THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM.

As shadows cast by cloud and sun
Flit o'er the summer grass,
So, in thy sight, Almighty One,
Earth's generations pass.

And while the years, an endless host,

Come pressing swiftly on,

The brightest names that earth can boast Just glisten and are gone.

Yet doth the Star of Bethlehem shed
A luster pure and sweet,

And still it leads, as once it led,
To the Messiah's feet.

O Father, may that holy star
Grow every year more bright,
And send its glorious beams afar
To fill the world with light.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

THE RIGHT MUST WIN.

O, IT is hard to work for God,
To rise and take his part
Upon this battle-field of earth,
And not sometimes lose heart!

He hides himself so wondrously,

As though there were no God;

He is least seen when all the powers Of ill are most abroad.

Or he deserts us at the hour
The fight is all but lost;
And seems to leave us to ourselves
Just when we need him most.

Ill masters good, good seems to change To ill with greatest ease;

And, worst of all, the good with good Is at cross-purposes.

Ah! God is other than we think ;
His ways are far above,
Far beyond reason's height, and reached
Only by childlike love.

Workman of God! O, lose not heart,
But learn what God is like;
And in the darkest battle-field

Thou shalt know where to strike.

Thrice blest is he to whom is given The instinct that can tell

"Blessed are they who are homesick, for they shall come at last to their Father's house."- HEINRICH STILLING.

NoT as you meant, O learned man, and good!
Do I accept thy words of truth and rest;
God, knowing all, knows what for me is best,
And gives me what I need, not what he could,
Nor always as I would!

I shall go to the Father's house, and see
Him and the Elder Brother face to face,
What day or hour I know not. Let me be
Steadfast in work, and earnest in the race,
Not as a homesick child who all day long
Whines at its play, and seldom speaks in song.

If for a time some loved one goes away,
And leaves us our appointed work to do,
Can we to him or to ourselves be true
In mourning his departure day by day,
And so our work delay?

Nay, if we love and honor, we shall make
The absence brief by doing well our task,
Not for ourselves, but for the dear One's sake.
And at his coming only of him ask

Approval of the work, which most was done,
Not for ourselves, but our Beloved One.

Our Father's house, I know, is broad and grand;
In it how many, many mansions are !
And far beyond the light of sun or star,
Four little ones of mine through that fair land
Are walking hand in hand!
Think you I love not, or that I forget
These of my loins? Still this world is fair,
And I am singing while my eyes are wet
With weeping in this balmy summer air:

Yet I'm not homesick, and the children here
Have need of me, and so my way is clear.

I would be joyful as my days go by,
Counting God's mercies to me. He who bore
Life's heaviest cross is mine forevermore,
And I who wait his coming, shall not I

On his sure word rely?

And if sometimes the way be rough and steep,
Be heavy for the grief he sends to me,

Or at my waking I would only weep,
Let me remember these are things to be,
To work his blessed will until he come
To take my hand, and lead me safely home.

A. D. F. RANDOLPH.

WHY THUS LONGING?

WHY thus longing, thus forever sighing
For the far off, unattained, and dim,
While the beautiful, all round thee lying,
Offers up its low perpetual hymn?

Wouldst thou listen to its gentle teaching,
All thy restless yearnings it would still,
Leaf and flower and laden bee are preaching
Thine own sphere, though humble, first to fill.

Poor indeed thou must be, if around thee

Thou no ray of light and joy canst throw, If no silken chord of love hath bound thee To some little world through weal and woe;

If no dear eyes thy fond love can brighten,
No fond voices answer to thine own,
If no brother's sorrow thou canst lighten
By daily sympathy and gentle tone.

Not by deeds that gain the world's applauses,
Not by works that win thee world-renown,
Not by martyrdom or vaunted crosses,
Canst thou win and wear the immortal crown.

Daily struggling, though unloved and lonely,
Every day a rich reward will give ;
Thou wilt find by hearty striving only,
And truly loving, thou canst truly live.
Dost thou revel in the rosy morning

When all nature hails the Lord of light, And his smile, nor low nor lofty scorning, Gladdens hall and hovel, vale and height?

Other hands may grasp the field and forest,
Proud proprietors in pomp may shine,
But with fervent love if thou adorest,

Thou art wealthier, all the world is thine.

Yet if through earth's wide domains thou rovest,
Sighing that they are not thine alone,
Not those fair fields, but thyself thou lovest,
And their beauty and thy wealth are gone.

HARRIET WINSLOW SEWALL.

THE LOVE OF GOD.

THOU Grace Divine, encircling all, A soundless, shoreless sea! Wherein at last our souls must fall, O Love of God most free!

When over dizzy heights we go,

One soft hand blinds our eyes, The other leads us, safe and slow, O Love of God most wise!

And though we turn us from thy face,
And wander wide and long,
Thou hold'st us still in thine embrace,
O Love of God most strong!

The saddened heart, the restless soul,
The toilworn frame and mind,
Alike confess thy sweet control,
O Love of God most kind!

But not alone thy care we claim, Our wayward steps to win; We know thee by a dearer name, O Love of God within!

And filled and quickened by thy breath, Our souls are strong and free

To rise o'er sin and fear and death,

O Love of God, to thee!

ELIZA SCUDDER.

MY TIMES ARE IN THY HAND.

FATHER, I know that all my life

Is portioned out for me,

And the changes that will surely come,

I do not fear to see ;

But I ask thee for a present mind

Intent on pleasing thee.

I ask thee for a thoughtful love,
Through constant watching wise,
To meet the glad with joyful smiles,
And to wipe the weeping eyes;
And a heart at leisure from itself,
To soothe and sympathize.

I would not have the restless will That hurries to and fro,

Seeking for some great thing to do,

Or secret thing to know;

I would be treated as a child,
And guided where I go.

Wherever in the world I am,
In whatsoe'er estate,

I have a fellowship with hearts
To keep and cultivate;

And a work of lowly love to do,

For the Lord on whom I wait.

So I ask thee for the daily strength,
To none that ask denied ;

And a mind to blend with outward life,

While keeping at thy side, Content to fill a little space, If thou be glorified.

And if some things I do not ask
In my cup of blessing be,

I would have my spirit filled the more
With grateful love to thee;
And careful, less to serve thee much
Than to please thee perfectly.

There are briers besetting every path,
Which call for patient care;
There is a cross in every lot,

And an earnest need for prayer; But a lowly heart that leans on thee Is happy anywhere.

In a service which thy love appoints,
There are no bonds for me;

For my secret heart is taught "the truth"
That makes thy children "free";
And a life of self-renouncing love
Is a life of liberty.

ANNA L. WARING.

Then with a ripple and a radiance through me
Rise and be manifest, O Morning Star!
Flow on my soul, thou Spirit, and renew me,
Fill with thyself, and let the rest be far.

Safe to the hidden house of thine abiding

Carry the weak knees and the heart that faints; Shield from the scorn and cover from the chiding; Give the world joy, but patience to the saints.

Saints, did I say? with your remembered faces, Dear men and women, whom I sought and slew! Ah, when we mingle in the heavenly places, How will I weep to Stephen and to you!

O for the strain that rang to our reviling

Still, when the bruised limbs sank upon the sod ; O for the eyes that looked their last in smiling, Last on this world here, but their first on God!

O, could I tell, ye surely would believe it!
O, could I only say what I have seen!
How should I tell or how can ye receive it,
How, till He bringeth you where I have been?
Therefore, O Lord, I will not fail or falter;
Nay, but I ask it, nay, but I desire;
Lay on my lips thine embers of the altar,
Seal with the sting and furnish with the fire ;
Give me a voice, a cry and a complaining,

O, let my sound be stormy in their ears! Throat that would shout but cannot stay for straining,

Eyes that would weep but cannot wait for tears.

Quick in a moment, infinite forever,

Send an arousal better than I pray; Give me a grace upon the faint endeavor, Souls for my hire and Pentecost to-day!

Hark what a sound, and too divine for hearing,
Stirs on the earth and trembles in the air!
Is it the thunder of the Lord's appearing?

Is it the music of his people's prayer?

Surely he cometh, and a thousand voices

Shout to the saints and to the deaf are dumb; Surely he cometh, and the earth rejoices,

Glad in his coming who hath sworn, I come.

This hath he done, and shall we not adore him?
This shall he do, and can we still despair?
Come, let us quickly fling ourselves before him,
Cast at his feet the burden of our care,

Flash from our eyes the glow of our thanksgiving,
Glad and regretful, confident and calm ;
Then through all life and what is after living
Thrill to the tireless music of a psalm.