Here, cast about, and faint and weak,
Dumb when I would His praises speak;
There shall my voice ring out on high,
Till heaven's wide arches give reply—
When I am over Jordan!

THE STRANGER SEA-BIRD.

HORATIUS BONAR.

AR from his breezy home of cliff and billow,

FAR

Yon sea-bird folds his wing;

Upon the tremulous bough of this stream-shading willow

He stays his wandering.

Fanned by fresh leaves, and soothed by blossoms closing,

His lullaby the stream,

A stranger, in bewildered loneliness reposing,
He dreams his ocean-dream :-

His dream of ocean-haunts, and ocean-brightness,
The rock, the wave, the foam,

The blue above, beneath, the sea-cloud's trail of white

ness,

His unforgotten home.

And he would fly, but cannot, for the shadows

Of night have barred his way;

How could he search a path across these woods and

meadows

To his far sea-home spray?

Dark miles of thicket, swamp, and moorland dreary, Forbid his hopeless flight;

With plumage soiled, eye dim, heart faint, and wing

all weary,

He waits for sun and light.

And I, in this far land, a timid stranger,
Resting by Time's lone stream,

Lie dreaming, hour by hour, beset with night and danger,

The Church's Patmos-dream:

The dream of home possessed,. and all home's glad

ness,

Beyond these unknown hills,

Of solace after earth's sore days of stranger-sadness, Beside the eternal rills.

Life's exile past, all told its broken story;
Night, death, and evil gone;

This more than Egypt-shame exchanged for Canaan glory,

And the bright city won!

Come then, O Christ! earth's Monarch and Redeemer,

Thy glorious Eden bring,

Where I, even I, at last, no more a trembling dreamer, Shall fold my heavy wing.

AH! HOW EMPTY IS THE HEART.

From the German of C. J. P. SPITTA, by RICHARD MASSIE.

A

H! how empty is the heart

In the midst of pleasure,

And how fain would we depart
To our heavenly treasure.

Threadbare now our garb with age,

Still repair is needing,

And our feet with pilgrimage
Painful are and bleeding.

Gladly would we be at home,
Free from toil and dangers,
And no longer houseless roam
In a land of strangers;

Gladly lay aside the load

Which our flesh inherits, Worshipping and serving God With the ransomed spirits.

But since Thou dost yet delay
To Thyself to take us,
Lord, prepare us while we stay,
Meet for heaven make us.

Richly shall we then be blest,
When, our warfare ending,
We enjoy the promised rest,
With our Lord ascending.

HEAVENWARD DOTH OUR JOURNEY TEND.

H

From SCHMOLK, Translated by CAROLINE WINKWORTH.

EAVENWARD doth our journey tend,

We are strangers here on earth,

Through the wilderness we wend
Towards the Canaan of our birth.

Here we roam a pilgrim band,
Yonder is our native land.

Heavenward stretch, my soul, thy wings,

Heavenly nature canst thou claim,
There is nought of earthly things
Worthy to be all thine aim;
Every soul whom God inspires,
Back to Him its Source aspires.

Heavenward! doth His Spirit cry,

When I hear Him in His Word, Showing thus the rest on high,

Where I shall be with my Lord: When His Word fills all my thought, Oft to heaven my soul is caught.

Heavenward ever would I haste,
When Thy Table, Lord, is spread ;
Heavenly strength on earth I taste,
Feeding on the Living Bread.
Such is e'en on earth our fare
Who Thy marriage feast shall share.

Heavenwards! Faith discerns the prize
That is waiting us afar,
And my heart would swiftly rise,
High o'er sun and moon and star,

To that Light behind the veil
Where all carthly splendors pale.

Heavenward Death shall lead at last,
To the home where I would be,
All my sorrows overpast,

I shall triumph there with Thee,
Jesus, who hast gone before,

That we too might Heavenwards soar.

Heavenwards! Heavenwards! Only this
Is my watchword on the earth;
For the love of heavenly bliss
Counting all things little worth.
Heavenward all my being tends,
Till in Heaven my journey ends.