The past is not so dark as once it seemed, For there Thy footprints, now distinct I

see;

And seed, in weakness sown, from death

redeemed,

Is springing up, and bearing fruit in Thee. Not all that hath been, Lord, henceforth shall be

A low, sweet, cheering strain is in mine ear,
Thanksgiving, and the voice of melody,
Are ushering in from Heaven a blest new
year.

With voice subdued, my listening spirit sings,

As backward on the trodden path I gaze,
While ministering angels fold their wings
To fill with lowly thoughts my song of
praise.

The shadow of the past on future days,

Will make them clear to my instructed

sight;

For the heart's knowledge of Thy sacred

ways,

Even in its deepest, darkest shades, is

light.

I am not stronger yet-I do not fear
The present pain, the conflict yet to be;
Experience is a kind voice in mine ear,
And all my failings bid me lean on Thee.
No future suffering can seem strange to

me,

While in the hidden part I feel and

know,

The wisdom of a child at rest and free

In the tried love, whose judgment keeps

him low.

Thanksgiving and the voice of melody!

Oh, to my tranquil heart how sweet the

strain

Father of mercies, it arose in Thee,

And to thy bosom it returns again.

There let my grateful song, my soul, remain,

Calm in the risen Saviour's tender care;

And welcome any trial, any pain,

That serves to keep thy faithful children

there.

Thoughts of thy love-and Oh, how great the sum!

Enduring grief, obtaining bliss, for me

The world, life, death, things present, things

to come,

All swell the new year's opening melody.

Past, present, future, all things worship

Thee;

And I, through all, with trembling joy

behold,

While mountains fall, and treacherous

visions flee,

Thy wandering sheep returning to the fold.

XXII.

"Thou hast turned for me my mourning into dancing: Thou hast put off my sackcloth and girded me with gladness. To the end that my glory may sing praise to Thee, and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give thanks unto Thee for ever."-PSALM XXX. 11, 12.

STRENGTH of the still, secluded thought,
That fears, yet longs, its joy to shew-
The hope, the awe, in mercy taught
To make me strong, to keep me low-
Now shall my girded heart rejoice,
In praise poured out, in love expressed,-
Now will I bless Thee, with a voice

That shall not break this sacred rest.