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he Hope of the Disconsolate.


WHEN gathering clouds around I view,
And days are dark and friends are few,
On him I lean who, not in vain,
Experienced every human pain;
He sees my wants, allays my fears,
And counts and treasures up my tears.

If aught should tempt my soul to stray
From heavenly virtue's narrow way,
To fly the good I would pursue,
Or do the sin I would not do,-
Still he who felt temptation's power,
Shall guard me in that dangerous hour.

When vexing thoughts within me rise,
And sore dismayed my spirit dies,
Yet he who once vouchsafed to bear
The sickening anguish of despair
Shall sweetly soothe, shall gently dry,
The throbbing heart, the streaming eye.

When sorrowing o'er some stone I bend, Which covers all that was a friend, And from his voice, his hand, his smile, Divides me for a little while,

Thou, Saviour, seest the tears I shed, For thou didst weep o'er Lazarus dead.

And oh when I have safely passed Through every conflict but the last, Still, still unchanging, watch beside My painful bed, for thou hast died; Then point to realms of cloudless day, And wipe the latest tear away.

Dearer Home.


ONE Sweetly solemn thought,
Comes to me o'er and o'er,-

I'm nearer my home to-day
Than I've ever been before.

Nearer my Father's house,

Where the many mansions be,Nearer the great white throne, Nearer the jasper sea.

Nearer the bound of life,

Where we lay our burdens down,—

Nearer leaving the cross,

Nearer wearing the crown.

But, lying darkly between,

Winding down through the night, To the dim and unknown stream, That leads me at last to the light,

Close, closer my steps

Come to the dark abysm,Closer death to my lips

Presses the awful chrysm.

Saviour, perfect my trust,

Strengthen the might of my faith; Let me feel as I would when I stand On the rock of the shore of death,

Feel as I would when my feet
Are slipping over the brink;
For it may be I'm nearer home,-
Nearer now than I think.

Beyond the Sunset.


"At evening time it shall be light.”—Zech. xiv. 7.
"Thy sun shall no more go down."-Isa. lx. 20.

SHADOWS o'er the vale are creeping,
And the sun sinks to his rest:
Twilight draws her curtains softly,
Golden clouds hang in the west.
Hushed the noise of busy labour,
Toil has sought its wonted rest;
Whispering trees and murmuring streamlets
Sweetly soothe each troubled breast.

Time is fleeting, and I'm drawing
Near the sunset of my life;

Soon will end my weary journey,
Soon will cease all toil and strife.
Shadows o'er my path are falling,
Earthly visions fade away,
Voices soft and sweet are telling
Of an endless, orient day.

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