We look through fallen tears
Hope's sunshine on the grave.

Oh no! it is no flattering lure,
No fancy weak or fond,

to trust

When Hope would bid us rest secure
In better life beyond.

Nor loss nor shame, nor grief nor sin,
Her promise may gainsay;

The voice Divine hath spoke within,
And God did ne'er betray.

FAITH IN DIVINE GOODNESS.

He sendeth sun, He sendeth shower,
Alike they're needful to the flower,
And joys and tears alike are sent
To give the soul fit nourishment.
As comes to me or cloud or sun,
Father, Thy will, not mine, be done!

Can loving children e'er reprove

With murmurs whom they trust and love?

Creator, I would ever be

A trusting, loving child to Thee.

As comes to me or cloud or sun,

Father, Thy will, not mine, be done!

O, ne'er will I at life repine!
Enough that Thou hast made it mine.
When falls the shadow cold of death,
I yet will sing, with parting breath,
As comes to me or cloud or sun,
Father, Thy will, not mine, be done!

NEARER TO THEE.

NEARER, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee!

Ee'n though it be a cross

That raiseth me;

Still all my song shall be,

Nearer, my God, to Thee

Nearer to Thee!

Though like a wanderer
The sun gone down,
Darkness comes over me,

My rest a stone;

Yet in my dreams I'd be

Nearer, my God, to Thee

Nearer to Thee!

There let the way appear

Steps unto heaven;
All that Thou sendest me

In mercy given ;

Angels to beckon me

Nearer, my God, to Thee

Nearer to Thee!

Then with my waking thoughts

Bright with Thy praise, Out of my stony griefs

Bethel I'll raise;

So by my woes to be
Nearer, my God, to Thee -
Nearer to Thee!

Or, if on joyful wing,
Cleaving the sky,

Sun, moon and stars forgot,
Upwards I fly -

Still all my song shall be,
Nearer, my God, to Thee-

Nearer to Thee!

Charles Mackay.

THE CHILD AND THE MOURNERS.

A LITTLE child, beneath a tree
Sat and chanted cheerily

A little song, a pleasant song,

Which was she it all day long.

sang

"When the wind blows the blossoms fall;

But a good God reigns over all."

There passed a lady by the way,
Moaning in the face of day:
There were tears upon her cheek,
Grief in her heart too great to speak;
Her husband died but yester-morn,

And left her in the world forlorn.

She stopped and listened to the child
That looked to heaven, and singing, smiled;

And saw not for her own despair,
Another lady, young and fair,
Who also passing, stopped to hear
The infant's anthem ringing clear.

For she but few sad days before
Had lost the little babe she bore;
And grief was heavy at her soul
As that sweet memory o'er her stole,
And showed how bright had been the Past,
The Present drear and overcast.

And as they stood beneath the tree
Listening, soothed and placidly,
A youth came by, whose sunken eyes
Spake of a load of miseries;

And he, arrested like the twain,
Stopped to listen to the strain.

Death had bowed the youthful head
Of his bride beloved, his bride unwed:
Her marriage robes were fitted on,
Her fair young face with blushes shone,
When the destroyer smote her low,
And changed the lover's bliss to woe.

And these three listened to the song,
Silver-toned, and sweet, and strong,
Which that child, the livelong day,
Chanted to itself in play :