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132

THE ETERNAL GOODNESS.

I know not of His hate-I know
His goodness and His love.

I dimly guess from blessings known
Of greater out of sight,

And, with the chastened Psalmist, own

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I long for household voices gone,
For vanished smiles I long;
But God hath led my dear ones on,
And He can do no wrong.

I know not what the future hath
Of marvel or surprise,

Assured alone that life and death

His mercy underlies.

And if

my heart and flesh are weak

To bear an untried pain,

The bruised reed He will not break,
But strengthen and sustain.

No offering of my own I have,
Nor works my faith to prove;
I can but give the gifts He gave,
And plead His love for love.

THE ETERNAL GOODNESS.

133

And so beside the Silent Sea

I wait the muffled oar;

No harm from Him can come to me

On ocean or on shore.

I know not where His islands lift

Their fronded palms in air;

I only know I cannot drift
Beyond His love and care.

O brothers! if my faith is vain,
If hopes like these betray,
Pray for me that my feet may gain
The sure and safer way.

And Thou, O Lord! by whom are seen

Thy creatures as they be, Forgive me if too close I lean My human heart on Thee!

J. G. WHITTIER.

134

GROWING IN GRACE.

GROWING IN GRACE.

THIS did not once so trouble me
That better I could not love Thee;
But now I feel and know,

That only when we love, we find
How far our hearts remain behind

The love they should bestow.
While we had little care to call
On Thee, and scarcely prayed at all,
We seemed enough to pray:

But now we only think with shame
How seldom to Thy glorious name
Our lips their offerings pay.

And when we gave yet slighter heed
Unto our brother's suffering need,
Our hearts reproached us then
Not half so much as now, that we
With such a careless eye can see

The woes and wants of men.
In doing is this knowledge won,
To see what yet remains undone;

THE CONTRAST.

With this our pride repress,

And give us grace, a growing store,
That day by day we may do more,

And may esteem it less.

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TRENCH.

THE CONTRAST.

GO OUT into the crowded streets
And tread the busy mart,
To find among the multitude
How small a thing thou art!

The cares that weigh thy spirit down,
The joy that lights thy eye,

The thought that swells for utterance,
None know who pass thee by.

No face puts off its careless smile
Because thy heart is sad,

Nor any pause while hurrying on,

To ask why thou art glad.

Thou art but one—a grain of sand—

While ocean hurries on;

Thousands like thee are swept away,

Yet none perceives they're gone.

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TROUBLED.

Go to thy closet! shut the door,
And be with God alone,

To know how great that human soul
Omnipotence can own.

Before the sigh escapes thy lips,
Before the tear can fall,

Or sweet thanksgiving words ascend,
He knows, He knows it all.

Though myriad souls, in myriad worlds,
Bow down before His throne,

Yet thou art near and dear, as though
Thou wert the only one.

O, let the Cleanser enter in,

And purify thy heart;

For thou must live the spirit's life,
To know how great thou art.

S.

TROUBLED.

I VEX my soul with life's great problem; sit
And fold my hands, and ponder all the day;
At last, half weary of the hopeless task,

I turn to find the light has slipped away.

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