THE SUFFERER CHEERED. Say, shall I take the thorn away?' "O'er which thy sighs are heaved by day, "Shall peace and plenty's cup swell high, Health leap through every vein, And, all exempt thy moments fly Be naught to check the inspiring flow And every want thy heart can know, "Know thine ease-loving heart might miss The comfort with the care! Leave little room for prayer! "Nor deem the highest, holiest joy, A stranger still to woe; And burning bright the glory's blaze “In conscious weakness thou shalt hang On my almighty arm! Soon as the thorn inflicts its pang I'll pour my love's rich balm, Thou, plainest in thy deepest woe, Shalt feel me at thy side; And, for my praise, to all shalt show, Thou art well satisfied." LESSON OF THE SEA. Go down unto the sea, Where white-winged navies ride, Whose mighty pulses heave so free In strong mysterious tide-Within whose coral cells, Where sunless forests creep, Go forth unto the sea, And at the break of morn, Teach its young waves the words of prayer, Before the day is born; And when the night grows dim, Beguile the billows wild, With the holy hush of thine evening hymn, As the mother lulls her child. Go - bow thee to the sea, When the booming breakers roar, And a meek-hearted listener be To all their fearful lore; And learn, where tempests lower; Their lesson from the wave "One voice alone can curb our power,. One arm alone can save." Go, homeward from the sea, When its trial hour is past, With deeper trust in Him who rules. The billow and the blast; And when the charms of earth Around thy bosom creep, Forget not, in thy time of mirth, The wisdom of the deep. HYMN OF THE CITY. W. C. BRYANT. Not in the solitude Alone, may man commune with Heaven, or see And sunny vale the present Deity; Where the winds whisper, and the waves rejoice. Even here do I behold Thy steps, Almighty! here, amidst the crowd With everlasting murmur deep and loud- "Mongst the proud piles, the work of human kind. Thy golden sunshine comes From the round heaven, and on their dwellings lies, And lights their inner homes; For them thou fill'st with air the unbounded skies, And givest them the stores Of ocean, and the harvest of its shores. Thy spirit is around, Quickening the restless mass that sweeps along; Voices and footfalls of the numberless throng· Or like the rainy tempest, speaks of thee. And when the hours of rest The quiet of the moment, too, is Thine; The vast and helpless city while it sleeps. THE CHRISTIAN IN THE CITY, Love's a flower that will not die For lack of leafy screen; And Christian hope can cheer the eye Even in this crowded loneliness; Where ever moving myriads seem to say Go-thou art naught to us, nor we to thee-away, There are in this loud stunning tide Of human care and crime, With whom the melodies abide Of the everlasting chime; Through dusky lane and wrangling mart, Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat. |