O Thou, our souls' chief hope!
We to Thy mercy fly ;

Where'er we are, Thou canst protect,
Whate'er we need, supply.

Whether we sleep or wake,

To Thee we both resign;

By night we see, as well as day,
If Thy light on us shine.

Whether we live or die,

Both we submit to Thee;

In death we live, as well as life,
If Thine in death we be.

JOHN AUSTIN, 1668.

O

SACRED JOY.

TELL me whence that joy doth spring,
Whose diet is divine and fair,

Which wears heaven like a bridal ring,
And tramples on doubts and despair?

Sure, holyness the magnet is,

And love the lure that woos thee down; Which makes the high transcendent bliss Of knowing thee, so rarely known!

HENRY VAUGHAN.

THE SECRET OF CONTENT.

E thou content; be still before

BE

His face, at whose right hand doth reign Fulness of joy for evermore,

Without whom all thy toil is vain.

He is thy living spring, thy sun, whose rays Make glad with life and light thy dreary days. Be thou content.

In Him is comfort, light, and grace,
And changeless love beyond our thought;
The sorest pang, the worst disgrace,

If He is there, shall harm thee not.

He can lift off thy cross, and loose thy bands, And calm thy fears, nay, death is in His hands. Be thou content.

Or art thou friendless and alone,

Hast none in whom thou canst confide? God careth for thee, lonely one,

Comfort and help will He provide.

He sees thy sorrows and thy hidden grief,
He knoweth when to send thee quick relief;
Be thou content.

Thy heart's unspoken pain He knows,
Thy secret sighs He hears full well,
What to none else thou darest disclose,
To Him thou mayest with boldness tell;

He is not far away, but ever nigh,

And answereth willingly the poor man's cry.

Be thou content.

Be not o'ermastered by thy pain,

But cling to God, thou shalt not fall; The floods sweep over thee in vain,

Thou yet shalt rise above them all;

For when thy trial seems too hard to bear,
Lo! God, thy King, hath granted all thy prayer:
Be thou content.

Why art thou full of anxious fear

How thou shalt be sustained and fed? He who hath made and placed thee here, Will give thee needful daily bread;

Canst thou not trust His rich and bounteous hand, Who feeds all living things on sea and land ?

Be thou content.

He who doth teach the little birds

To find their meat in field and wood, Who gives the countless flocks and herds Each day, their needful drink and food,

Thy hunger too will surely satisfy,

And all thy wants in His good time supply.

Be thou content.

Sayst thou, I know not how or where,
No help I see where'er I turn;

When of all else we most despair,

The riches of God's love we learn ;

When thou and I His hand no longer trace,
He leads us forth into a pleasant place.
Be thou content.

Though long His promised aid delay,
At last it will be surely sent:
Though thy heart sink in sore dismay,

The trial for thy good is meant.

What we have won with pains we hold more fast, What tarrieth long is sweeter at the last.

Be thou content.

Lay not to heart whate'er of ill

Thy foes may falsely speak of thee, Let man defame thee as he will,

God hears, and judges righteously.

Why shouldst thou fear, if God be on thy side, Man's cruel anger, or malicious pride?

Be thou content.

We know for us a rest remains,

When God will give us sweet release From earth and all our mortal chains,

And turn our sufferings into peace.

Sooner or later death will surely come
To end our sorrows, and to take us home.
Be thou content.

Home to the chosen ones, who here
Served their Lord faithfully and well,

Who died in peace, without a fear,

And there in peace for ever dwell;

The Everlasting is their joy and stay,
The Eternal Word Himself to them doth say,

Be thou content.

PAUL GERHARDT, 1670.

AT SEA.

HE night is made for cooling shade,

TH

For silence, and for sleep;

And when I was a child, I laid

My hands upon my breast and prayed,
And sank to slumbers deep:
Childlike as then, I lie to-night,
And watch my lonely cabin light.

Each movement of the swaying lamp
Shows how the vessel reels:

As o'er her deck the billows tramp,
And all her timbers strain and cramp,
With every shock she feels,

It starts and shudders, while it burns,
And in its hingéd socket turns.

Now swinging slow, and slanting low,
It almost level lies;

And yet I know, while to and fro
I watch the seeming pendule go
With restless fall and rise,
The steady shaft is still upright,
Poising its little globe of light.