Then from his tortured hands and feet

They loosed each bolt and struck each chain, And offered him an escort fleet

To bear him to his home again.

They brought him back his trusty sword,
The armour and the cross he wore,
And bade him go to serve his Lord
Upon the battle-field once more.―

Awhile he hesitating stands,

Frees from his sword each little stain ; Then grasps it firmly in his hands,

And snaps its shining blade in twain.

He thanked them for their kind behest,
And with a broken voice he spoke ;
But told them how within his breast
Another spirit now had woke ;

And how henceforth he meant to dwell
Among them, guiding all their ways,
And thus for Him he loved so well
To spend the remnant of his days.

From that time forth with them he dwelt ;
Their feet in paths of peace he led ;

Beside the bed of pain he knelt,

Held in his hands the dying head;

And long that wondrous tale he told

To which at first their ear they lent, Until, with years and honour old,

His noble spirit homeward went.

And thus at duty's post he died:

Thousands, his loss lamenting, wept, And in that region far and wide

His memory for long they kept.

And thus, by God's own Spirit wrought, He broke the ranks of error down, The battle of the Cross he fought,

And won the faithful soldier's crown.

M

THE WAY OF PEACE.

Y heart was weary with a woe I strove to rid me of in vain ; No respite did my spirit know; Each day but added to my pain: It was the heavy weight of sin That burdened all my soul within.

And far and wide around I sought

Some friend to take my load away; But none availed to ease me aught, And I was powerless as they, And still my anguish more and more, With growing power, oppressed me sore.

I saw far off the happy home

Where God among His saints resides, Where sin and grief can never come,

And peace eternally abides;

While on my ear fell faint but sweet
The hymns the ransomed host repeat.

Thrice weary then, with tearful eyes,
I gazed upon the blessed band
Who taste the endless joys that rise
Within that everlasting land:

A longing rose within my breast
To reach that home and be at rest.

In eager haste I strove to find
Some pathway to the holy place,
And, leaving all I had behind,

I steadfast towards it set my face,
And took the nearest, straightest road
That led to that divine abode.

But when at length the gate I neared
Of the bright realm I sought to win,
A man of awful mien appeared,

Who said I might not enter in,
That while I bore my load of care
I could not gain admittance there.

Hopeless and helpless, sick at heart,
I sat me down the road beside,
And mourned my sad and bitter part
With tears that would not be denied,
And cursed, as evil in God's sight,
The day when first I saw the light.

When, lo! I felt a gentle hand,

And, looking up with weeping eyes,
Beheld a man before me stand

Of humble look and simple guise,
And yet there sat upon his face
A beautiful, unearthly grace.

He asked my grief-I told him all—

He bade me rise and follow him

I rose, obedient to his call,

And, though my eyes with tears were dim,

B

There was such sweetness in his voice,
It made my troubled heart rejoice.

Straight from that spot he took me back
O'er all the road I late had been,
And led me by a devious track,
Which never I before had seen,
Until we reached a lowly gate,
At which he bade me knock and wait.

I knocked and waited-opening quick,
The narrow gate a path disclosed,
Stony and rough, with brambles thick,
By overhanging rocks enclosed.

In anger then I turned again,

And asked why thus he mocked my pain.

With searching glance he looked at me,
Half pitiful and half severe,

And asked if I indeed would be

Rid of my weight of guilt and fear, And said that through no gate but this Could I attain the realm of bliss.

He told me how, in suff'ring sore,

Himself had traced that path along,

Which none had ever trod before,

Though since had passed a countless throng.

His name I questioned of my guide

He told me, "Christ the crucified."