The gentlest one of all words said!
But give Thy feet to me instead,
That tenderly I may them kiss,
And clasp them close, and never miss,
With over-dropping tears, as free
And precious as that myrrh could be,
T'anoint them bravely from my knee!

Wash me with Thy tears! draw nigh me,
That their salt may purify me!
Thou remit my sins who knowest
All the sinning, to the lowest-
Knowest all my wounds, and seest
All the stripes Thyself decreest;
Yea, but knowest all my faith-
Seest all my force to death,-
Hearest all my wailings low
That mine evil should be so!
Nothing hidden but appears
In Thy knowledge, O Divine,
O Creator, Saviour mine!-
Not a drop of falling tears,
Not a breath of inward moan,
Not a heart-beat-which is gone!

ST. JOANNES DAMASCENUS. (Greek.) Translation of E. B. BROWNING.

MY GOD, I LOVE THEE.

My God, I love Thee! not because
I hope for heaven thereby;

Nor because those who love Thee not
Must burn eternally.

Thou, O my Jesus, Thou didst me

Upon the cross embrace!

For me didst bear the nails and spear,

And manifold disgrace.

And griefs and torments numberless. And sweat of agony,

Yea, death itself-and all for one

That was Thine enemy.

Then why, O blessed Jesus Christ,

Should I not love Thee well? Not for the hope of winning heaven, Nor of escaping hell!

Not with the hope of gaining aught,

Not seeking a reward;

But as Thyself hast loved me,

O everlasting Lord!

E'en so I love Thee, and will love,
And in Thy praise will sing-
Solely because thou art my God,
And my eternal king.

ST. FRANCIS XAVIER. (Latin.) Translation of EDWARD CASWELL.

"I JOURNEY THROUGH A DESERT DREAR AND WILD."

I JOURNEY through a desert drear and wild, Yet is my heart by such sweet thoughts be guiled

Of Him on whom I lean, my strength, my

stay,

I can forget the sorrows of the way.

Thoughts of His love-the root of every grace. Which finds in this poor heart a dwellingplace;

The sunshine of my soul, than day more bright,

And my calm pillow of repose by night.

Thoughts of His sojourn in this vale of tears—
The tale of love unfolded in those years
Of sinless suffering, and patient grace,
I love again and yet again to trace.

Thoughts of His glory--on the cross I gaze, And there behold its sad, yet healing rays; Beacon of hope, which lifted up on high, Illumes with heavenly light the tear-dinimed eye.

Thoughts of His coming-for that joyful day In patient hope I watch, and wait, and pray; The dawn draws nigh, the midnight shadows

flee,

Oh! what a sunrise will that advent be!

Thus while I journey on, my Lord to meet, My thoughts and meditations are so sweet, Of Him on whom I lean, my strength, my stay,

I can forget the sorrows of the way.

ANONYMOUve.

WRESTLING JACOB.

FIRST PART.

COME, O Thou traveller unknown,
Whom still I hold, but cannot see;
My company before is gone,

And I am left alone with Thee;
With Thee all night I mean to stay,
And wrestle till the break of day.

I need not tell Thee who I am;

My sin and misery declare;. Thyself hast called me by my name;

Look on Thy hands, and read it there;
But who, I ask Thee, who art Thou?
Tell me Thy name, and tell me now.

In vain Thou strugglest to get free;
I never will unloose my hold:
Art Thou the man that died for me?

The secret of Thy love unfold;
Wrestling, I will not let Thee go,
Till I Thy name, Thy nature know.

Wilt Thou not yet to me reveal

Thy new, unutterable name?
Tell me, I still beseech Thee, tell;
'To know it now resolved I am;
Wrestling, I will not let Thee go,
Till I Thy name, Thy nature know.

What though my shrinking flesh complain And murmur to contend so long;

I rise superior to my pain;

When I am weak, then am I strong! And when my all of strength shall fail, I shall with the God-man prevail.

To me, to all, Thy bowels move,

Thy nature and Thy name is Love.

My prayer hath power with God; the grace Unspeakable I now receive;

Through faith I see Thee face to face;

I see Thee face to face and live! In vain I have not wept and strove; Thy nature and Thy name is Love.

I know Thee, Saviour, who Thou art, Jesus, the feeble sinner's friend; Nor wilt thou with the night depart,

But stay and love me to the end; Thy mercies never shall remove; Thy nature and Thy name is Love.

The sun of righteousness on me
Hath rose, with healing in his wings;
Withered my nature's strength; from Thee
My soul its life and succor brings;
My help is all laid up above;
Thy nature and Thy name is Love.

Contented now upon my thigh

I halt, till life's short journey end; All helplessness, all weakness, I

On Thee alone for strength depend; Nor have I power from Thee to move; Thy nature and Thy name is Love.

Lame as I am, I take the prey;

Hell, earth, and sin, with ease o'ercome:

I leap for joy, pursue my way,
And, as a bounding hart, fly home;
Through all eternity to prove
Thy nature and Thy name is Love.

CHARLES WESLEY.

SECOND PART.

YIELD to me now, for I am weak,
But confident in self-despair;
Speak to my heart, in blessings speak;

Be conquered by my instant prayer;
Speak, or Thou never hence shalt move,
And tell me if Thy name be Love.

'Tis love! 'tis love! Thou diedst for me;
I hear Thy whisper in my heart;
The morning breaks, the shadows flee;
Pure, universal love Thou art;

THE CALL.

COME, my way, my truth, my life,—
Such a way as gives us breath;
Such a truth as ends all strife;
Such a life as killeth death.

Come my light, my feast, my strength.-
Such a light as shows a feast;
Such a feast as mends in length:
Such a strength as makes His guest.

Come my joy, my love, my heart!

Such a joy as none can move:
Such a love as none can part;
Such a heart as joys in love.

GEORGE HERBERT.

THE STRANGER AND HIS FRIEND.

A POOR wayfaring man of grief

Hath often crossed me on my way, Who sued so humbly for relief

That I could never answer "Nay." I had not power to ask His name, Whither He went, or whence He came; Yet there was something in His eye That won my love,-I knew not why.

Once, when my scanty meal was spread, He entered. Not a word He spake. Just perishing for want of bread,

I gave Him all; He blessed it, brake, And ate; but gave me part again. Mine was an angel's portion then ; For while I fed with eager haste, That crust was inanna to my taste.

I spied Him where a fountain burst Clear from the rock; His strength was gone;

The heedless water mocked His thirst;

He heard it, saw it hurrying on. I ran to raise the sufferer up; Thrice from the stream He drained my cup, Dipped, and returned it running o'er ;I drank, and never thirsted more.

'T was night; the floods were out,-it blew A winter hurricane aloof;

I heard His voice abroad, and flew

To bid Him welcome to my roof;

I warmed, I clothed, I cheered my guest-
Laid Him on my own couch to rest;
Then made the earth my bed, and seemed
In Eden's garden while I dreamed.

Stripped, wounded, beaten nigh to death,

I found Him by the highway side; I roused His pulse, brought back His breath, Revived His spirit and supplied

Wine, oil, refreshment; He was healed.
I had, myself, a wound concealed-
But from that hour forgot the smart,
And peace bound up my broken heart.

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In prison I saw Him next, condemned
To meet a traitor's doom at morn;
The tide of lying tongues I stemmed,
And honored Him midst shame and scorn.
My friendship's utmost zeal to try,
He asked if I for Him would die;
The flesh was weak, my blood ran chill,
But the free spirit cried, "I will."
Then in a moment, to my view,

The stranger darted from disguise;
The tokens in His hands I knew-

My Saviour stood before mine eyes. He spake; and my poor name he named"Of me thou hast not been ashamed; These deeds shall thy memorial be; Fear not! thou didst them unto me."

JAMES MONTGOMERY,

THE ODOR.

How sweetly doth My Master sound!-My
Master!

As ambergris leaves a rich scent
Unto the taster,

So do these words a sweet content
An oriental fragrancy--My Master!

With these all day I do perfume my mind, My mind even thrust into them bothThat I might find

What cordials make this curious broth, This broth of smells, that feeds and fats my mind.

My Master shall I speak? Oh that to Thee My servant were a little so

As flesh may be;

That these two words might creep and grow

To some degree of spiciness to Thee!

Then should the pomander, which was before A speaking sweet, mend by reflection, And tell me more;

For pardon of my imperfection Would warm and work it sweeter than before.

Some toil and so w

That wealth may flow,

And dress this earth for next year's meat; But let me heed

Why Thou didst bleed,

And what in the next world to eat.

HENRY VAUGHAN.

COMPLAINING.

Do not beguile my heart,

Because Thou art

Of hot Arabia do enrich the air

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With more delicious sweetness than the fair Reports that crown the merits of Thy name With heavenly laurels of eternal fame, Which makes the virgins fix their eyes upor Thee,

And all that view Thee are enamored on Thee.

WHO ever smelt the breath of morning flow

ers

Because I am

Or purple violets in their proudest prime,
Or swelling clusters from the cypress-tree?
So sweet's my love; aye, far more sweet is
He-

So fair, so sweet, that heaven's bright eye is