That in the masques and shadows I may see
Thy sacred way,

And by those hid ascents climb to that day
Which breaks from Thee,

Who art in all things, though invisibly.
Show me thy peace,

Thy mercy, love, and ease.

And from this care, where dreams and sorrow reign, Lead me above,

Where light, joy, leisure, and true comforts move, Without all paine:

There, hid in Thee, show me his life againe

At whose dumbe urne

Thus all the year I mourn!

H. VAUGHAN.

W

FAITH'S GUIDING STAR.

E find a glory in the flowers,

When snowdrops peep and hawthorn blooms. We see fresh light in spring-time hours,

And bless the radiance that illumes.

The song of promise cheers with hope,

That sin or sorrow cannot mar;

God's beauty fills the daisied slope,

And keeps undimm'd faith's guiding star.

We find a glory in the smile

That lives in childhood's happy face,

Ere fearful doubt or worldly guile
Has swept away the angel trace.
The ray of promise shineth there,
To tell of better lands afar;

God sends his image, pure and fair,

To keep undimm'd faith's guiding star.

We find a glory in the zeal

Of doating breast and toiling brain; Affection's martyrs still will kneel,

And song, though famished, pour its strain.
They lure us by a quenchless light,

And point where joy is holier far;
They shed God's spirit, warm and bright,
And keep undimm'd faith's guiding star.

We muse beside the rolling waves;
We ponder on the grassy hill;
We linger by the new-piled graves,
And find that star is shining still.
God in his great design hath spread
Unnumber'd rays to lead afar;

They beam the brightest o'er the dead,

And keep undimm'd faith's guiding star.

ELIZA COOK.

་་་་་ཀ་

LET ME REST.

E does well who does his best:
Is he weary? let him rest:
Brothers! I have done my best,
I am weary-let me rest.
After toiling oft in vain,
Baffled, yet to struggle fain;
After toiling long, to gain
Little good with mickle pain;
Let me rest. But lay me low,
Where the hedgeside roses blow;
Where the little daisies grow,
When the winds a-maying go;
Where the footpath rustics plod;
Where the breeze-bow'd poplars nod;
Where the old woods worship God;
Where His pencil paints the sod;
Where the wedded throstle sings;
Where the young bird tries his wings;

Where the wailing plover swings

Near the runlet's rushy springs!
Where, at times, the tempest's roar,
Shaking distant sea and shore,
She will rove old Barnesdale o'er,
To be heard by me no more!
There, beneath the breezy west,
Tired and thankful, let me rest,
Like a child, that sleepeth best

On its gentle mother's breast.

EBENEZER ELLIOTT.

LIFE THROUGH DEATH.

A DEWDROP falling on the wild sea-wave,
Exclaimed in fear-" I perish in this grave;"
But in a shell received, that drop of dew
Unto a pearl of marvellous beauty grew;
And, happy now, the grace did magnify
Which thrust it forth-as it had feared, to die;
Until again, "I perish quite," it said,
Torn by rude diver from its ocean bed :
O unbelieving !—so it came to gleam
Chief jewel in a monarch's diadem.

R. C. TRENCH.