1883.

UR earthly pleasures at their best

OUR

Are but a questionable rest,

Which they who seek as their chief aim Find an inheritance of shame.

For this world's bliss without alloy
We never safely can enjoy,
And therefore to the loved of Heaven
Affliction's sacred shield is given,

To save from those infernal darts

Aimed by the Tempter at our hearts;

And sorrow is Faith's telescope,

Held by the trembling hand of Hope.

So looking where the bulwarks shine.
Of our inheritance divine,
The sufferings of our mortal state

Are balanced by the eternal weight

Of life and immortality,

From every shade of evil free;

And trials pass like summer showers,
And then a lovelier growth of flowers.

So joys and griefs alike shall be
A Father's heavenly ministry;
And all the wants of life shall prove
A gentle discipline of love;

Not severing, but uniting more

The hearts that grew as one before,

To trust with sweet, submissive will

Christ's words of mercy, Peace! be still!

1884.

OH, well do I remember when

The age of threescore years and ten

In life's horizon lay,

As distant mountains in repose,

Beneath a robe of silent snows,

From earth how far away!

But I have climbed this mountain top,
And from these snowy crags look up

The infinite expanse;

Where morning sweeps a vaster sphere,
And distant suns seem rushing near,
As if from Heaven's advance.

The clouds are all beneath me now,
The skies a brighter glory show,
The Gates Celestial shine;
And I sometimes within them see
The form of Him who died for me

Upon the Throne Divine.

So we in love have travelled on,
For He hath left me not alone,

But this dear angel given;
My better soul, my constant wife,
The helpmeet of my halting life,
To lift me nearer Heaven.

O Giver of each perfect gift!
Winged by thy love, our days fly swift;
But as they fly we see

How filled with light and mercy, all,
The claims of thy dear grace recall,
And bring our souls to thee.

When angry winds tempestuous roared, We still amid the storms have heard . The music of God's days;

Each day thy love our diadem,

Each week a seven-fold crownèd hymn

Of witness to thy praise.

What do these boundless mercies prove, And pulses of a grateful love,

By heavenly grace bestowed,

But this, that he, our loving Friend,

With us will travel to the end,

And bring us home to God?

Author and Finisher of Faith!

We rest on thy sweet word that saith,

Thy plea for us in prayer, —

That when we see thee as thou art,

We shall be like thee, heart to heart,
And dwell forever there.