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Set hours and written rule are good,

Long prayer can lay our fears; But it is better calm for thee

To count the Eternal Years.

Oh! many things are good for souls,

In proper times and spheres ;
Thy present good is in the thought

Of the Eternal Years.

Thy self-upbraiding is a snare,

Though meekness it appears; More humbling is it far for thee

To face the Eternal Years.

Brave quiet is the thing for thee,

Chiding thy scrupulous fears ; Learn to be real from the thought

Of the Eternal Years.

Bear gently, suffer like a child,

Nor be ashamed of tears ; · Kiss the sweet Cross, and in thy heart

Sing of the Eternal Years.

Thy Cross is quite enough for thee,

Though little it appears ;
For there is hid in it the weight

Of the Eternal Years.

And knowlt thou not how bitterness

An ailing spirit cheers ? Thy medicine is the strengthening thought

Of the Eternal Years.

One Cross can sanctify a soul;

Late saints and ancient seers Were what they were because they mused

Upon the Eternal Years.

Death will have rainbows round it seen

Through calm contrition's tears,
If tranquil Hope but trims her lamp
At the Eternal Years.

Frederick Faber.

“WHAT ARE THESE IN BRIGHT ARRAY?”

W H AT are these in bright array ?

VV This innumerable throng, Round the altar, night and day,

Hymning one triumphant song : “Worthy is the Lamb once sain,

Blessing, honor, glory, power, Wisdom, riches, to obtain,

New dominion every hour.”

These through fiery trials trod;

These from great affliction came;
Now before the throne of God,

Sealed with his almighty name,
Clad in raiment pure and white,

Victor-palms in every hand,
Through their dear Redeemer's might,

More than conquerors they stand.

Hunger, thirst, disease unknown,

On immortal fruits they feed;
Them the Lamb, amidst the throne,

Shall to living fountains lead :
Joy and gladness banish sighs,

Perfect love dispels all fear,
And forever from their eyes
God shall wipe away the tear.

James Montgomery. 1803 - 1853.

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CICKNESS is a school severe,
w Where the soul, (in childhood here,)
Wayward, 'neath a milder sway,
Learns to think, and learns to pray.

Blest and wise its' discipline,
There the teacher is divine..

Wert thou thoughtless, led away
By each folly of the day?
Cleaving to the things of earth,
Mindless of thy heavenly birth?
Bless the hours which broke their spell,
Made thee fick to make thee well.

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Wert thou fretful, harsh, unkind,
Finding nothing to thy mind?
Though with countless mercies blest,
Never thankful, ne'er at rest?
Sickness comes to purge thy dross,
Prove thy gain, and not thy loss.

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Dwelt thy soul at ease, assured
All was well, and heaven secured ?
Didst thou need no better dress
Than thy fancied righteousness ?
Sickness comes to probe thy heart,
Comes to show thee what thou art.

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CLOW on, thou Fountain of my joy,
T Through all the wilderness !
Thou seest what will work for good,

Thou knowelt how to bless.
Get thyself glory, O my God,

Be praised in my distress!

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