And Time, our staff, but speeds us on our way,
While all around, poor voyagers we see,
Who bear it, but to chronicle each day,
And notch the hurrying hours of destiny
In fearful units, numbering for dismay
The lavished seeds of immortality.

But, O, our souls take no account of time,
For we are gazing into worlds sublime;

Our spirits are like song-birds, nursed to light
In climates far too rude,

That, by a heavenly instinct, stretch their flight
To skies where such bright plumes were made to

brood.

We know our kindred there,

In genial warmth, their golden plumage wear,
And sing their native notes forevermore!
We yearn for purer air,

And dream the music we were made to share,
As home we waft us, from our alien shore.

LORD, THE WAVES ARE BREAKING O'ER

ME.

From Hymns of the Church Militant.

ORD, the waves are breaking o'er me and around; Oft of coming tempests I hear the moaning sound;

Here, there is no safety, rocks on either hand— 'Tis a foreign roadstead, a strange and dreary land:

Wherefore should I linger? others, gone before

Long since, safe are landed on a calm and friendly

shore.

Now, the sailing orders, in mercy, Lord, bestow,
Loose the cable, let me go!

Lord, the night is closing 'round my feeble bark,
How shall I encounter its watches long and dark?
Sorely worn and shattered, by many a billow past,
Can I stand another rude and stormy blast?
Oh, the promised haven I never may attain,
Sinking and forgotten, amid the lonely main,
Enemies around me, gloomy depths below,
Loose the cable, let me go!

Lord, I would be near Thee, with Thee, where Thou art,

Thine own word hath said, ""Tis better to depart."
There to serve Thee better, there to love Thee more,
With Thy ransomed people, to worship and adore.
Ever to Thy presence, Thou dost call Thine own—
Why am I remaining, helpless and alone?
Oh, to see Thy glory, Thy wondrous love to know!
Loose the cable, let me go!

Lord, the lights are glancing from the distant shore,
Where no billows threaten, where no tempests roar.
Long-beloved voices, calling me, I hear!

Oh, how sweet the summons falls upon my ear!
Here, are foes and strangers, faithless hearts and cold,
There, is fond affection, fondly proved of old!
Let me haste to join them; may it not be so?
Loose the cable, let me go!

Hark! the solemn answer! hark the promise sure, "Blessed are those servants who to the end endure!" Yet a little longer, hope and tarry on,

Yet a little longer, weak and weary one!

More to perfect patience, to grow in faith and love, More thy strength and wisdom, and faithfulness to

prove;

Then, the sailing orders thy Captain shall bestow,
Loose the cable-let thee go!

DROPPING DOWN THE RIVER.

HORATIUS BONAR.

D

ROPPING down the troubled river,
To the tranquil, tranquil shore;
Dropping down the misty river,
Time's willow-shaded river,

To the spring-embosomed shore;
Where the sweet light shineth ever,
And the sun goes down no more;
O wondrous, wondrous shore!

Dropping down the winding river,
To the wide and welcome sea;
Dropping down the narrow river,
Man's weary, crooked river,

To the blue and star-lit sea;
Where no tempest wrecketh ever,
Where the sky is fair and free;
O joyous, joyous sea!

Dropping down the noisy river,

To our peaceful, peaceful home;
Dropping down the turbid river,
Earth's bustling, crowded river,
To our gentle, gentle home:
Where the rough sea riseth never,
And the vexings cannot come,
O, loved and longed-for home!

Dropping down the eddying river, With a Helmsman true and tried ; Dropping down the dangerous river, Mortality's dark, threatening river,

With a sure and heavenly Guide;
Even Him, who to deliver

My soul from death hath died;
Oh Helmsman, true and tried!

Dropping down the rapid river,
To the dear and deathless Land;
Dropping down the well-known river,
Life's angry, swollen river,

To the Resurrection-land;

Where the living live forever,

And the dead have joined the band,
In that fair and blessed land!

34

MY FEET ARE WORN AND WEARY.

S. ROBERTS.

"The sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared to the glory that shall be revealed in us."

M

Y feet are worn and weary with the march

Over rough roads and up the steep hill-side; Oh, city of our God, I fain would see

Thy pastures green, where peaceful waters glide.

My hands are weary, laboring, toiling on,
Day after day, for perishable meat ;
Oh, city of our God, I fain would rest;

I sigh to gain thy glorious mercy-seat.

My garments, travel-worn and stained with dust, Oft rent by briars and thorns that crowd my way, Would fain be made, Oh Lord, my righteousness, Spotless and white in heaven's unclouded ray.

My eyes are weary looking at the sin,

Impiety, and scorn upon the earth;
Oh, city of our God, within thy walls,
All, all are clothed upon with the new birth.

My heart is weary of its own deep sin

Sinning, repenting, sinning still alway;

When shall my soul Thy glorious presence feel,

And find its guilt, dear Saviour, washed away?