MINISTRY OF THE DEPARTED.

Lo! the beacon Hope is paling,
And our feeble faith is failing,
And our souls in fear are quailing
From the dread uncertain morrow,—
Morrow we may never see.

Unseen ones, in whispers cheering,
Bid us struggle on and wait.
Still to them our spirits turning,
With a deep, unuttered yearning,
Seeking much and nought discerning,
Dimly through the Future peering,-
Open they the mystic gate!

Here, say they, we rest from labour;
Toil and conflict, all are past ;
Here no darkness cometh ever,
For the Lamb is light forever.
Faint not in the strife nor waver:
Spirit, thou shalt rest at last!

Land of glory, land of wonder,
Shining in immortal bloom!

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Press we on with firm endeavour,
Hoping always, doubting never,
Nought from us that vision sever,
Till we, joyful, journey yonder,
Through the portals of the tomb!

ANONYMOUS.

BEST.

MOTHER, I see you with your nursery

light,

Leading your babies, all in white,

To their sweet rest:

Christ, the Good Shepherd, carries mine to-night, And that is best!

I cannot help tears when I see them twine Their fingers in yours, and their bright curls shine

On your warm breast;

But the Saviour's is purer than yours or mine;

He can love best!

BEST.

You tremble each hour because your arms
Are weak your heart is wrung with alarms,
And sore oppressed:

My darlings are safe, out of reach of harms;
And that is best.

You know over yours may hang even now
Pain and disease, whose fulfilling slow
Nought can arrest:

Mine in God's gardens run to and fro,
And that is best.

You know that of yours the feeblest one
And dearest may live long years alone,

Unloved, unblest:

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Mine are cherished of saints around God's throne,

And that is best.

You must dread for yours the crime that sears,
Dark guilt unwashed by repentant tears,
And unconfessed:

Mine entered spotless on eternal years:
Oh, how much the best!

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FARTHER ON.

But grief is selfish, and I cannot see
Always why I should so stricken be,
More than the rest;

But I know that, as well as for them, for me
God did the best!

HELEN HUNT.

Now

FARTHER ON.

OW the ills of earth surround us :
Oft the storm-clouds hide the sun;
But, though dark the night around us,
Day is breaking farther on :
Farther onward

All the mists and clouds are gone.

Here the thorns with flowers are growing,
Rough and weary is our path,
Gentle waters seldom flowing
In the desert ways of earth :
Farther onward

Sweet, immortal springs have birth.

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FARTHER ON.

Blossoms in our pathway springing
Fade, alas! too soon away:

Warblers, love's sweet chorus singing,
Seek their rest ere close of day:
Farther onward

Flowers shall never know decay.

Farther on the voice whose sweetness
Cheered us ere it silent grew,
Tuned to more than seraph meetness,
Sings those songs the angels knew:
Farther onward

We shall join the chorus too.

As we to our rest draw nearer,

We shall pass through shady bowers, And our feet, 'neath skies grown clearer, Press the fragrance from the flowers,

Farther onward

Strewing smoother paths than ours.

We will leave our Leader never;
But we'll calmly onward press,
Till we dwell with him forever,