Without thy presence, heaven itself no pleasures If not possessed, if not enjoyed in thee, What's earth, or sea, or air, or heaven to me?

The highest honors that the world can boast,
Are subjects far too low for my desire;
The brightest beams of glory are, at most,

But dying sparkles of thy living fire:
The loudest flames that earth can kindle, be
But nightly glow-worms, if compared to thee.

Without thy presence, wealth is bags of cares;

Wisdom but folly; joy, disquiet- sadness: Friendship is treason, and delights are snares ; Pleasures but pain, and mirth but pleasing mad

ness.

Without thee, Lord, things be not what they be, Nor have they being, when compared with thee.

In having all things, and not thee, what have I? Not having thee, what have my labors got? Let me enjoy but thee, what further crave I?

And having thee alone, what have I not?

I wish nor sea, nor land; nor would I be Possessed of heaven, heaven unpossessed of thee.

THE BORDER LANDS.

Father, into thy loving hands,
My feeble spirit I commit,

While wandering in these border lands,
Until thy voice shall summon it.

Father, I would not dare to choose
A longer life, an earlier death;
I know not what my soul might lose
By shortened or protracted breath.

These border lands are calm and still,

And solemn are their silent shades ; And my heart welcomes them until

The light of life's long evening fades.

I heard them spoken of with dread,
As fearful and unquiet places ;
Shades where the living and the dead,
Look sadly in each other's faces.

But since thy hand hath led me here,
And I have seen the border land;

Seen the dark river flowing near,

Stood on the brink as now I stand;

There has been nothing to alarm

My trembling soul: how could I fear,

While thus encircled with thine arm?
I never felt thee half so near.

What should appal me in a place
That brings me hourly nearer thee?
When I may almost see thy face
Surely 'tis here my soul would be.

They say the waves are dark and deep,
That faith has perished in the river;
They speak of death with fear, and weep.
Shall my soul perish? Never, never,

I know that thou wilt never leave

The soul that trembles while it clings
To thee; I know thou wilt achieve
Its passage on thine outstretched wings.

And since I first was brought so near
The stream that flows to the Dead Sea,
I think that it has grown more clear
And shallow than it used to be.

I cannot see the golden gate
Unfolding yet to welcome me;

I cannot yet anticipate

The joy of heaven's jubilee.

*To my unspeakable sorrow the completing stanza is missing; yet I cannot persuade myself to withdraw the piece.

C.

THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE.

A FREE

PARAPHRASE OF THE GERMAN.

To weary hearts, to mourning homes,
God's meekest Angel gently comes
No power has he to banish pain,
Or give us back our lost again;
And yet, in tenderest love, our dear
And Heavenly Father sends him here.

There's quiet in that Angel's glance,
There's rest in his still countenance;
He mocks no grief with idle cheer,

Nor wounds with words the mourner's ear
But ills and woes he may not cure,

He kindly teaches to endure.

Angel of Patience! sent to calm
Our feverish brow with cooling balm;
To lay the storms of hope and fear,
And reconcile life's smile and tear;
And throbs of wounded pride to still,
And make our own our Father's will f

✪ thou who mournest on thy way,
With longings for the close of day,
He walks with thee, that Angel kind,
And gently whispers, "Be resigned!
Bear up, bear on the end shall tell
The dear Lord ordereth all things well!”

LOVE OF GOD.

DALE.

Oh! never, never canst thou know What then for thee the Saviour bore; The pangs of that mysterious woe

Which wrung his frame at every pore; The weight that pressed upon his brow, The fever of his bosom's core !

Yes! man for man, perchance may brave
The horrors of the yawning grave ;
And friend for friend, or child for sire,
Undaunted and unmoved, expire.

From love, or piety, or pride;

But who can die as Jesus died?

A sweet but solitary beam,

An emanation from above,

Glimmers o'er life's uncertain dream

We hail that beam, and call it love! But fainter than the pale star's ray Before the noontide blaze of day, And lighter than the viewless sand Beneath the waves that sweep the strand Is all of love that man can know All that in angel-breasts can glow Compared, O Lord of Hosts, with thine,