Peace.

THE PEACE OF GOD.

WE ask for Peace, O Lord!

Thy children ask thy Peace;

Not what the world calls rest,
That toil and care should cease,
That through bright sunny hours
Calm life should fleet away,
And tranquil night should fade
In smiling day;—

It is not for such Peace that we would pray.

We ask for Peace, O Lord!

Yet not to stand secure,
Girt round with iron pride,

Contented to endure,
Crushing the gentle strings

That human hearts should know,

Untouched by others' joy

Or others' woe ;—

Thou, O dear Lord, wilt never teach us so.

We ask thy Peace, O Lord!
Through storm, and fear, and strife,
To light and guide us on,

Through a long struggling life,
While no success or gain

Shall cheer the desperate fight,

Or nerve what the world calls

Our wasted might :

Yet pressing through the darkness to the light.

It is thine own, O Lord,

Who toil while others sleep;
Who sow with loving care
What other hands shall reap:
They lean on Thee entranced
In calm and perfect rest;
Give us that Peace, O Lord,
Divine and blest,

Thou keepest for those hearts who love Thee best.

ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER.

OF

THE SLEEP.

'He giveth His beloved sleep.'

F all the thoughts of God that are
Borne inward into souls afar,
Along the Psalmist's music deep,
Now tell me if that any is,

For gift or grace, surpassing this,

'He giveth His beloved, sleep'?

What would we give to our beloved?
The hero's heart to be unmoved,

The poet's star-tuned harp to sweep,
The patriot's voice to teach and rouse,
The monarch's crown to light the brows?-
He giveth His beloved, sleep.

What do we give to our beloved?
A little faith all undisproved,

A little dust to overweep,
And bitter memories to make

The whole earth blasted for our sake ;—
He giveth His beloved, sleep.

'Sleep soft, beloved!' we sometimes say,
Who have no tune to charm away

Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep :

But never doleful dream again

Shall break the happy slumber when
He giveth His beloved, sleep.

O earth, so full of dreary noises !
O men, with wailing in your voices !

O delved gold, the wailer's heap!
O strife, O curse, that o'er it fall!
God strikes a silence through you all,
And giveth His beloved, sleep.

His dews drop mutely on the hill,
His cloud above it saileth still,

Though on its slope men sow and reap :

More softly than the dew is shed,
Or cloud is floated overhead,

He giveth His beloved, sleep.

Ay, men may wonder while they scan
A living, thinking, feeling man

Confirmed in such a rest to keep;
But angels say, and through the word
I think their happy smile is heard
'He giveth His beloved, sleep.'

For me, my heart that erst did go
Most like a tired child at a show,

That sees through tears the mummers leap,
Would now its wearied vision close,
Would, childlike, on His love repose
Who giveth His beloved, sleep.

And friends, dear friends, when it shall be
That this low breath is gone from me,

And round my bier ye come to weep,

Let One, most loving of you all,

Say 'Not a tear must o'er her fall!
He giveth His beloved, sleep.'

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

THE STARRY SKIES.

THE starry skies, they rest my soul,

Its chains of care unbind,

And with the dew of cooling thoughts
Refresh my sultry mind.

And, like a bird amidst the boughs,
I rest, and sing, and rest,

Among those bright, dissevered worlds,
As safe as in a nest.

And oft I think the starry sprays
Swing with me where I light,
While brighter branches lure me o'er
New gulfs of purple night.

Yes, something draws me upward there
As morning draws the lark;
Only my spell, whate'er it is,
Works better in the dark.

It is as if a home was there
To which my soul was turning,
A home not seen, but nightly proved
By a mysterious yearning.

It seems as if no actual space

Could hold it in its bond;

Thought climbs its highest, still it is
Always beyond, beyond.

Earth never feels like home, though fresh And full its tide of mirth;

No glorious change we can conceive

Would make a home of earth.