decay or gloom

Had settled o'er our peaceful home,
Or blighted beauty's bloom.

With nature's death-song mingled then
No note of deep despair;

But now how altered is the strain,
Alas! we're not all here.

We're not all here-O! never more,

While we on earth remain,

Our little band of love shall be
United here again!

Those peaceful, happy days have fled,
And we are lonely now;
Sorrow hath cast its shadowy gloom
On many a peaceful brow.

We're not all here-yet would we wish
To call her back again?
We joy to know that she is free
From sorrow, grief, and pain.
'Tis sweet to feel she is at home
Among the ransomed blest;
And though in weariness we roam,
Her's is eternal rest.

We're not all here—yet, Savior, grant
Our little band of love,
Unbroken may be found at last

In the bright home above!

The golden chain-the severed links
Be all united there;

And, gazing on the loved, we'll cry,
We're all, O! yes-all here!

THE CHILDREN'S HOUR.

Between the dark and the daylight, When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupations, That is known as the Children's Hour.

From my study I see in the lamplight,
Descending the broad hall stair,
Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,
And Edith with golden hair.

A whisper, and then a silence:
Yet I know by their merry eyes
They are plotting and planning together
To take me by surprise.

A sudden rush from the stairway,
A sudden raid from the hall!

By three doors left ungarded
They enter my castle wall.

They climb up into my turret

O'er the arms and back of my chair; If I try to escape, they surround me; They seem to be everywhere.

They almost devour me with kisses,
Their arms about me entwine,
Till I think of the Bishop of Bengen
In his Mouse Tower on the Rhine.

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,
Because you have scaled the wall,

Such an old monarch as I am
Is not a match for you all?

I have you fast in my fortress,
And will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeons
In the round tower of my heart.

And there will I keep you forever,
Yes, forever and a day

Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
And moulder in dust away.

HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.

THE TEMPEST.

We were crowded in the cabin;
Not a soul would dare to sleep;
It was midnight on the waters,
And a storm was on the deep.

'Tis a fearful thing in winter
To be shattered by the blast,
And to hear the rattling trumpet
Thunder, "Cut away the mast!"

So we shuddered there in silence,For the stoutest held his breath, While the hungry sea was roaring, And the breakers talked with death.

As thus we sat in darkness,

Each one busy with his prayers, "We are lost!" the captain shouted, As he staggered down the stairs.

But his little daughter whispered
As she took his icy hand,
"Isn't God upon the ocean,

Just the same as on the land."

Then we kissed the little maiden,
And we spoke in better cheer;
And we anchored safe in harbor
When the moon was shining clear.

J. T. FIELDS.

LOVE'S INSCRIPTION.

Trials must and will befall,
But with humble faith to see
Love inscribed upon them all.
This is happiness to me.

O, TO BE THERE.

O, to be there,

Where never tears of sorrow

Shall dim the eye, nor aching pain nor care Shall overcloud our morrow!

O, to be there!

O, lovely home!

Thy fragrant, thornless flowers,

Droop not, nor die, but everlasting bloom
Crowns all thy golden hours:

O, lovely home!