I hear the invitation, And fain would rise and come,— A sinner to salvation; An exile to his home: But while I here must linger, To Heaven, O Lord, and Thee. STANDING ON THE HEADLANDS. From Leaves Gathered. ONG in this wild, wild country, Where from the heart all broken Where skies are grey and stormy; Look down on wintry ocean, On barren heath and wold. Long, in this sinful country, To every illness subject, To every weakness prone. Now, standing on the headlands, I see my dear loved Saviour, This earth is fading from me, No more the wild winds sigh; No more the days, all dreary, Go drifting sadly by. But, watching my Lord's coming, O blessed, blessed country! O bright, unchanging glory! O sweet and dream-like music! O cloudless, endless day! O WHAT A GLAD ASCENDING. HORATIUS BONAR. I LOVE yon pale blue sky; it is the floor I gaze upon yon everlasting arch, Up which the bright stars wander, as they shine; And as I mark them in their nightly march, I think how soon that journey shall be mine! Yon silver drift of silent cloud, far up In the still heaven-through you my pathway lies; Yon rugged mountain-peak-how soon your top Shall I behold beneath me, as I rise! Not many more of life's slow-pacing hours, A journey like Elijah's, swift and bright, Caught gently upward to an early crown, UP TO THAT WORLD OF LIGHT. "Then face to face." WHEN shall we meet again, W Meet ne'er to sever? When will Peace wreathe her chain Round us forever? Our hearts will ne'er repose Safe from each blast that blows, In this dark vale of woes, When shall love freely flow Changeless forever? Where joys celestial thrill, Where bliss each heart shall fill, And fears of parting chill WHEN I AM OVER JORDAN. ANONYMOUS. Τ OSSED on the billows far and wide, When shall I to the haven come, And moor my bark, and see my home? When shall I see my sins all slain? When shall I see Him face to face, When shall my falt'ring tongue confess |