Part 9

"Know that the Lord hath set apart him that is godly for Himself."--Ps. iv. 3.

Set apart for Jesus! Is not this enough, Though the desert prospect, Open wild and rough? Set apart for His delight, Chosen for His holy pleasure, Sealed to be His special treasure! Could we choose a nobler joy?--and would we if we might?

Set apart to serve Him, Ministers of light, Standing in His presence, Ready day or night! Chosen for His service blest He would have us always willing Like the angel-hosts fulfilling Swiftly and rejoicingly each recognized behest.

Set apart to praise Him, Set apart for this! Have the blessed angels Any truer bliss? Soft the prelude, though so clear; Isolated tones are trembling, But the chosen choir, assembling, Soon shall sing together, while the universe shall hear.

Set apart to love Him, And His love to know! Not to waste affection On a passing show. Called to give Him life and heart, Called to pour the hidden treasure, That none other claims to measure, Into His beloved hand! thrice-blessèd 'set apart!'

Set apart for ever For Himself alone! Now we see our calling Gloriously shown! Owning, with no secret dread, This our holy separation, Now the crown of consecration Of the Lord our God shall rest upon our willing head!

--_Frances Ridley Havergal._

THE USEFUL LIFE.

=Psychê mou, psychê mou, Anasta, ti katheudeis.= OLD GREEK HYMN.

Go labor on; spend, and be spent,-- Thy joy to do the Father's will; It is the way the Master went, Should not the servant tread it still?

Go labor on; 'tis not for nought; Thy earthly loss is heavenly gain; Men heed thee, love thee, praise thee not; The Master praises, what are men?

Go labor on; enough, while here, If He shall praise thee, if he deign Thy willing heart to mark and cheer; No toil for Him shall be in vain.

Go labor on; your hands are weak, Your knees are faint, your soul cast down; Yet falter not; the prize you seek, Is near,--a kingdom and a crown!

Go labor on, while it is day, The world's dark night is hastening on; Speed, speed thy work, cast sloth away: It is not thus that souls are won.

Men die in darkness at your side, Without a hope to cheer the tomb; Take up the torch and wave it wide, The torch that lights time's thickest gloom.

Toil on, faint not, keep watch and pray; Be wise, the erring soul to win; Go forth into the world's highway, Compel the wanderer to come in.

Toil on, and in thy toil rejoice; For toil comes rest, for exile home; Soon shalt thou hear the Bridegroom's voice, The midnight peal, behold I come!

--_Horatius Bonar._

HYMN.

O holy Saviour, Friend unseen, The faint, the weak, on Thee may lean, Help me, throughout life's varying scene, By faith to cling to Thee!

Blest with communion so Divine, Take what Thou wilt, shall I repine, When, as the branches to the vine, My soul may cling to Thee?

Far from her home, fatigued, oppressed, Here she has found a place of rest, An exile still, yet not unblest, While she can cling to Thee!

Without a murmur I dismiss My former dreams of earthly bliss, My joy, my recompense be this, Each hour to cling to Thee!

What though the world deceitful prove, And earthly friends and joys remove, With patient, uncomplaining love, Still would I cling to Thee!

Oft when I seem to tread alone Some barren waste with thorns o'ergrown, A voice of love, in gentlest tone, Whispers, "Still cling to Me!"

Though faith and hope awhile be tried, I ask not, need not, aught beside; How safe, how calm, how satisfied, The souls that cling to Thee!

They fear not Life's rough storms to brave, Since Thou art near, and strong to save; Nor shudder e'en at Death's dark wave, Because they cling to Thee!

Blest is my lot, whate'er befall; What can disturb me, who appal; While, as my strength, my rock, my all, Saviour, I cling to Thee!

--_Charlotte Elliot._

"BEHOLD, THE BRIDEGROOM COMETH!"

I.

Behold, a Royal Bridegroom Hath called me for His bride! I joyfully make ready And hasten to His side. He is a Royal Bridegroom, But I am very poor! Of low estate He chose me To show His love the more: For He hath purchased for me Such goodly, rich array,-- Oh, surely never Bridegroom Gave gifts like His away.

II.

When first upon the mountains, I, in the vale below, Beheld Him waiting for me, Heard His command to go, I, poorest in the valley, Oh, how could I prepare To meet His royal presence? How could I make me fair? Ah! in His love He sent me A garment clean and white: And promised broidered raiment All glorious in His sight. And then He gave me glimpses Of the jewels for my hair, And the ornament most precious For His chosen bride to wear.

III.

First in my tears I washed me,-- They could not make me clean: A fountain then He showed me, Strange until then unseen! So close I'd lived beside it For many weary years, Yet passing by the fountain Had bathed me in my tears. Oh, love, oh, grace, that showed it! Revealed its cleansing power! How could I choose but hasten To meet Him from that hour.

IV.

I said, delay no longer; He surely will provide All for the toilsome journey, Up the steep mountain side. He sought me in the valley-- He knows my utmost need; But He's a Royal Bridegroom, I shall be rich indeed. Rich in His pardoning mercies,-- Bounties that never cease: Rich in His loving kindness, Rich in His joy and peace, So then I took the Raiment. And the jewels that He sent; And, gazing on His beauty, I up the hillside went.

V.

And still with feeble footsteps, And turning oft astray, I go to meet the Bridegroom, Though stumbling by the way I soil my royal garments With earth whene'er I fall; I break and mar my ornaments, But He will know them all. For it was He who gave them; Will He forget His own? Ah! for the love He bore me, He called! will He disown?

VI.

He sent His Guide to guide me: He knew how blind, how frail The children of the valley:-- He knew my love would fail. He knew the mists above me Would hide Him from my sight. And I, in darkness groping, Would wander from the right. I know that I must follow Slow when I fain would soar: That step by step thus upward, My Guide must go before.

VII.

Cleave close, dear Guide, and lead me! I cannot go aright! Through all that doth beset me, Keep, keep me close in sight! 'Tis but a little longer; Methinks the end I see: Oh! matchless love and mercy, The Bridegroom waits for me; Waits, to present me faultless, Before His Father's throne; His comeliness my beauty, His righteousness my own.

--_Unidentified._

"It may be in the evening, When the work of the day is done, And you have time to sit in the twilight And watch the sinking sun, While the long bright day dies slowly Over the sea, And the hour grows quiet and holy With thoughts of Me, While you hear the village children Passing along the street Among those thronging footsteps May come the sound of My Feet: Therefore I tell you, Watch! By the light of the evening star, When the room is growing dusky As the clouds afar; Let the door be on the latch In your home, For it may be through the gloaming I will come.

"It may be when the midnight Is heavy upon the land, And the black waves lying humbly Along the sand; When the moonless night draws close, And the lights are out in the house; When the fires burn low and red, And the watch is ticking loudly Beside the bed: Though you sleep, tired out on your couch, Still your heart must wake and watch In the dark room, For it may be that at midnight I will come.

"It may be at the cock-crow, When the night is dying slowly In the sky, And the sea looks calm and holy, Waiting for the dawn of the golden sun Which draweth nigh; When the mists are on the valleys, shading The rivers chill, And my morning star is fading, fading Over the hill: Behold, I say unto you, Watch! Let the door be on the latch: In your home: In the chill before the dawning, Between the night and morning I may come.

"It may be in the morning, When the sun is bright and strong, And the dew is glittering sharply Over the little lawn; When the waves are laughing loudly Along the shore, And the little birds are singing sweetly About the door. With the long day's work before you, You rise up with the sun, And the neighbors come in to talk a little, Of all that must be done; But remember that I may be the next To come in at the door, To call you from all your busy work For evermore: As you work your heart must watch, For the door is on the latch In your room, And it may be in the morning I will come."

So He passed down my cottage garden, By the path that leads to the sea, Till he came to the turn of the little road, Where the birch and laburnum tree Lean over and arch the way. There I saw him a moment stay, And turn once more to me, As I wept at the cottage door, And lift up His hands in blessing-- Then I saw His face no more. And I stood still in the door-way Leaning against the wall, Not heeding the fair white roses, Though I crushed them, and let them fall, Only looking down the pathway, And looking towards the sea, And wondering, and wondering When He would come back for me, Till I was aware of an angel Who was going swiftly by, With the gladness of one who goeth In the light of God most high He passed the end of the cottage Towards the garden gate,-- (I suppose He was come down At the setting of the sun, To comfort some one in the village Whose dwelling was desolate,) And He passed before the door Beside my place, And the likeness of a smile Was on His face:-- "Weep not," He said, "for unto you is given, To watch for the coming of His feet, Who is the glory of our blessed Heaven: The work and watching will be very sweet Even in an earthly home, And in such an hour as ye think not He will come." So I am watching quietly Every day; Whenever the sun shines brightly I rise and say,-- Surely it is the shining of His face! And look unto the gates of His high place, Beyond the sea, For I know He is coming shortly To summon me. And when a shadow falls across the window Of my room, Where I am working my appointed task, I lift my head to watch the door, and ask If He is come; And the angel answers sweetly In my home,-- "Only a few more shadows, And He will come."

--_Unidentified_.

THE JOY OF ASSURANCE.

It is too calm to be a dream, Too gravely sweet, too full of power, Prayer changed to praise this very hour! Yes, heard and answered! though it seem Beyond the hope of yesterday, Beyond the faith that dared to pray, Yet not beyond the love that heard, And not beyond the faithful word On which each trembling prayer may rest, And win the answer truly best.

Yes, heard and answered! sought and found! I breathe a golden atmosphere Of solemn joy, and seem to hear Within, above, and all around, The chime of deep cathedral bells, An early herald peal that tells A glorious Easter tide begun; While yet are sparkling in the sun Large rain drops of the night storm passed, And days of Lent are gone at last.

--_Frances Ridley Havergal_.

"HOW WONDERFUL!"

He answered all my prayer abundantly, And crowned the work that to _His_ feet I brought, With blessing more than I had asked or thought-- A blessing undisguised, and fair, and free.

I stood amazed, and whispered, "Can it be That He hath granted all the boon I sought? How wonderful that He for me hath wrought! How wonderful that He hath answered me!"

O faithless heart! He _said_ that He would hear And answer thy poor prayer, and He _hath_ heard And proved His promise. Wherefore didst thou fear? Why marvel that thy Lord hath kept His word? More wonderful if He should fail to bless Expectant faith and prayer with good success!

--_Frances Ridley Havergal._

THY WAY, NOT MINE.

Thy way, not mine, O Lord, However dark it be! Lead me by Thine own hand, Choose out the path for me.

Smooth let it be or rough, It will be still the best, Winding or straight, it matters not, It leads me to Thy rest.

I dare not choose my lot: I would not, if I might; Choose Thou for me, my God, So shall I walk aright.

The kingdom that I seek Is Thine: so let the way That leads to it be Thine, Else I must surely stray.

Take Thou my cup, and it With joy or sorrow fill, As best to Thee may seem; Choose Thou my good and ill.

Choose Thou for me my friends, My sickness or my health, Choose Thou my cares for me, My poverty or wealth.

Not mine, not mine the choice, In things or great or small; Be Thou my guide, my strength, My wisdom, and my all.

--_Horatius Bonar_.

A CHILD'S FIRST IMPRESSION OF A STAR.

She had been told that God made all the stars, That twinkled up in heaven, and now she stood Watching the coming of the twilight on, As if it were a new and perfect world, And this were its first eve. She stood alone By the low window, with the silken lash Of her soft eye upraised, and her sweet mouth Half parted with the new and strange delight Of beauty that she could not comprehend, And had not seen before. The purple folds Of the low sunset clouds, and the blue sky That look'd so still and delicate above, Fill'd her young heart with gladness, and the eve Stole on with its deep shadows, and she still Stood looking at the west with that half smile, As if a pleasant thought were at her heart. Presently, in the edge of the last tint Of sunset, where the blue was melted in To the faint golden mellowness, a star Stood suddenly. A laugh of wild delight Burst from her lips, and putting up her hands, Her simple thought broke forth expressively-- "Father! dear father! God has made a star!"

--_N. P. Willis._

"COME UNTO ME!"

Art thou weary? Art thou languid? Art thou sore distrest? "Come to Me," saith One, "and coming, Be at rest!"

Hath He marks to lead me to Him, If He be my Guide? "In His feet and hands are wound-prints, And His side."

Is there diadem as monarch That His brow adorns? "Yea, a crown in very surety, But of thorns!"

If I find Him, if I follow, What his guerdon here? "Many a sorrow, many a labor, Many a tear."

If I still hold closely to Him, What hath He at last? "Sorrow vanquished, labor ended, Jordan past!"

If I ask Him to receive me, Will He say me nay? "Not till earth and not till Heaven Pass away!"

Finding, following, keeping, struggling, Is He sure to bless? "Angels, martyrs, prophets, pilgrims, Answer--Yes!"

--_From St. Stephen the Sabaite._

"LOOKING UNTO JESUS."

Thou, Lord, my path shalt choose, And my Guide be! What shall I fear to lose While I have Thee? This be my portion blest, On my Redeemer's breast, In peaceful trust to rest: He cares for me!

Shall I then, choose my way? Never, oh, no! I, a creature of a day, What can I know? What dread perplexity, Then would encompass me; Now I can look to Thee, Thou orderest so!

This lightens every cross, Cheers every ill; Suffer I grief or loss, It is Thy will! Who can make no mistake, Chooseth the way I take, He who can ne'er forsake, Holds my hand still!

Sweet words of peace and love Christ whispers me! Bearing my soul above Life's troubled sea! This be my portion blest, On my Redeemer's breast, In peaceful trust to rest: He cares for me!

Christ died my love to win, Christ is my tower! He will be with me in Each trying hour! He makes the wounded whole, He will my heart console, He will uphold my soul By His own power!

To Thee, the only, Wise, Whatever be, I will lift up mine eyes Joyful in Thee! This be my portion blest, On my Redeemer's breast In peaceful trust to rest: He cares for me!

--_From the German._

EVENING HYMN.

The shadows of the evening hours Fall from the darkening sky; Upon the fragrance of the flowers The dews of evening lie; Before Thy throne, O Lord of Heaven, We kneel at close of day; Look on Thy children from on high, And hear us while we pray.

The sorrows of Thy servants, Lord, O do not Thou despise; But let the incense of our prayers Before Thy mercy rise; The brightness of the coming night Upon the darkness rolls: With hopes of future glory chase The shadows on our souls.

Slowly the rays of daylight fade; So fade within our heart The hopes in earthly love and joy, That one by one depart: Slowly the bright stars, one by one, Within the heavens shine;-- Give us, O Lord, fresh hopes in Heaven, And trust in things divine.

Let peace, O Lord, Thy peace, O God, Upon our souls descend From midnight fears and perils, thou Our trembling hearts defend; Give us a respite from our toil, Calm and subdue our woes; Through the long day we suffer, Lord, O give us now repose!

--_Adelaide Procter._

ARE ALL THE CHILDREN IN?

The darkness falls; the wind is high; Dense, black clouds fill the western sky; The storm will soon begin; The thunders roar, the lightnings flash, I hear the great round rain-drops dash, Are all the children in?

They're coming softly to my side, Their forms within my arms I hide, No other arms are sure: The storm may rage with fury wild, With trusting faith each little child With mother feels secure.

But future days are drawing near; They'll go from this warm shelter here Out in the world's wild din. The rains will fall, the cold winds blow, I'll sit alone and long to know Are all the children in.

Will they have shelter then secure, Where hearts are waiting strong and sure, And love is true when tried? Or will they find a broken reed, When strength of heart they so much need To help them brave the tide?

God knows it all; His will is best; I'll shield them now and yield the rest To His most righteous hand: Sometimes the souls He loves are riven By tempests wild, and thus are driven Nearer the better land.

If He should call me home before The children go, on that bless'd shore Afar from care and sin, I know that I shall watch and wait Till He, the keeper of the gate, Lets all the children in.

--_Unidentified._

HE LEADS US ON.

He leads us on, By paths we did not know Upward He leads us, though our steps be slow, Though oft we faint and falter on the way, Though storms and darkness oft obscure the day, Yet when the clouds are gone We know He leads us on.

He leads us on Through all the unquiet years; Past all our dreamland hopes, and doubts, and fears He guides our steps. Through all the tangled maze Of sin, of sorrow, and o'erclouded days We know His will is done; And still He leads us on.

And He, at last, After the weary strife-- After the restless fever we call life-- After the dreariness, the aching pain, The wayward struggles which have proved in vain, After our toils are past-- Will give us rest at last.

--_Unidentified._

NOTHING BUT LEAVES.

Nothing but leaves: the spirit grieves Over a wasted life. Sins committed while conscience slept; Promises made, but never kept; Hatred, battle, and strife-- Nothing but leaves.

Nothing but leaves: no garnered sheaves Of life's fair ripened grain; Words, idle words, for earnest deeds. We sow our seed--lo! tares and weeds: Go reap with toil and pain Nothing but leaves.

Nothing but leaves: memory weaves No veil to sever the past; As we return our weary way, Counting each lost and misspent day, We find sadly, at last, Nothing but leaves.

And shall we meet the Master so, Bearing our withered leaves? The Saviour looks for perfect fruit: We stand before Him, humbled, mute, Waiting the word He breathes-- Nothing but leaves.

--_Unidentified._

BECAUSE HE FIRST LOVED US.

I love Thee, O my God! but not For what I hope thereby, Nor yet because who love Thee not Must die eternally. I love Thee, O my God! and still I ever will love Thee, Solely because, my God, Thou art Who first has lovèd me!

For me, to lowest depths of woe Thou didst Thyself abase; For me didst bear the cross, the shame, And manifold disgrace; For me didst suffer pains unknown, Blood-sweat and agony. Yea, death itself--all, all for me! For me, Thine enemy!

Then shall I not, O Saviour, mine! Shall I not love Thee well? Not with the hope of winning heaven, Nor of escaping hell; Not with the hope of earning aught, Nor seeking a reward; But freely, fully, as Thyself Hast lovèd me, O Lord!

--_Francis Xavier._

SONNET.

Our course is onward, onward into light: What though the darkness gathereth amain, Yet to return or tarry, both are vain. How tarry, when around us is thick night? Whither return? what flower yet ever might, In days of gloom, and cold, and stormy rain, Enclose itself in its green bud again, Hiding from wrath of tempest out of sight? Courage!--we travel through a darksome cave; But still, as nearer to the light we draw, Fresh gales will reach us from the upper air, And wholesome dews of heaven our foreheads lave, The darkness lighten more, till full of awe We stand in the open sunshine--unaware.

--_Richard Chenevix Trench._

REST AT EVENING.

When the weariness of Life is ended, And the task of our long day is done, And the props, on which our hearts depended, All have failed or broken, one by one: Evening and our Sorrow's shadow blended, Telling us that peace is now begun.

How far back will seem the sun's first dawning And those early mists so cold and gray! Half forgotten even the toil of morning, And the heat and burden of the day. Flowers that we were tending, and weeds scorning, All alike are withered and cast away.

Vain will seem the impatient heart which waited, Toils that gathered but too quickly round; And the childish joy, so soon elated At the path we thought none else had found; And the foolish ardor soon abated By the storm which cast us to the ground.

Vain those pauses on the road, each seeming As our final home and resting-place; And the leaving them, while tears were streaming Of eternal sorrow down our face; And the hands we held, fond folly dreaming That no future could their touch efface.