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Simply Trusting

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“Rock of Ages, cleft for me,”

Sung above a coffin lid,
Underneath, all restfully,

All life's joys and sorrows hid.
Nevermore, 0, storm-tossed soul !

Nevermore from wind or tide,
Nevermore from billows' roll

Wilt thou need a place to hide.
Could the sightless sunken eyes,

Closed beneath the soft gray hair,
Could the mute and stiffened lips

Move again in pleading prayerStill, aye still, the words would be,

“Let me hide myself in Thee."

SIMPLY TRUSTING.

My God, I do not fear

To yield myself to Thee;
However strange Thy will appear,

It must be good for me.
O Father, kiud, and wise, and strong,
Thy will can do no creature wrong.

The little babe at rest

Becomes my minister;
It lies upon its mother's breast,

And leaves itself to her.
Ah, foolish babe, if it should dread
The heart that throbs beneath its head.

I do not fear to trust,

My little all to Thee;
Thy every motion must be just,

To all the world and me.
Will as Thou wilt-my joy be still,
To kiss Thy sweet and sacred will !

GEO. WADE ROBINSON,

JOB II. 10.

I have had my days of blessing,
All the joys of life possessing,

Unnumbered they appear!
Then let faith and patience cheer me,
Now that trials gather near me !

Where is life without a tear ?

“ Yes, O Lord! a sinner looking
O’er the sins Thou art rebuking,

Must own Thy judgments light,
Surely I, so oft offending,
Must in humble patience bending,

Feel Thy chastisements are right.

“Let me o'er transgression weeping,
Find the grace my soul is seeking;

Receiving at Thy throne
Strength to meet each tribulation,
Looking for the great salvation,
Trusting in

my

God alone.

“While, 'mid earthly tears and sighing,
Still to praise Thee, feebly trying,

Still clinging, Lord, to Thee.
Quietly on Thy love relying,
I am Thine-and, living, dying,
Surely all is well with me”

C. F. GELLERT.

Little Barbara's Hymn.

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LITTLE BARBARA'S HYMN.

A mother stood by her spinning-wheel,
Winding the yarn on an ancient reel;
As she counted the threads in the twilight dim,
She murmured the words of a quaint old hymn :

“Whether we sleep, or whether we wake, We are His who gave His life for our sake.”

Little Barbara, watching the spinning-wheel,
And keeping time with her toe and heel
To the hum of the thread and her mother's song,
Sang in her own sweet voice, erelong:

“Whether we sleep, or whether we wake, We are His who gave His life for our sake.”

That night, in her dreams, as she sleeping lay,
Over and over the scenes of the day
Came back, till she seemed to hear again
The hum of the thread and the quaint old strain :

“ Whether we sleep, or whether we wake, We are His who gave His life for our sake.”

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Little Barbara's Hymn.

Next morning, with bounding heart and feet,
Little Barbara walked in the crowded street;
And up to her lips, as she passed along,
Rose the tender words of her mother's song :

“Whether we sleep, or whether we wake, We are His who gave His life for our sake.”

A wanderer sat on a wayside stone,
Weary and sighing, sick and lone;
But he raised his head with a look of cheer
As the gentle tones fell on his ear:

“Whether we sleep, or whether we wake, We are His who gave His life for our sake.”

Toiling all day in a crowded room,
A worker stood at her noisy loom :
A voice came up through the ceaseless din,
These words at the window floated in :

“ Whether we sleep or whether we wake, We are His who gave His life for our sake.”

A mourner sat by her loved one's bier,
The sun seemed darkened, the world was drear;