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OUT OF THE NIGHT.

And lacerated hearts are bleeding,

Lest "Love should yield to Death." O God! Is there no balm in Gilead for these wounds? How can we learn Death's dark decrees,

And bless, when friends remove, the hand that takes?

Thy power awes us, and the trembling soul Seeks refuge from thy might. Thy wisdom

shines

With such effulgent light the glory dazzles.
We would draw near to thee in adoration.

But whence this calm, this heavenly peace? "A still small voice" is whispering, "God is Love."

Yes, "God is Love." The winds, the bounteous Earth,

With all her varied fruits, her beauteous flowers, Her buried treasures, declare it.

'Tis written in the heavens, with stars for types: And Ocean sings it in his deep-toned anthems. Every page of God's most holy Word

Glows with Love's sacred fire, to "burn our dross And take away our tin." This granted,

OUT OF THE NIGHT.

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How could we e'er suppose that blissful chords,
God-given, on which emotion plays the music
Of the soul, would ever be withdrawn?

The highest, holiest boon, recalled? Oh, no!
Heaven calls his children home, to banquet
On his love. Receiving more, they more im-
part.

And, when we cease to idolize, our white-robed angels,

Ever watching round us, may, through the Word unsealed,

Assure our hearts they deeply love us still; That, with intensified desire, they wait our coming,

And woo us upward to the realms of light.

O heavenly Father! increase our faith. In thy unbounded goodness; that Humanity May wipe her weeping eyes, and smile to meet

thee

Coming in the clouds of Heaven. Thy Word— The Comforter-our only trust and guide.

MRS. SILVER.

198

THE SIGNAL.

THE SIGNAL.

FLUTTERING there,

In the stilly gray of the morning air, A streaming signal of black and white: Somebody's darling died last night,

While you

and I were asleep,—

There, in the hushed and lonely room,
In the solemn midnight gloom.

Died, did I say?

Why, only the angels came that way, And called for a little child to go

To the bosom of Him who loved them so, Where the many mansions be,

And, speeding up with the ransomed boy, The heavens were filled with a song of joy.

But over there,

Waking never to pain or care,

Lieth the little form to rest,

The white hands crossed on the quiet breast,

Soft eyes sealed with an angel kiss,

THE SIGNAL.

The smile of heaven on lip and brow :
Say, would you waken the sleeper now?

But the busy day

Is rushing in with its work and play,
And soon the patter of little feet

Will pass the house on the village street;
And, seeing the signal flutter there,
The children will pause, and whisper low;
But the little sleeper will never know.

On to your play:

199

You will gather stains of earth to-day, And the thorns of sin will wound your feet, In your careless patter upon the street. But little Charlie is safe.

Sorrow or taint cannot reach him there:

White are the robes that the ransomed wear.

ANONYMOUS.

200

HOME OF THE SOUL.

HOME OF THE SOUL.

I WILL sing you a song of that beautiful land,

The far-away home of the soul,

Where no storms ever beat on the glittering strand,

While the years of eternity roll.

Oh, that home of the soul! in my visions and dreams

Its bright jasper walls I can see,
Till I fancy but thinly the veil intervenes
Between that fair city and me.

There the great trees of life in their beauty do grow,

And the river of life floweth by ;

For no death ever enters that city, you know,
And nothing that maketh a lie.

Oh! that beautiful home is for you and for me,
Where Jesus of Nazareth stands :

The King of all kingdoms forever is he,

And he holdeth our crowns in his hands.