THE PEACE OF GOD.

HE child leans on its parent's breast,
Leaves there its cares, and is at rest;
The bird sits singing by his nest,
And tells aloud

His trust in God, and so is blest

'Neath every cloud.

He has no store, he sows no seed;
Yet sings aloud, and doth not heed;
By flowing stream or grassy mead,
He sings to shame
Men, who forget, in fear of need,
A Father's name.

The heart that trusts for ever sings,
And feels as light as it had wings;
A well of peace within it springs:

Come good, or ill,

Whate'er to-day, to-morrow brings,

It is His will!

ISAAC WILLIAMs, (1842.)

THE FRUIT OF THE SPIRIT IS LOVE, Jor, PEACE.

HY dost thou beat so quick, my heart?

Why struggle in thy cage?

What shall I do for thee, poor

heart!

Thy throbbing heat to swage?

What spell is this comes over thee?
My soul! what sweet surprise?
And wherefore these unbidden tears
That start into mine eyes?

Thy sweetness hath betrayed Thee, Lord!

Dear Spirit it is Thou;
Deeper and deeper in my heart

I feel thee nestling now.

Thy home is with the simple, Lord!

The simple are thy rest;

Thy lodging is in child-like hearts;

Thou makest there Thy nest.

Dear Comforter! Eternal Love!
If Thou wilt stay with me,

Of lowly thoughts and simple ways
I'll build a nest for Thee.

My heart, sweet Dove! I'll lend to Thee
To mourn with at Thy will;
My tongue shall be Thy lute to try
On sinners' souls Thy skill.

Who made this beating heart of mine,
But Thou my heavenly Guest?
Let no one have it then but Thee,
And let it be Thy nest.

FABER.

THE TRUE LIGHT.

ORD, kindly Light, amid the encircling

gloom,

Lead Thou me on!

The night is dark and I am far from home;

Lead Thou me on!

Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant way; one step's enough for me.

I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou
Wouldst lead me on;

I loved to see and choose my path, but now
Lead Thou me on!

I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears,
Pride ruled my will: remember not past years.

So long Thy power hath kept me, sure it still
Will lead me on!

O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till
The night is gone,

And with the morn those angel faces smile

Which I have loved long since and lost awhile.

NEWMAN.

NOT AS I WILL, BUT AS THOU WILT.

WORSHIP thee, sweet Will of God!

And all thy ways adore,

And every day I live I seem

To love thee more and more.

Thou wert the end, the blessed rule
Of Jesus' toils and tears;
Thou wert the passion of His Heart
Those Three-and-Thirty years.

I love to kiss each print where thou
Hast set thine unseen feet:

I cannot fear the blessed Will!
Thine empire is so sweet.

When obstacles and trials seem
Like prison-walls to be,

I do the little that I can do,

And leave the rest to thee.