And good it is to bear the cross,

And so thy perfect peace to win ;
And naught is ill, nor brings us loss,
Nor works us harm, save only sin.

Redeemed from this, we ask no more,
But trust the love that saves to guide;
The grace, that yields so rich a store,
Will grant us all we need beside.

A PSALM OF NIGHT.

FADES from the west the farewell light,

Flung backward by the setting sun,

And silence deepens, as the night
Steals with its solemn shadows on.
Gathers the soft, refreshing dew,

On spiring grass and floweret stems,

And lo! the everlasting blue

Is radiant with a thousand gems.

Not only doth the voiceless day

Thy loving-kindness, Lord, proclaim,

But night, with its sublime array

Of worlds, doth magnify thy name;
Yea, while adoring seraphim

Before thee bend the willing knee,
From every star a choral hymn
Goes up unceasingly to thee!

Day unto day doth utter speech,

And night to night thy voice makes known ; Through all the earth, where thought may reach, Is heard the glad and solemn tone;

And worlds beyond the farthest star

Whose light hath reached a human eye,

Catch the high anthem from afar

That rolls along immensity.

O Holy Father! 'mid the calm

And stillness of this evening hour, We too would lift our solemn psalm

To praise thy goodness and thy power; For over us, as over all,

Thy tender mercies still extend, Nor vainly shall the contrite call

On thee, our Father and our Friend.

Kept by thy goodness through the day,
Thanksgiving to thy name we pour;
Night o'er us with its stars, we pray
Thy love to guard us evermore!
In grief console, in gladness bless,
In darkness guide, in sickness cheer,
Till, perfected in righteousness,

Our souls before thy throne appear.

THE HARVEST-CALL

ABIDE not in the realm of dreams,

O man, however fair it seems,
Where drowsy airs thy powers repress
In languors of sweet idleness.

Nor linger in the misty past,
Entranced in visions vague and vast;
But with clear eye the present scan,
And hear the call of God and man.

That call, though many-voiced, is one,
With mighty meanings in each tone;
Through sob and laughter, shriek and prayer,
Its summons meet thee everywhere.

Think not in sleep to fold thy hands,
Forgetful of thy Lord's commands;
From duty's claims no life is free, —
Behold, to-day hath need of thee!

Look up the wide extended plain
Is billowy with its ripened grain,
And on the summer winds are rolled
Its waves of emerald and gold.

Thrust in thy sickle! nor delay
The work that calls for thee to-day ;
To-morrow, if it come, will bear
Its own demands of toil and care.

The present hour allots thy task:
For present strength and patience ask,
And trust his love whose sure supplies
Meet all thy needs as they arise.

Lo! the broad fields with harvests white
Thy hands to strenuous toil invite ;
And he who labors and believes
Shall reap reward of ample sheaves.

Up, for the time is short; and soon
The morning sun will climb to noon.
Up! ere the herds, with trampling feet
Out-running thine, shall spoil the wheat.

While the day lingers, do thy best!
Full soon the night will bring its rest;
And, duty done, that rest shall be
Full of beatitudes to thee.

ORDINATION HYMN.

Written for the ordination of Mr. J. W. Chadwick, as pastor of the Second Unitarian Church, in Brooklyn, N.Y., 1854.

FATHER, thy servant waits to do thy will!

Called to thy work, O, clothe him with thy might, And with this threefold grace his spirit fill,

Love, liberty, and light!

With love, for the dear souls that thou hast made,
And for the truth which only maketh free;
So, with all patience, faithful, unafraid,
He shall be true to thee.

With liberty, that where thy Spirit leads,
Follows, whatever faith it leaves behind,
And wears no fetters formed from olden creeds,
That blight whate'er they bind.

With light, an effluence of the Life Divine,
Before which error falls and falsehood dies,
Leading his spirit joyfully to thine,

And upward to the skies.

Thus, furnished for his work, O Father, stand
Close by his side to give that work success ;
And may the good seed, scattered by his hand,
Bear fruits of righteousness!

SAMUEL DOWSE ROBBINS.

(1812.)

REV. SAMUEL D. ROBBINS, brother of Rev. Chandler Robbins, D.D., a sketch of whom has been given on a previous page, was born in Lynn, Mass., March 7, 1812. He graduated at the Divinity School, at Cambridge, in 1833, and was ordained pastor of the Unitarian Church in Lynn, his native town, Nov. 13, of the same year. He became the minister of the Unitarian Society in Chelsea in 1840; removed to Framingham, and assumed the charge of the church of the same faith in that place in 1859, and was next settled in Wayland in 1867. In 1873 he gave up his parish in Wayland, and retired to Concord, where he still resides.

Mr. Robbins received the degree of A.M. from Harvard College in 1865. He has published but little. Yet, from time to time, he has sent to the magazines and papers numerous hymns and sacred poems of great excellence. They are full of devout and tender sentiment, are finely expressive of Christian trust and love, and have met a warm response in the hearts of many readers. Such is the first piece which we here copy, and which was frequently chanted by the choir of one of the churches

that have been under the author's pastoral care. Several others of those which follow it are to be found in various hymn-books, while the rest have been taken from the "Monthly Magazine" or religious weeklies, in which they were originally printed, or have been kindly furnished us by the writer himself, at our solicitation.

THE MASTER.

HOU art our Master! thou of God the Son,

THOU

Of man the Friend;

By thee alone the victory is won;

Our souls defend!

Thou art the Master! let us love thy word;
Thy Spirit give ;

Let us obey thee as our risen Lord,
Obey and live.

Thou art our Master! with thy cross, thy crown,
Thou Crucified!

Now from thy starry throne look gently down,
With us abide!

Thou art our Master! through the narrow way
Thou once didst tread,
Lead thy disciples upward to the day,
Thou living Head!

Thou art our Master! at thy feet we cast
Our burdens now.

The yoke of Love we take! O, bind us fast!
To thee we bow.

Thou art our Master! through our earthly home
No guide but thee!

And when thy kingdom unto us shall come,
Our servant be!

* Luke xii. 37.