We deem thy mortal memory but begun;
But hast thou no remembrance of the past,
No lingering twilight of a former sun,

Which o'er thy slumbering faculties hath cast
Shadows of unimaginable things

Too high, or deep, for human fathomings?

Perhaps, while reason's earliest fount is heightening,
Athwart thine eyes celestial sights are given,
As skies that open to let out the lightning
Display a transitory glimpse of heaven;
And thou art wrapt in visions all too bright
For aught but seraphim or infant's sight.

Emblem of heavenly purity and bliss!

Mysterious type, which none can understand!
Let me with reverence then approach to kiss
Limbs lately touch'd by the Creator's hand.
So awful art thou, that I feel more prone
To ask thy blessing than bestow mine own.

HOPEFULLY WAIT, AND PATIENTLY

ENDURE.

Margaret L. Bailey.

EVERY day hath toil and trouble,

Every heart hath care:

Meekly bear thine own full measure,
And thy brother's share.

Fear not, shrink not, though the burden Heavy to thee prove!

God shall fill thy mouth with gladness,
And thy heart with love.

Patiently enduring, ever
Let thy spirit be

Bound by links, that cannot sever,
To humanity.

Labour-wait! the Master perished

Ere his task was done;

Count not lost thy fleeting moments,
Life hath but begun.

Labour and the seed thou sowest

Water with thy tears;

God is faithful—he will give thee
Answer to thy prayers.

Wait in hope! though yet no verdure

Glad thy longing eyes,
Thou shalt see the ripened harvest

Garnered in the skies.

Labour-wait! though midnight shadows

Gather round thee here,
And the storms above thee lowering

Fill thy heart with fear

Wait in hope the morning dawneth

When the night is gone,

And a peaceful rest awaits thee

When thy work is done.

AN ANCIENT SACRAMENTAL HYMN.

Thomas Aquinas.

O BREAD to pilgrims given,

O food that angels eat,

O manna sent from heaven

For heaven-born natures meet!
Give us for thee long pining,
To eat till richly filled,
Till earth's delights resigning,
Our every wish is stilled.

O water, life-bestowing,
From out the Saviour's heart,
A fountain purely flowing,

A fount of love thou art!

Oh let us, freely tasting,

Our burning thirst assuage,
Thy sweetness never wasting,
Avails from age to age.

Jesus, this feast receiving,

We thee unseen adore,
Thy faithful word believing,

We take,-and doubt no more!
Give us, thou true and loving,
On earth to live in thee,
Then, death the veil removing,

Thy glorious face to see.

"COME, LORD! WHEN GRACE HAS MADE

ME MEET."

Barter.

LORD, it belongs not to my care,
Whether I die or live;

To live and serve thee is my share,
And this thy grace must give.
If life be long, I will be glad,
That I may long obey;

If short, yet why should I be sad,
That shall have the same pay?

Christ leads me through no darker rooms
Than he went through before;
He that unto God's kingdom comes

Must enter by this door.

Come, Lord! when grace has made me meet

Thy blessed face to see;

For if thy work on earth be sweet,

What must thy glory be?

Then shall I end my sad complaints,

And weary, sinful days,

And join with the triumphant saints,
That sing Jehovah's praise.

My knowledge of that life is small,
The eye of faith is dim ;

But 'tis enough that Christ knows all,

And I shall be with him.

THE DAY OF REST.

George Berbert.

O DAY most calm, most bright, The fruit of this, the next world's bud, The endorsement of supreme delight, Writ by a Friend, and with his blood; The couch of time, care's balm and bay: The week were dark, but for thy light; Thy torch doth show the way.

The other days and thou

Make up one man; whose face thou art,
Knocking at heav'n with thy brow:
The worky-days are the back-part;
The burden of the week lies there,
Making the whole to stoop and bow,
Till thy release appear.

Man had straight forward gone
To endless death: but thou dost pull
And turn us round to look on one,
Whom, if we were not very dull,
We could not choose but look on still;
Since there is no place so alone,

The which he doth not fill.

Sundays the pillars are,

On which heaven's palace arched lies
The other days fill up the spare

And hollow room with vanities.

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