O hand of God! O lamp of peace!

O promise of my soul !

Though weak, and tossed, and ill at ease,
Amid the roar of smiting seas,

The ship's convulsive roll,
I own, with love and tender awe,
Yon perfect type of faith and law!

A heavenly trust my spirit calms,
My soul is filled with light:
The ocean sings his solemn psalms,
The wild winds chant: I cross my palms,

Happy as if, to-night,

Under the cottage-roof, again

I heard the soothing summer-rain.

J. T. TROWBRIDGE,

I

MY PSALM.

MOURN no more my vanished years:
Beneath a tender rain,

An April rain of smiles and tears,

My heart is young again.

The west winds blow, and, singing low,
I hear the glad streams run;

The windows of my soul I throw

. Wide open to the sun.

No longer forward nor behind

I look in hope or fear;

But, grateful, take the good I find,

The best of now and here.

I plough no more a desert land,

To harvest weed and tare;

The manna dropping from God's hand
Rebukes my painful care.

I break my pilgrim staff,

Aside the toiling oar;

I lay

The angel sought so far away
I welcome at my door.

The airs of spring may never play
Among the ripening corn,

Nor freshness of the flowers of May
Blow through the autumn morn;

Yet shall the blue-eyed gentian look
Through fringéd lids to heaven,
And the pale aster in the brook

Shall see its image given ;

-

The woods shall wear their robes of praise,
The south wind softly sigh,

And sweet, calm days in golden haze
Melt down the amber sky.

Not less shall manly deed and word
Rebuke an age of wrong;

The graven flowers that wreathe the sword
Make not the blade less strong.

But smiting hands shall learn to heal,

To build as to destroy;

Nor less my heart for others feel

That I the more enjoy.

All as God wills, who wisely heeds
To give or to withhold,

And knoweth more of all my needs
Than all my prayers have told !

Enough that blessings undeserved
Have marked my erring track;
That wheresoe'er my feet have swerved,

His chastening turned me back;

That more and more a Providence
Of love is understood,

Making the springs of time and sense
Sweet with eternal good;

That death seems but a covered way,

Which opens into light,

Wherein no blinded child can stray
Beyond the Father's sight;

That care and trial seem at last,
Through Memory's sunset air,
Like mountain-ranges overpast,
In purple distance fair;

That all the jarring notes of life
Seem blending in a psalm,
And all the angles of its strife
Slow rounding into calm.

And so the shadows fall apart,
And so the west winds play;
And all the windows of my heart
I open to the day.

JOHN G. WHittier.

OW

UNSEEN.

How do the rivulets find their way?

How do the flowers know the day,
And open their cups to catch the ray?

I see the germ to the sunlight reach,
And the nestlings know the old bird's speech;
I do not see who is there to teach.

I see the hare from the danger hide,

And the stars through the pathless spaces ride;
I do not see that they have a guide.

He is Eyes for All who is eyes for the mole ;
All motion goes to the rightful goal;

O God! I can trust for the human soul.

BY THE AMMONOOSUC, 1862.

CHARLES G. AMES.

FROM "THE MEETING."

So sometimes comes to soul and sense

The feeling which is evidence

That very near about us lies

The realm of spiritual mysteries.
The sphere of the supernal powers
Impinges on this world of ours.

The low and dark horizon lifts,
To light the scenic terror shifts;
The breath of a diviner air

Blows down the answer of a prayer:
That all our sorrow, pain, and doubt,
A great compassion clasps about,
And law and goodness, love and force,
Are wedded fast beyond divorce.
Then duty leaves to love its task,
The beggar Self forgets to ask;
With smile of trust and folded hands,
The passive soul in waiting stands
To feel, as flowers the sun and dew,
The One true Life its own renew.

J. G. WHITTier.

"The Lord is my portion, saith my soul; therefore will I hope in Him." — LAM. iii. 24.

Y heart is resting, O my God, —

MY

I will give thanks and sing;

My heart is at the secret source
Of every precious thing.

Now the frail vessel Thou hast made
No hand but Thine shall fill —

For the waters of the earth have failed,
And I am thirsty still.

I thirst for springs of heavenly life,

And here all day they rise

I seek the treasure of Thy love,
And close at hand it lies.