"Guiding Voices in the Desert."

Check the froward thoughts and passion,

Stay the hasty, heedless hand,
Lest the


of sin and sorrow
Mar our fair and pleasant land.
Father, help each weak endeavour,

Make each faithful effort blest,
Till Thine harvest shall be garnered,

And we enter into rest.


We tread a dangerous way, dark perils hover

Around the rugged path that leads to God; And poison lurks amid the flowers which cover

This world's unshaven sod.

Faint and enfeebled, on the road we linger,

Spending our yet remaining strength in sighs ; We trifle, and we need some beckoning finger

To point us to the skies.

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And He who looks with pity on our anguish,

Hath sent His messengers in every time, Bidding them comfort all the souls that languish

In earth's polluted clime.

From some lips fall the gentle words and holy,

Fresh, sweet as dew that droppeth on a flower ; And spirits harsh, unconsciously and slowly,

Bind to their quiet power.

Others are fiery-tongued, bright pictures painting

With colours borrowed from the realms of light To rouse the careless, and to lift the fainting,

And both to lead aright.

We do not well to slight the message spoken,

By sons of truth, however frail they be ; Is not each sacred thought a pearly token

From love's great treasure sea ?


How many times a faithful voice has banished

The cares oppressive from a weary soul, Will but be seen when all earth’s lights have vanished.

And stars no longer roll.

"Guiding Voices in the Desert."


0! well we know whose love it is that sendeth

Precepts to guide and promises to cheer ; 0! well we know whose power it is that bendeth,

The stubborn hearts which hear.

Not yours the praise, ye faithful, earnest-hearted,

Ye would not take it, and we will not give; It riseth up to Him, whose life-blood started

That we might ever live.

Yet ye shall have our prayers—for each true servant

The pleading dove on eager wing will soar, And most for thee, O friend ! whose teaching fervent

Soon we shall hear no more.

Thou hast unwrapped for us the scroll of wonder,

Showing what earth-turned faces cannot see, The strange, sweet mysteries of that kingdom yonder,

Whose citizens we be.

Thine be the work which God's own hand rewardeth,

Thine be the sleep which His beloved ones know; Thine be the path which the All-powerful guardeth

From every fear and foe.


Guiding Voices in the Desert."

0! heart that o'er lost man feels quenchless yearning,

God spare thee yet to seek Him many years ; Eye that weeps joy o'er prodigals returning,

God give thee cause for tears.

May each bright weaving of the gospel story

Deep lie within our hearts through life's long day, Whilst all that cannot bring Jehovah glory,

Forgotten is for aye.

And if some ears have heard the sound of pardon,

But heeded not thy silver trumpet's blast,
O! think, the very words which seemed to harden

May work them good at last.

This is the seed-time, wait thou for the reaping,

God will to heaven the precious harvest bear, And thou, upraised on angels' hands whilst sleeping, Shalt wake, and find it there.

M. J. H.

Who Shall Roll Away the Stone ?



What poor weeping ones were saying

Eighteen hundred years ago,
We, the same weak faith betraying,

Say in our sad hearts of woe;
Looking at some trouble lying

In the dark and dread unknown,
We too often ask with sighing

“Who shall roll away the stone ?"

Thus with care our spirits crushing

When they might from care be free,
And, in joyous song out-gushing

Rise, in rapture, Lord, to Thee :
For before the way was ended,

Oft we've had with joy to own,
Angels have from heaven descended

And have rolled away the stone.

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