I

Psalm 30

PSALM 30

WILL extol thee, O Lord; for thou hast lifted

me up,

And hast not made my foes to rejoice over me.

O Lord, my God, I cried unto thee,

And thou hast healed me.

O Lord, thou hast brought up my soul from the grave:

Thou hast kept me alive, that I should not go down to the pit.

Sing unto the Lord, O ye saints of his,

And give thanks at the remembrance of his holi

ness.

For his anger endureth but a moment; in his favor is life:

Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in in the morning.

And in my prosperity I said, I shall never be moved.

Lord, by thy favor thou hast made my mountain to stand strong.

Thou didst hide thy face, and I was troubled.

I cried to thee, O Lord;

And unto the Lord I made supplication.

What profit is there in my blood, when I go down to the pit?

Shall the dust praise thee? Shall it declare thy truth?

Hear, O Lord, and have mercy upon me:

Lord, be thou my helper.

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 forever.

"Where Lies the Land"

"WHERE LIES THE LAND"

W

(Wordsworth)

Hall Caine

HERE lies the land to which thy soul would go?

Beyond the wearied wold, the songless dell,

The purple grape and golden asphodel,

Beyond the zone where streams baptismal flow. Where lies the land of which thy soul would know? There where the unvexed senses darkling dwell, Where never haunting, hurrying footfall fell,

Where toil is not, nor builded hope laid low.

Rest! rest! to thy hushed realm how one by one
Old Earth's tired ages steal away and weep
Forgotten or unknown, long duty done.

Ah, God, when death in seeming peace shall steep Life's loud turmoil and Time his race hath run

Shall heart of man at length find rest and sleep?

PRAYER

Hartley Coleridge

HERE is an awful quiet in the air,

TH

And the sad earth, with moist implor

ing eye,

Looks wide and wakeful at the ponder

ing sky,

Like Patience slow subsiding to Despair.

But see, the blue smoke as a voiceless prayer,
Sole witness of a secret sacrifice,

Unfolds its tardy wreaths, and multiplies

Its soft chameleon breathings in the rare

Capacious ether,-so it fades away,

And nought is seen beneath the pendent blue,

The undistinguishable waste of day.

So have I dreamed-oh, may the dream be

true!

That praying souls are purged from mortal hue, And grow as pure as He to whom they pray.

Not In Vain

L

NOT IN VAIN

Hartley Coleridge

ET me not deem that I was made in vain,
Or that my being was an accident

Which Fate, in working its sublime intent,

Not wished to be, to hinder would not deign.
Each drop uncounted in a storm of rain
Hath its own mission, and is duly sent

To its own leaf or blade, not idly spent
'Mid myriad dimples on the shipless main.
The very shadow of an insect's wing,

For which the violet cared not while it stayed
Yet felt the lighter for its vanishing,
Proved that the sun was shining by its shade.
Then can a drop of the eternal spring,
Shadow of living lights, in vain be made?