Yet not the less we say, 'T were surely

better

That He should come and summon us

away

To meet Him in the sky ere yet the fetter Of dark corruption bind our crumb

ling clay.

Then ye who slept, and we who know no sleeping,

Should meet together, each to tell the tale;

The tale of earthly weariness and weeping,

The short, strange story of time's cloudy vale.

Come then, Lord Jesus, come! Thy church is calling,

The world is old, although the skies are blue:

Its flowers are falling and its leaves are fading—

Come in Thy glory to make all things

new.

HORATIUS BONAR.

THROUGH PEACE TO LIGHT

I Do not ask, O Lord, that life may be A pleasant road,

I do not ask that Thou wouldst take

from me

Aught of its load;

I do not ask that flowers should always spring

Beneath my feet;

I know too well the poison and the sting

Of things too sweet.

For one thing, Lord, dear Lord, I plead: Lead me aright,

Tho' strength should falter and tho' heart should bleed,

Through Peace to Light.

I do not ask, O Lord, that Thou shouldst

shed

Full radiance here;

Give but a ray of peace, that I may tread

Without a fear.

Better in darkness just to feel Thy hand And follow Thee.

Joy is like restless day, but peace divine

Like quiet night:

Lead me, O Lord, till perfect day shall

shine,

Through Peace to Light.

ADELAIDE A. PROCTER.

WAITING

I AM watching and waiting to-night by

the shore,

In the gloaming which tells that the day's work is o'er,

And the purples which gather afar o'er the lea,

Are fringes of glory there waiting for

me.

Though weary the feet which have come to the tide,

Long shall rest be, and sweet, on the farthermost side.

All along the broad fields and on top

of the hill

Dark shadows of

linger still;

sorrow and care

But the furrows if crooked are honest

and true

Of the ploughing the Master's hand gave me to do.

No ploughing, no reaping, no shadows

there be

In the land on the calm other side of the sea.

The voices of day in the twilight wax dim.

Sighs, laughter and sobbing, plaint, pæan, or hymn;

But I wait in the stillness a call that will come

When the Master is ready to bid me come home

A voice whose low accents are sweeter

to me

Than all the glad sounds on this side of the sea.

I wait, but in patience; I watch, but with cheer,