And these breeze-haunted woods, that ocean clear, Have now become less beautiful, less dear,— But I am homesick!

Let me, then, weary be!

I shrink not,—murmur not;
In all this homelessness I see

The Church's pilgrim-lot;

Her lot until her absent Lord shall come,
And the long homeless here, shall find a home,

Then no more weariness!

No gathering cloud of gloom;
Then no dull weight of loneliness,

No greedy cravings for the tomb:
For death shall then be swallowed up of life,
And the glad victory shall end the strife!

WORLD FAREWELL, OF THEE I'M TIRED.

From the German of J. G. ALBINUS, by CATHERINE WINKWORTH.

W

WORLD, farewell! Of thee I'm tired,

Now toward heaven my way I take;

There is peace the long-desired,

Lofty calm that nought can break;
World, with thee is war and strife,
Thou with cheating hopes art rife,
But in heaven is no alloy,
Only peace and love and joy.

When I reach that home of gladness,
I shall feel no more this load,
Feel no sickness, want, or sadness,
Resting in the arms of God.

In the world woes follow fast,
And a bitter death comes last,
But in heaven shall nought destroy
Endless peace and love and joy.

What are earthly joys? a weary
Chase of mist, or wind-borne foam!
On this desert black and dreary

Sins and vices have their home;
Thine, O World, are war and strife,
Mocking pleasures, dying life;
But in heaven is no annoy,
Only peace and love and joy.

Oh the music and the singing
Of the host redeemed by love!
Oh the hallelujahs ringing

Through the halls of light above!
Thine, O World, the scornful sneer,
Misery thy reward, and fear;
But in heaven is no annoy,
Only peace and love and joy.

Here is nought but care and mourning,

Comes a joy, it will not stay; Fairly shines the sun at dawning,

Night will soon o'ercloud the day;

World, with thee we weep and pine,
Gnawing care and grief are thine;
But in heaven is no alloy,
Only peace and love and joy.

Onwards then! not long I wander,
Ere my Saviour comes for me,
And with Him abiding yonder
All His glory I shall see;

For there's nought but sorrow here,
Toil and pain and many a fear,

But in heaven is no annoy,

Only peace and love and joy.

Well for him whom death has landed
Safely on yon blessed shore,
Where in joyful worship banded,
Sing the faithful evermore;

For the world hath strife and war,
All her works and hopes they mar,
But in heaven is no annoy,
Only peace and love and joy.

Time, thou speedest on but slowly,
Hours, how tardy is your pace,
Ere with Him the High and Holy
I hold converse face to face;
World, with partings thou art rife,
Filled with tears and storms and strife,
But in heaven can nought destroy,

Endless peace and love and joy.

Therefore will I now prepare me,

That my work may stand His doom,
And when all is sinking round me,

I may hear not "Go"-but "Come!"
World, the voice of grief is here,
Outward seeming, care, and fear,
But in heaven is no alloy,
Only peace and love and joy!

WHAT NOW WE KNOW NOT THEN TO

KNOW.

ANONYMOUS.

'HEN Israel reached their homes at last,

WH

And 'neath their vines and fig-trees lay, How sweetly, all their perils past,

Must they have mused upon God's way! What at the time seemed hard to bear

Then could they clearly understand;

And how a Father's love and care

Each portion of their wanderings planned.

Thus, if we reach that heavenly place,
No snare to fear, no wars to wage,
Then shall we see how heavenly grace
Led us throughout our pilgrimage:

606

How needful was each care and cross;
How wisely our own way denied ;
How mercy shielded us from loss;

How right the way, how true the Guide.

How sweet to understand His way;

What now we know not then to know;
And yield the tribute of our praise
For what mysterious seemed below!
Lord, lead us to that place of rest,
And from our own fond will defend:
Thou knowest what for us is best,
Who knowest both the way and end.

A FEW MORE YEARS SHALL ROLL.

A

HORATIUS BONAR.

FEW more years shall roll,

A few more seasons come,

And we shall be with those that rest

Asleep within the tomb.

Then, O my Lord, prepare

My soul for that great day;
Oh wash me in Thy precious blood,
And take my sins away!

A few more suns shall set

O'er these dark hilis of time,

And we shall be where suns are not,
A far serener clime.