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Prepare to act a noble part :
God smites to save.

In war He is our peace;

Men's thunder is His voice :

Through sufferings sharp He brings release:
Believe! rejoice!

The hours with steady flight

Haste on the glorious year :
The triumph of Eternal right
Shall soon appear.

In those more blessed days

The children of mankind
Beneath their God's benignant gaze
Mild Peace shall find.

ASSURANCE OF GOD'S LOVE.

O! WOULD you be assured you love

your God, Make Him a God that must be loved of need, A God you cannot otherwise than love. Throw off that yoke of joyless servitude, That niggard balancing of right and wrong, Which fears to give too little or too much. Doubt is not love

suspicion is not love! Believe that He has known you, pitied you,

Taken you Himself from prison and from death, Sought and pursued you through a world of ill Restrained you, taught you, reared for His own. Believe that He forgives you every sin,

you

Pays every debt, and cancels every claim

prepares

Watches beside your pillow while you sleep,
Supports you, leads you, guards you when you wake,
And bids His angels know no better task
Than to administer to you His child;
And while in heaven's high mansion He
The seat of royalty He bids you claim,
Arrays you in a vesture so divine,
Of holiness and virtue not your own,
That when the hour of just adjudgment comes,
All may confess in you the heir of heaven.
Believe the Lord your God is such an one,
And you must love Him, even to your soul.

CAROLINE FRY

THE UNSEARCHABLE.

"O! God most hidden and most manifest."- St. Augustine.

O HEIGHT that doth all height excel,
Where the Almighty doth abide !

O awful depth unsearchable,

Wherein the Eternal One doth hide!

O dreadful glory that doth make

Thick darkness round the Heavenly Throne,

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Througn which no angel eye may break,
Wherein the Lord doth dwell alone!

Our fainting souls the quest give o'er,
Their weary wings no longer try ;
His dwelling we may not explore,
We may not on His glory pry.

What secret place, what distant star,
Is like, dread Lord, to Thine abode?
Why dwellest Thou from us so far?
We yearn for Thee, Thou Hidden God!

Vain searchers! but we need not mourn,
We need not stretch our weary wings;
Thou meetest us, where'er we turn,

Thou beamest, Lord, from all bright things.

The glory no man may abide

Doth visit us, a gracious guest,

Thou, whom "excess of light" doth hide,
Here shinest sweetly manifest.

But sweetest dost Thou, Lord, appear
In the dear Saviour's smiling face;

The Heavenly Majesty draws near
And offers us its soft embrace.

То

us, vain searchers after God,

To us the Holy Ghost doth come :

From us Thou hidest Thine abode,

But Thou wilt make our souls Thy home.

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O Presence Bright, our soul's sweet Guest!

O farthest off, O ever near !

Most Hidden and Most Manifest!

T. H. GILL.

THE FUTURE LIFE.

How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps
The disembodied spirits of the dead,

When all of thee that time could wither sleeps
And perishes among the dust we tread?

For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain
If there I meet thy gentle presence not;
Nor hear the voice I love, nor read again
In thy serenest eyes the tender thought.

Will not thy own meek heart demand me there? That heart whose fondest throbs to me were given? My name on earth was ever in thy prayer,

Shall it be banished from thy tongue in heaven?

In meadows fanned by heaven's life-breathing wind, In the resplendence of that glorious sphere,

And larger movements of the unfettered mind,
Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here?

The love that lived through all the stormy past,
And meekly with my harsher nature bore,
And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last,
Shall it expire with life, and be no more?

A happier lot than mine, and larger light
Await thee there; for thou hast bowed thy will

In cheerful homage to the rule of right,

And lovest all, and renderest good for ill.

For me, the sordid cares in which I dwell,

Shrink and consume my heart, as heat the scroll; And wrath has left its scar that fire of hell Has left its frightful scar upon my soul.

Yet though thou wear'st the glory of the sky,
Wilt thou not keep the same belovéd name,
The same fair thoughtful brow, and gentle eye,
Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet the same?

Shalt thou not teach me, in that calmer home,
The wisdom that I learned so ill in this
The wisdom which is love- till I become

-

Thy fit companion in the world of bliss? WILLIAM C. BRYANT.

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