'Tis grace

alone can mould the heart

This gentle power to prove'Tis grace alone can grace impart,

And teach the soul to love.

O Thou, who art the Source and Spring

Of our new nature's birth,

Love brought Thee down, that Thou might'st

bring

Love to this wretched earth.

Light Thou my torch by Thine own flame;

So shall it ever glow,

A light to mark from whence it came,
Thro' all the fogs below.

Light Thou my torch, a living sign,
While thro' this world I rove,
A child of love, a child of Thine—
For Thou, my God, art Love!

LATROBE.

Ordination Hymn.

CHRIST to the young man said: "Yet one

thing more;

If thou wouldst perfect be,

Sell all thou hast and give it to the poor,
And come and follow me!"

Within this temple Christ again, unseen,

Those sacred words hath said,

And his invisible hands to-day have been
Laid on a young man's head.

And evermore beside him on his way
The unseen Christ shall move,

That he

may lean upon his arm and say,
"Dost thou, dear Lord, approve ?"

Beside him at the marriage-feast shall be,
To make the scene more fair;
Beside him in the dark Gethsemane
Of pain and midnight prayer.

O holy trust! O endless sense of rest!
Like the beloved John

To lay his head upon the Saviour's breast,
And thus to journey on!

HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.

Only to Man Thou hast made Known Thy Way.

SACRED Providence, who from end to end, Strongly and sweetly movest! shall I write, And not of Thee, through whom my fingers bend To hold my quill? shall they not do Thee right?

Of all the creatures both in sea and land,

Only to man Thou hast made known thy ways,

And put the pen alone into his hand,

And made him secretary of thy praise.

Beasts fain would sing; birds ditty to their

notes;

Trees would be tuning of their native lute To thy renown; but all their hands and throats Are brought to man, while they are lame and mute.

Man is the world's high-priest; he doth present The sacrifice for all; while they below

Unto the service mutter an assent,

Such as springs use that fall, and winds that blow.

He that to praise and laud Thee doth refrain,
Doth not refrain unto himself alone,
But robs a thousand who would praise Thee fain;
And doth commit a world of sin in one.

Wherefore, most sacred Spirit, I here present, For me and all my fellows, praise to Thee; And just it is that I should pay the rent, Because the benefit accrues to me.

We all acknowledge both thy power and love
To be exact, transcendant, and divine,

Who dost so strongly and sweetly move,
While all things have their will, yet none but
thine:

For either thy command, or thy permission,
Lay hands on all; they are thy right and left;
The first puts on with speed and expedition,

The other curbs sin's stealing pace and theft;

Nothing escapes them both; all must appear,
And be disposed, and dressed and tuned by
Thee,
Who sweetly temperest all; if we could hear
Thy skill and art, what music would it be !

Thou art in small things great, not small in any;
Thy even praise can neither rise nor fall;
Thou art in all things one, in each thing many :
For Thou art infinite in one, and all.

Tempests are calm to Thee, they know thy hand,

And hold it fast, as children do their father's, Which cry and follow. Thou hast made poor sand

Check the proud sea, even when it swells and gathers.

Thy cupboard serves the world: the meat is set Where all may reach; no beast but knows his food;

Birds teach us hawking; fishes have their net: The great prey on the less, they on some weed.

Nothing engendered doth prevent his meat,

Flies have their table spread, ere they appear; Some creatures have in winter what to eat,

Others do sleep, and envy not their cheer.

How finely dost thou times and seasons spin, And make a twist checkered with night and day, Which, as it lengthens, winds and winds us in, As bowls go on, but turning all the way.

Each creature hath a wisdom for his good,

The pigeons feed their tender offspring crying, When they are callow; but withdraw their food When they are fledged, that need may teach 'em flying.

Bees work for man, and yet they never bruise Their master's flower, but leave it, having done, As fair as ever, and as fit to use:

So both the flower do stay and honey run.

Sheep eat the grass, and dung the ground for

more:

Trees, after bearing, drop their leaves for soil; Springs vent their streams, and by expanse get store;

Clouds cool by heat, and baths by cooling boil.

Who hath the virtue to express the rare

And curious virtues both of herbs and stones? Is there an herb for that? O that thy care

Would show a root that gives expressions!

And if an herb hath power, what have the stars? A rose, besides his beauty, is a cure; Doubtless our plagues and plenty, peace and wars, Are there much surer than our art is sure.

Thou hast hid metals, man may take them thence,
But at his peril; when he digs the place,
He makes a grave, as if the thing had sense,
And threatened man that he should fill the
space.