Then with my waking thoughts, Bright with Thy praise,

Out of my stony griefs,

Bethel I'll raise;

So by my woes to be

Nearer, my God, to Thee—
Nearer to Thee!

Or if on joyful wing,
Cleaving the sky,

Sun, moon, and stars forgot,
Upwards I fly;

Still all my song shall be
Nearer, my God, to Thee-
Nearer to Thee!

Christ alone beareth me
Where Thou dost shine,

Joint heir He maketh me

Of the Divine!

In Christ my soul shall be
Nearest, my God, to Thee-

Nearest to Thee!

LXI.

A LONELY one am I,
No friend or lover by,
And frequently I sigh
For sympathy.

I turn me everywhere,
I look for some to share
My pleasures and my care,
But none is near.

Yet is there One above,
Whose very name is Love,
He will attentive prove
To all my cries.

In His blest company
I find true sympathy,
A constant full supply
For all my need.

In fellowship so blest,
I miss no earthly guest,
My spirit is at rest,
Leaning on God.

No earthly tie's so near,
No human love's so dear,

No friend the heart can cheer,
As Thou my God.

And though I'm thus alone,
All loneliness is flown,

If God I feel my own,

I live in Him.

LXII.

I LOOK to the bright blue sky above,
With its depths serene and calm,
But it only mocks my bitter woe,
It shares not my great alarm.

I turn to the wild and raging sea,
When the waves are strong and high,
And I feel it hushes my storm within
By the power of sympathy.

Thus soothed, I turn to the sky anew,
And feel how grand is its calm,
And as I gaze in its azure depths
My spirit is filled with balm.

The sea with its storms and wild unrest Is a type of earthly strife,

The sky above seems an emblem meet Of the rest in our future life.

There is a land where sea is no more, Where troubles of earth must cease,

The sky to me is an open door

To look on that land of

peace.

LXIII.

ALONG life's dusty highway,
What pleasing visions rise,
Of quiet waters, pastures green,

And soft, calm summer skies!
Our weary spirits fain would rest
'Mid scenes so fair, so still, so blest.

But no; the hand of duty
Points to a path of toil,

By troubled waters and unrest;

Well may our souls recoil

From the harsh din, the care, the woe,

The ceaseless strife of men below.

Yet by this busy pathway,

He that hath eyes to see,
Will find a river, deep and clear,
Arising, Lord, from Thee.

And by its side, the tree of life,

With healing leaves, for this world's strife.