The stately priory was reared,
And Wharf, as he moved along,
To matins joined a mournful voice,
Nor failed at even-song.

And the lady prayed in heaviness
That looked not for relief!
But slowly did her succor come,
And a patience to her grief.

Oh, there is never sorrow of heart
That shall lack a timely end,
If but to God we turn, and ask
Of him to be our friend!

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

THE PRAYERS I MAKE.

THE prayers I make will then be sweet indeed,
If thou the spirit give by which I pray;
My unassisted heart is barren clay,
That of its native self can nothing feed;
Of good and pious works thou art the seed
That quickens only where thou say'st it may.
Unless thou show to us thy own true way,
No man can find it: Father! thou must lead;
Do thou then breathe those thoughts into
my mind

By which such virtue may in me be bred
That in thy holy footsteps I may tread;
The fetters of my tongue do thou unbind.
That I may have the power to sing to thee,
And sound thy praises everlastingly!

MICHAEL ANGELO.

Translated by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

Walk with thy fellow-creatures: note the hush And whisperings amongst them. Not a spring

Or leaf but hath his morning hymn; each bush And oak doth know I AM. Canst thou not

sing?

Oh, leave thy cares and follies! go this way, And thou art sure to prosper all the day. Serve God before the world; let him not go Until thou hast a blessing; then resign The whole unto him, and remember who

Prevailed by wrestling ere the sun did shine; Pour oil upon the stones, weep for thy sin, Then journey on, and have an eye to heaven. Mornings are mysteries: the world's first youth,

Man's resurrection, and the future's bud, Shroud in their births; the crown of life, light, truth,

Is styled their star, the store and hidden

MISS BRACKETT is a teacher of eminence in the City of New York. She was born in Boston, in 1836. After graduation at the Normal School at Framingham, Mass., in 1856, she taught in Charleston, S. C., Cambridge, Mass., and St. Louis, Mo., before going to New York.

THE two best gifts in all the perfect world
Lie in two close-shut hands;

The hands rest even on the outstretched knees Like those stone forms the wildered traveller sees

In dreamy Eastern lands.

I reach to grasp: but lo! that hand withdraws,

The other forward glides;

The silent gesture says: "This is for thee,
Take now, and wait not ever, listlessly,

For changing times and tides.”

551

HAST THOU WITHIN A CARE SO
DEEP?

HAST thou within a care so deep,
It chases from thine eyelids sleep?
To thy Redeemer take that care,
And change anxiety to prayer.

Hast thou a hope with which thy heart
Would almost feel it death to part?
Entreat thy God that hope to crown,
Or give thee strength to lay it down.

Hast thou a friend whose image dear
May prove an idol worshipped here?
Implore the Lord that nought may be
A shadow between Heaven and thee.

THE EFFECTS OF PRAYER. RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH, a learned divine of the English Church, was born at Dublin, Sept. 9, 1807 Formerly Dean of Westminster, he is now Archbishop of Dub.in. He has been a diligent student of language, and has translated from the Latin, German, and Spanish. His "Study of Words" and "Lessous in Proverbs are widely read His poems were published in 185. Among his other works are "The Synonymes of the New Testament," a volume of Latin poetry, and the ** Parables” and “Miracles" of Christ.

LORD, what a change within us one short hour Spent in thy presence will prevail to make! What heavy burdens from our bosoms take, What parched grounds revive, as with a shower! We kneel, and all around us seems to lower; We rise, and all, the distant and the near, Stands forth a sunny outline brave and clear

ALL night the lonely suppliant prayed,
All night his earnest crying made;
Till, standing by his side at morn,
The Tempter said, in bitter scorn,
"Oh, peace! what profit do you gain
From empty words and babblings vain?
'Come, Lord-oh, come!' you cry alway;
You pour your heart out night and day;
Yet still no murmur of reply,-
No voice that answers, Here am I.'"

Then sank that stricken heart in dust;
That word had withered all its trust;
No strength retained it now to pray,
For faith and hope had fled away:
And ill that mourner now had fared,
Thus by the Tempter's arts ensnared,
But that at length, beside his bed,
His sorrowing angel stood, and said:

"Doth it repent thee of thy love,
That never now is heard above
Thy prayer. that now not any more
It knocks at heaven's gate as before?"

Come, Lord - oh, come!' I cry alway;
I pour my heart out night and day;
Yet never until now have won
The answer, Here am I, my son.'"

"Oh, dull of heart! enclosed doth lie
In each Come, Lord,' a Here am I.'
Thy love, thy longing are not thine,
Reflections of a love divine:
Thy very prayer to thee was given,
Itself a messenger from heaven.
Whom God rejects, they are not so;
Strong bands are round them in their woe;
Their hearts are bound with bands of brass,
That sigh or crying cannot pass.
All treasures did the Lord impart

To Pharaoh, save a contrite heart:

All other gifts unto his foes

He freely gives, nor grudging knows ; But Love's sweet smart, and costly pain, A treasure for his friends remain."

RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH, D. D.

Since holy blame to mercy's throne aspires, Confess faults' guilt, crave pardon for thy sin, Tread holy paths, call grace to guide therein. It is the spirit with reverence must obey

Our Maker's will, to practise what he taught: Make not the flesh thy council when thou pray; 'Tis enemy to every virtuous thought; It is the foe we daily feed and clothe ; It is the prison that the soul doth loathe.

Even as Elias, mounting to the sky,

Did cast his mantle to the earth behind; So, when the heart presents the prayer on high, Exclude the world from traffic with the mind:

Lips near to God, and ranging heart within, Is but vain babbling, and converts to sin. Like Abraham, ascending up the hill

To sacrifice, his servants left below, That he might act the great Commander's will, Without impeach to his obedient blow; Even so the soul, remote from earthly things, Should mount salvation's shelter, - mercy's wings.

ROBERT SOUTHWELL, D. D.

553

It looks so sweet, it looks so dear. "Dear Lord,” I pray, "oh, let me know If it is wrong to want it so."

He only smiles, he does not speak; My heart grows weaker and more weak, With looking at the thing so dear, Which lies so far and yet so near.

Now, Lord, I leave at thy loved feet

This thing which looks so near, so sweet,
I will not seek, I will not long,

I almost fear I have been wrong.
I'll go and work the harder, Lord,
And wait till by some loud, clear word
Thou callest me to thy loved feet,
To take this thing, so dear, so sweet.

SAXE HOLM.

THE MERCY-SEAT.

HUGH STOWELL, an eloquent and powerful clergyman of the Church of England, was born on the Isle of Man, Dec. 3, 1799, and died Oct. 8, 1865. He published a collection of psalms and hymns suited to the service of the Church of England, in 1831.

FROM every stormy wind that blows,
From every swelling tide of woes,
There is a calm, a sure retreat;
'T is found beneath the mercy-seat.

There is a place where Jesus sheds
The oil of gladness on our heads.
A place than all beside more sweet;
It is the blood-stained mercy-seat.

There is a spot where spirits blend,
Where friend holds fellowship with friend;
Though sundered far, by faith they meet
Around the common mercy seat.

Ah, whither could we flee for aid,
When tempted, desolate, dismayed,
Or how the hosts of hell defeat,
Had suffering saints no mercy-seat?

There, there on eagle wings we soar,
And time and sense seem all no more;
And heaven comes down, our souls to greet,
And glory crowns the mercy-seat.