God hath His mysteries of grace,

Ways that we cannot tell ;

He hides them deep, like the hidden sleep Of him He loved so well.

Sir Edwin Arnold.

1832.

APRIL.

Blossom of the almond trees,
April's gift to April's bees,
Birthday ornament of spring,
Flora's fairest daughterling ;-
Coming when no flowerets dare
Trust the cruel outer air,
When the royal king cup bold
Will not don his coat of gold,
And the sturdy blackthorn spray
Keeps its silver for the May;—
Coming when no flowerets would,
Save thy lowly sisterhood,
Early violets, blue and white,
Dying for their love of light,-

Almond blossom, sent to teach us,

That the spring-days soon will reach us,

Lest, with longing over-tried,

We die as the violets died.

Blossom, clouding all the tree
With thy crimson 'broidery,
Long before a leaf of green
On the bravest bough is seen ;

Ah! when winter winds are swinging
All thy red bells into ringing,
With a bee in every bell,

Almond bloom, we greet thee well.

Sabine Baring-Gould.

1834.

THE OLIVE-TREE.

Said an ancient hermit, bending
Half in prayer upon his knee,
"Oil I need for midnight watching,
I desire an olive-tree."

Then he took a tender sapling,
Planted it before his cave,

Spread his trembling hands above it,
As his benison he gave.

But he thought, the rain it needeth,
That the root may drink and swell :
"God! I pray Thee, send Thy showers!"
So a gentle shower fell.

"Lord! I ask for beams of summer, Cherishing this little child." Then the dripping clouds divided,

And the sun looked down and smiled.

"Send it frost to brace its tissues,
O my God!" the hermit cried.
Then the plant was bright and hoary,
But at evensong it died.

Went the hermit to a brother
Sitting in his rocky cell :
Thou an olive-tree possessest;
How is this, my brother, tell?

"I have planted one, and prayed,
Now for sunshine, now for rain;
God hath granted each petition,
Yet my olive-tree hath slain !”

Said the other: "I intrusted
To its God my little tree;

He who made knew what it needed
Better than a man like me.

"Laid I on Him no condition,

Fixed not ways and means; so I

Wonder not my olive thriveth,

Whilst thy olive-tree did die."

CHILD'S EVENING HYMN.

Now the day is over,

Night is drawing nigh, Shadows of the evening Steal across the sky.

Now the darkness gathers,
Stars begin to peep,
Birds, and beasts, and flowers
Soon will be asleep.

Jesu, give the weary

Calm and sweet repose, With Thy tenderest blessing May our eyelids close.

Grant to little children
Visions bright of Thee,
Guard the sailors tossing
On the deep blue sea.

Comfort every sufferer
Watching late in pain,
Those who plan some evil
From their sin restrain.

Through the long night-watches May Thine angels spread Their white wings above me,

Watching round my bed.

When the morning wakens,

Then may I arise

Pure and fresh and sinless

In Thy holy eyes.

Glory to the Father,
Glory to the Son,

And to Thee, blest Spirit,

Whilst all ages run.

Amen.

Frances Ridley Havergal.

1837-1879.

LIFE MOSAIC.

Master, to do great work for Thee, my hand
Is far too weak! Thou givest what may suit-
Some little chips to cut with care minute,
Or tint, or grave, or polish. Others stand
Before their quarried marble fair and grand,
And make a life-work of the great design
Which Thou hast traced; or, many-skilled, com-
bine

To build vast temples, gloriously planned.

Yet take the tiny stones which I have wrought, Just one by one, as they were given by Thee, Not knowing what came next in Thy wise thought.

Set each stone by Thy master-hand of grace,

Form the Mosaic as Thou wilt for me,

And in Thy temple-pavement give it place.