389

I dimly guess from blessings known
Of greater out of sight,
And, with the chastened Psalmist, own
His judgments too are right.

I long for household voices gone,
For vanished smiles I long,
But God hath led my dear ones on,
And He can do no wrong.

I know not what the future hath
Of marvel or surprise,
Assured alone that life and death
His mercy underlies.

And if my heart and flesh are weak
To bear an untried pain,
The bruised reed He will not break,
But strengthen and sustain.

No offering of my own I have,

Nor works my faith to prove; I can but give the gifts He gave, And plead His love for love.

And so beside the Silent Sea

I wait the muffled oar;

No harm from Him can come to me
On ocean or on shore.

I know not where His islands lift
Their fronded palms in air;
I only know I cannot drift
Beyond His love and care.

O brothers! if my faith is vain,
If hopes like these betray,
Pray for me that my feet may gain
The sure and safer way.

And Thou, O Lord! by whom are seen
Thy creatures as they be,
Forgive me if too close I lean
My human heart on Thee!

OUR MASTER.

IMMORTAL Love, forever full, Forever flowing free,

Forever shared, forever whole, A never-ebbing sea!

Deep strike thy roots, O heavenly Vine,
Within our earthly sod,
Most human and yet most divine,

The flower of man and God!

O Love! O Life! Our faith and sight Thy presence maketh one :

As through transfigured clouds of white
We trace the noon-day sun.

So, to our mortal eyes subdued,
Flesh-veiled, but not concealed,
We know in thee the fatherhood

And heart of God revealed.

We faintly hear, we dimly see,

In differing phrase we pray;
But, dim or clear, we own in thee
The Light, the Truth, the Way!

The homage that we render thee
Is still our Father's own;
Nor jealous claim or rivalry

Divides the Cross and Throne.

To do thy will is more than praise, As words are less than deeds, And simple trust can find thy ways We miss with chart of creeds.

No pride of self thy service hath,

No place for me and mine;

Our human strength is weakness, death Our life, apart from thine.

Apart from thee all gain is loss,

All labor vainly done;
The solemn shadow of thy Cross
Is better than the sun.

Alone, O Love ineffable!

Thy saving name is given; To turn aside from thee is hell, To walk with thee is heaven!

How vain, secure in all thou art,
Our noisy championship! -
The sighing of the contrite heart
Is more than flattering lip.

Not thine the bigot's partial plea,
Nor thine the zealot's ban;
Thou well canst spare a love of thee
Which ends in hate of man.

Our Friend, our Brother, and our Lord,

What may thy service be?-
Nor name, nor form, nor ritual word,
But simply following thee.

We bring no ghastly holocaust,
We pile no graven stone;

He serves thee best who loveth most
His brothers and thy own.

Thy litanies, sweet offices
Of love and gratitude;
Thy sacramental liturgies,
The joy of doing good.

In vain shall waves of incense drift
The vaulted nave around,
In vain the minster turret lift

Its brazen weights of sound.

The heart must ring thy Christmas bells,

Thy inward altars raise;
Its faith and hope thy canticles,
And its obedience praise !

THE VANISHERS.

SWEETEST of all childlike dreams
In the simple Indian lore
Still to me the legend seems

Of the shapes who flit before.

Flitting, passing, seen and gone,

Never reached nor found at rest, Baffling search, but beckoning on To the Sunset of the Blest.

From the clefts of mountain rocks,
Through the dark of lowland firs,
Flash the eyes and flow the locks
Of the mystic Vanishers!

And the fisher in his skiff,

And the hunter on the moss,
Hear their call from cape and cliff,
See their hands the birch-leaves toss

Wistful, longing, through the green
Twilight of the clustered pines,