And a new song is in my mouth,
To long-loved music set-
Glory to Thee for all the grace
I have not tasted yet.

Glory to Thee for strength withheld,

For want and weakness known

And the fear that sends me to Thy breast

For what is most my own.
There is a certainty of love
That sets my heart at rest-
A calm assurance for to-day
That to be poor is best.

Mine be the reverent, listening love,
That waits all day on Thee,
With the service of a watchful heart
Which no one else can see
The faith that, in a hidden way
No other eye may know,

Finds all its daily work prepared,

And loves to have it so.

ANNA L. WARING.

SEEN AND UNSEEN.

HE wind ahead, the billows high,

THE

A whited wave, but sable sky, And many a league of tossing sea Between the hearts I love and me.

The wind ahead! day after day
These weary words the sailors say;
To weeks the days are lengthened now,
Still mounts the surge to meet our prow.

Through longing day and lingering night,
I still accuse Time's lagging flight,
Or gaze out o'er the envious sea,

That keeps the hearts I love from me.

Yet, ah! how shallow is all grief!
How instant is the deep relief!
And what a hypocrite am I,

To feign forlorn, to 'plain and sigh!

The wind ahead? The wind is free!
For evermore it favoreth me,

To shores of God still blowing fair,
O'er seas of God my bark doth bear.

This surging brine I do not sail;
This blast adverse is not my gale;
'Tis here I only seem to be,
But really sail another sea, -

Another sea, pure sky its waves,
Whose beauty hides no heaving graves ;

A sea all haven, whereupon

No helpless bark to wreck hath gone.

The winds that o'er my ocean run

Reach through all worlds beyond the sun;

Through life and death, through fate, through time,

Grand breaths of God they sweep sublime.

Eternal trades, they cannot veer,

And, blowing, teach us how to steer;
And well for him whose joy, whose care,
Is but to keep before them fair.

O thou God's mariner, heart of mine!
Spread canvas to the airs divine!
Spread sail! and let thy Fortune be
Forgotten in thy Destiny.

For Destiny pursues us well,

By sea, by land, through heaven or hell;
It suffers Death alone to die,

Bids Life all change and chance defy.

Would earth's dark ocean suck thee down?
Earth's ocean thou, O Life! shalt drown;
Shalt flood it with thy finer wave,
And, sepulchred, entomb thy grave!

Life loveth life and good; then trust
What most the spirit would, it must;
Deep wishes, in the heart that be,
Are blossoms of Necessity.

A thread of Law runs through thy prayer,
Stronger than iron cables are;

And Love and Longing toward her goal
Are pilots sweet to guide the soul.

So Life must live, and Soul must saii,
And Unseen over Seen prevail;
And all God's argosies come to shore,
Let ocean smile, or rage or roar.

And so, 'mid storm or calm, my bark
With snowy wake still nears her mark;
Cheerly the trades of being blow,

And sweeping down the wind I go.

DAVID A. WASSON.

LETTERS.

EVERY day brings a ship,

Every ship brings a word: Well for those who have no fear, Looking seaward well assured That the word the vessel brings Is the word they wish to hear.

R. W. EMERSON.

HIDDEN LIFE.

SINCE Eden, it keeps the secret!

Not a flower beside it knows

To distil from the day the fragrance
And beauty that flood the rose.

Silently speeds the secret

From the loving eye of the sun To the willing heart of the flower: The life of the twain is one.

Folded within my being,

A wonder to me is taught,

Too deep for curious seeing,

Or fathom of sounding thought.

Of all sweet mysteries holiest !

Faded are rose and sun!

The Highest hides in the lowliest:

My Father and I are one.

CHARLES G. AMES, 1864.

THE SECRET PLACE OF THE

MOST HIGH.

HE Lord is in His Holy Place,

THE

In all things near and far,

Shekinah of the snow-flake, He,
And Glory of the star,

And Secret of the April-land
That stirs the field to flowers,
Whose little tabernacles rise
To hold Him through the hours.

He hides Himself within the love

Of those that we love best;

The smiles and tones that make our homes
Are shrines by Him possessed.

He tents within the lonely heart
And shepherds every thought;
We find Him not by seeking long,
We lose Him not unsought.

So, though we build a Holy Place

To be our Sinai-stand,

The Holiest of Holies still

Is never made by hand.