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Through ftrife to peace! — And though, with briftling front, A thousand frightful deaths encompass thee,

Good cheer! good cheer! Brave thou the battle's brunt, For the peace-march and song of victory.

Through sweat to fleep !—And though the sultry noon
With heavy, drooping wing oppress thee now,

Good cheer! good cheer! The cool of evening soon
Shall lull to sweet repose thy weary brow.

Through cross to crown ! — And though thy spirit's life

Trials untold aflail with giant ftrength,
Good cheer! good cheer! Soon ends the bitter ftrife,

And thou fhalt reign in peace with Chrift at length.

Through woe to joy! — And though at morn thou weep, And though the midnight finds thee weeping ftill,

Good cheer! good cheer! The Shepherd loves his fheep: Refign thee to the watchful Father's will.

Through death to life !— And through this vale of tears,
And through this thiftle-field of life, ascend

To the great supper in that world whose years
Of bliss unfading, cloudless, know no end.


WHEN darkness long has veiled my mind,
And smiling day once more appears,
Then, my Creator! then I find
The folly of my doubts and fears.

Straight I upbraid my wandering heart,

And blufh that I ftiould ever be Thus prone to act so base a part,

Or harbor one hard thought of Thee.

O, let me then at length be taught
What I am ftill so flow to learn, —

That God is love, and changes not,
Nor knows the fhadow of a turn.

Sweet truth, and easy to repeat!

But when my faith is fharply tried, I find myself a learner yet,

Unfkilful, weak, and apt to flide.

But, O my God! one look from Thee

Subdues the disobedient will, Drives doubt and discontent away,

And thy rebellious child is ftill.

William Cowper. 1779.


MY God, my Father! while I ftray,
Far from my home, on life's rough way,

0 teach me from my heart to say,

"Thy will be done!"

Though dark my path, and sad my lot,
Let me "be ftill," and murmur not,
Or breathe the prayer, divinely taught,
"Thy will be done!"

What though in lonely grief I sigh
For friends beloved, no longer nigh;
Submiflive ftill would I reply,

"Thy will be done!"

If thou fhouldft call me to refign
What moft I prize, it ne'er was mine;

1 only yield thee what was thine:

"Thy will be done!"

Should pining fickness wafte away
My life in premature decay,
My Father! ftill I ftrive to say,
"Thy will be done!"
If but my fainting heart be bleft
With thy sweet spirit for its gueft,
My God! to thee I leave the reft, —
"Thy will be done!"

Renew my will from day to day,
Blend it with thine, and take away
All now that makes it hard to say,
"Thy will be done!"

Then, when on earth I breathe no more
The prayer, oft mixed with tears before,
I 'll fing upon a happier more,

"Thy will be done!"

Charlotte Elliott.


JUDGE not; the workings of his brain
And of his heart thou canft not see;
What looks to thy dim eyes a ftain
In God's pure light may only be
A scar, brought from some well-won field,
Where thou wouldft only faint and yield.

The look, the air, that frets thy fight
May be a token that below

The soul has closed in deadly fight

With some infernal fiery foe,
Whose glance would scorch thy smiling grace,
And caft thee fhuddering on thy face!

The fall thou dareft to despise,—
May be the angel's flackened hand

Has suffered it, that he may rise
And take a firmer, surer ftand;

Or, trufting less to earthly things,

May henceforth learn to use his wings.

And judge none loft; but wait and see,

With hopeful pity, not disdain; The depth of the abyss may be

The measure of the height of pain And love and glory that may raise This soul to God in after days!

ITHOUT hafte! without reft!

Miss A. A. Procler.


VV Bind the motto to thy breaft;
Bear it with thee as a spell;
Storm or sunfhine, guard it well!

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