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But now the stream has reached
A dark, deep sea, And Sorrow, dim and crowned,
Is waiting thee.
Each of God's soldiers bears
A sword divine: Stretch out thy trembling hands
To-day for thine !
To each anointed Priest
God's summons came : O soul, He speaks to-day,
And calls thy name.
Then, with flow, reverent step,
And beating heart, From out thy joyous days
Thou must depart,
And, leaving all behind,
Come forth alone, To join the chosen band
Around the throne.
Raise up thine eyes, — be strong,
Nor cast away
Miss A. A. Procter.
« ONLY A YEAR."
NE year ago, - a ringing voice,
Too fair to die.
Only a year, — no voice, no smile,
No glance of eye,
Fair but to die !
One year ago, — what loves, what schemes
Far into life!
What generous strife!
The silent picture on the wall, w ine but The burial stone,
life and joy. Of all that beauty, life, and joy,
One year, — one year, — one little year,
And so much gone!
Moves calmly on.
The grave grows green, the flowers bloom fair,
Above that head;
Says he is dead.
No pause or hush of merry birds
That fing above
The form we love.
Where haft thou been this year, beloved ?
What haft thou seen?
Where thou hast been?
Not dead, not neeping, not even gone ;
But present still,
Of God's sweet will.
Lord of the living and the dead,
Our Saviour dear !
Mrs. H. B. Stowe.
Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never-failing skill
And works his sovereign will.
Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust him for his grace ; . Behind a frowning Providence
He hides a smiling face.
His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;
But sweet will be the flower.
Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan his work in vain ;
William Cowper. 1779.