*

Yet, Lord, in memory's fondest place

I shrine those seasons sad,
When, looking up, I saw Thy face

In kind austereness clad.

I would not miss one sigh or tear,
Heart-pang, or throbbing brow;
Sweet was the chastisement severe,
And sweet its memory now.

Yes! let the fragrant scars abide,

Love-tokens in Thy stead,

Faint shadows of the spear-pierced side,
And thorn-encompassed head.

And such Thy loving force be still,
Mid life's fierce shifting fray,

Shaping to Truth self's froward will
Along Thy narrow way.

Deny me wealth; far, far remove

The lure of power or name;

Hope thrives in straits, in weakness Love,

And Faith in this world's shame.

d.

FAITH.

XXIV.

ABRAHAM.

THE better portion didst thou choose, Great Heart, Thy God's first choice, and pledge of Gentile-grace! Faith's truest type, he with unruffled face

Bore the world's smile, and bade her slaves depart;
Whether, a trader, with no trader's art,

He buys in Canaan his first resting-place,—
Or freely yields rich Siddim's ample space,—
Or braves the rescue and the battle's smart,
Yet scorns the heathen gifts of those he saved.

O happy in their soul's high solitude,

Who commune thus with GoD and not with earth!

Amid the scoffings of the wealth-enslaved,

A ready prey, as though in absent mood

They calmly move, nor hear the unmannered mirth.

d.

XXV..

Unto the godly there ariseth up light in the darkness.

LEAD, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom,
Lead Thou me on!

The night is dark, and I am far from home-
Lead Thou me on!

Keep Thou

my feet; I do not ask to see The distant scene,-one step enough for me.

I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou
Shouldst lead me on.

I loved to choose and see my path; but, now,
Lead Thou me on!

I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears,
Pride ruled my will: remember not past years.

So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still
Will lead me on,

O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till
The night is gone;

And with the morn those Angel faces smile

Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile.

d.

*

XXVI.

"It is I: be not afraid.""*

WHEN I sink down in gloom or fear,

Hope blighted or delayed,

Thy whisper, Lord, my heart shall cheer,
"'Tis I; be not afraid!"

Or, startled at some sudden blow,
If fretful thoughts I feel,

"Fear not, it is but I!" shall flow,

As balm my wound to heal.

Nor will I quit Thy way, though foes

Some onward pass defend;

From each rough voice the watchword goes,

"Be not afraid! . . . a friend!"

Vid. Bishop Wilson's Sacra Privata for Friday. The above lines were written before the appearance of Mr. Lyte's elegant Poem on the same text.

And O! when judgment's trumpet clear

Awakes me from the grave,

Still in its echo may I hear,

""Tis Christ! he comes to save."

XXVII.

The Lord stood with me and strengthened me.

O SAY not thou art left of God,

Because His tokens in the sky

Thou canst not read; this earth He trod
To teach thee He was ever nigh.

He sees, beneath the fig-tree green,
Nathaniel con His sacred lore;
Shouldst thou the closet seek, unseen

He enters through the unopened door.

And, when thou liest, by slumber bound,
Outwearied in the Christian fight,

In glory, girt with Saints around,

He stands above thee through the night.

d.