Yet with the woes of sin and strife
The world has suffered long;
Beneath the angel-strain have rolled
Two thousand years of wrong;
And men, at war with men, hear not
The love-song which they bring ;
Oh! hush the noise, ye men of strife,
And hear the angels sing!

And ye beneath life's crushing load
Whose forms are bending low,
Who toil along the climbing way
With painful steps and slow;
Look now! for glad and golden hours
Come swiftly on the wing:
Oh! rest beside the weary road,
And hear the angels sing!

For lo the days are hastening on,
By prophet-bards foretold,
When, with the ever circling years,

Comes round the age of gold;
When Peace shall over all the earth
Its ancient splendours fling,

And the whole world send back the song

Which now the angels sing.

E. H. SEARS.

STREAMS FROM THE RIVER OF LIFE.

THERE is a pure and tranquil wave,
That rolls around the throne of love,
Whose waters gladden as they lave
The peaceful shores above.

While streams, which on that tide depend,
Steal from those heavenly shores away,
And on this desert world descend

O'er weary lands to stray;

The pilgrim, faint and nigh to sink
Beneath his load of earthly woe,
Refresh'd beside their verdant brink,
Rejoices in their flow.

There, O my soul, do thou repair,
And hover o'er the hallowed spring,
To drink the crystal wave, and there
To lave thy wearied wing!

There droop that wing, when far it flies.
From human care, and toil, and strife,
And feed by those still streams, that rise
Beneath the Tree of Life!

It may be that the breath of love

Some leaves on their pure tide have driven,
Which, passing from the shores above,

Have floated down from Heaven.

So shall thy wounds and woes be healed,
By the blest virtue that they bring ;
So thy parch'd lips shall be unsealed,
Thy Saviour's praise to sing!

W. BALL.

LOOKING UNTO JESUS.

THOU who didst stoop below

To drain the cup of woe

And wear the form of frail mortality,

Thy blessed labours done,

Thy crown of victory won,

Hast pass'd from earth, pass'd to Thy home on high.

It was no path of flowers

Through this dark world of ours, Beloved of the Father, Thou didst tread :

And shall we, in dismay,

Shrink from the narrow way,

When clouds and darkness are around it spread?

O Thou, who art our life,

Be with us through the strife !

Thine own meek head by rudest storms was bowed; Raise Thou our eyes above,

To see a Father's love

Beam, like a bow of promise through the cloud.

E'en through the awful gloom
Which hovers o'er the tomb,

That light of love our guiding star shall be:
Our spirits shall not dread

The shadowy way to tread,

Friend, Guardian, Saviour! which doth lead to

Thee.

SUSAN L. MILES.

WITH HIS STRIPES WE ARE
HEALE D.

A VOICE upon the midnight air,

Where Kedron's moonlit waters stray,

Weeps forth, in agony of prayer,

"O Father! take this cup away!"

Ah! thou who sorrowest unto death,

We conquer in thy mortal fray; And Earth, for all her children, saith, "O God! take not this cup away!"

O Lord of sorrow! meekly die:

Thou'lt heal or hallow all our woe; Thy name refresh the mourner's sigh; Thy peace revive the faint and low.

Great Chief of faithful souls! arise: None else can lead the martyr-band, Who teach the brave how peril flies, When faith, unarmed, uplifts the hand.

O King of earth! the cross ascend:

O'er climes and ages 'tis thy throne: Where'er thy fading eye may bend,

The desert blooms, and is thine own

Thy parting blessing, Lord, we pray;
Make but one fold below, above;
And when we go the last love way,
O give the welcome of thy love.

ANONYMOUS.