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POEMS.
To meekly follow where His feet have trod
The thorny furrows that lead up to God;
To stretch a hand where aid is needed most
To such as err and count themselves as lost.
The thorny furrows that lead up to God;
To stretch a hand where aid is needed most
To such as err and count themselves as lost.
Sometimes He calls for thee
To give up all thy earthly dreams, that dim
The narrow way that leads at last to Him;
To lose and suffer, and to count but vain
Earth's passing joys to heaven's eternal gain.
It may be in the silence and the shade
Thou best shalt hear His voice, "Be not afraid!"
To give up all thy earthly dreams, that dim
The narrow way that leads at last to Him;
To lose and suffer, and to count but vain
Earth's passing joys to heaven's eternal gain.
It may be in the silence and the shade
Thou best shalt hear His voice, "Be not afraid!"
Whene'er it be He calls,
Oh! make thou ready, do not tarry long;
E'en now perchance the angels' deathless song
Is wafted to thee, and their anthem rolls
Grandly o'er Christ's redeemed and faithful souls.
Oh! may His last sweet call speak thus to thee,
"That where I am, there shall My servant be!"
Oh! make thou ready, do not tarry long;
E'en now perchance the angels' deathless song
Is wafted to thee, and their anthem rolls
Grandly o'er Christ's redeemed and faithful souls.
Oh! may His last sweet call speak thus to thee,
"That where I am, there shall My servant be!"
THE ANGEL OF SUFFERING.
IN the calm and starry heavens
Sailed the moon in placid grace,
Downwards looked into my casement,
Gently stroked my weary face.
Wistfully she threw her shadow
'Cross my bed in tender wise,
Lit my room up with a radiance
Borrowed from fair Paradise.
Sailed the moon in placid grace,
Downwards looked into my casement,
Gently stroked my weary face.
Wistfully she threw her shadow
'Cross my bed in tender wise,
Lit my room up with a radiance
Borrowed from fair Paradise.
