Weeping we hold Him fast to-night;
We will not let Him go

Till daybreak smite our wearied sight
And summer smite the snow:
Then figs shall bud, and dove with dove
Shall coo the livelong day;
Then He shall say-Arise! My love,
My fair one, come away!

MY SPIRIT WAITING STANDS.

ISAAC WATTS.

HERE is a house not made with hands,

ΤΗ

Eternal, and on high;

And here my spirit waiting stands

Till God shall bid it fly.

Shortly this prison of my clay

Must be dissolved and fall;
Then, O my soul, with joy obey
Thy heavenly Father's call.

'Tis He, by His almighty grace,
That forms thee fit for heaven,
And, as an earnest of the place,
Has His own Spirit given.

We walk by faith of joys to come;
Faith lives upon His word;
But while the body is our home,

We're absent from the Lord.

'Tis pleasant to believe Thy grace,

But we had rather see;

We would be absent from the flesh,
And present, Lord, with Thee.

THIS DARK WORLD, AND THAT BRIGHT

E

LAND.

ARTH, with all its sin and sadness,

Pain and sickness, grief and care;
Heaven, with its unspoken gladness,
Light and love, and all that's fair;
How the two contrasted stand-
This dark world, and that right land.

Here the eye grows dim with weeping,
Here the cheek is wan with woe,

For the loved ones who are sleeping,
For the hopes that are laid low;

In the light of heaven's ray,
Tears of earth are wiped away.

Here our toilsome way pursuing,
Compass'd round with many foes;
Pleasures are not worth the wooing,
Thorns are found with every rose;

There the sorrowful are blest;

There the weary are at rest.

Here a lonely watch we're keeping
On the battle-plain of life,

Lest the foe should find us sleeping,
And unfitted for the strife;
There the war and conflict cease,
Heaven's atmosphere is peace.

Here our painful cross we're bearing,
Where our Master leads the way
Here the shame and grief we're sharing,
That for us upon Him lay;

There we lay our burden down,
Change the cross into the crown.

Here the parting word is spoken,
Where our hearts the closest cling,

And upon the spirit broken,

Like a knell its accents ring;

There, before the Saviour's throne,
Parting is a word unknown.

O LAND UNKNOWN, IN THEE ALONE.

SAMUEL WILLOUGHBY DUffield.

A

LITTLE song has come to me,

A strain of sadness from over sea;

And I hear its music, and love it well,

Though the heart that framed it I cannot tell.

A little picture comes to me,

A dash of brightness from over sea;

There are clasping hands and a holy face-
But the name of the artist who can trace ?

So I, in faith which comes to me,
Believe in a land across the sea,

Where my vaguest fancies may stand supreme,
In a grand perfection beyond my dream.

O land unknown! in thee alone

Shall formless lyrics to shape be grown;
In thee all rhapsody riseth true,

And the thoughts of beauty are ever new.

O land unknown! where all is best;
In thee is my aspiration blest;

For I toil and tarry until I may

With my broken sentences pass away.

WHEN SHALL THE DAWN OF DAY.

ANONYMOUS.

HEN shall the dawn of day

WH

Welcome me home?

When o'er the pleasant way
My footsteps roam ?
When where the angels sing,
Shall I my treasures bring,
Borne on the seraph's wing,

Borne to my home?

When shall the gates of gold
Open for me,

Into the Shepherd's fold,
Happy and free?

Far from a world of care,
Jesus my Saviour near;
Angels of glory there
I long to see.

When shall the dawn of day
Guide me afar—

Where beams, in holy light,

The risen star?

Where Christ shall still be mine,
Where endless glories shine,

Where sorrow, joy divine,
Never can mar.

When shall the dawn of day
Welcome me home?
When o'er the pleasant way
My footsteps roam?
When where the angels sing,
Shall I my treasures bring,
Borne on the seraph's wing,

Borne to my home?