The Angel of Patience

THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE

Το

J. G. Whittier

weary hearts, to mourning homes, God's meekest angel gently comes: No power has he to banish pain,

Or give us back our lost again;

And yet in tenderest love, our dear
And Heavenly Father sends him here.

There's quiet in that Angel's glance,
There's rest in his still countenance:
He mocks no grief with idle cheer,
Nor wounds with words the mourner's ear;
But ills and woes he may not cure
He kindly trains us to endure.

Angel of Patience, sent to calm

Our feverish brows with cooling palm:
To lay the storms of hope and fear,
And reconcile life's smile and tear;
The throbs of wounded pride to still,
And make our own our Father's will!

O thou who mournest on thy way,
With longings for the close of day:
He walks with thee, that Angel kind,
And gently whispers, "Be resigned,
Bear up, bear on, the end shall tell
The dear Lord ordereth all things well!"

T

OPPORTUNITY

Edward Rowland Sill

HIS I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream:-
There spread a cloud of dust along a plain;
And underneath the cloud, or in it, raged
A furious battle, and men yelled, and

swords

Shocked upon swords and shields. A prince's banner Wavered, then staggered backward, hemmed by foes. A craven hung along the battle's edge

And thought, "Had I a sword of keener steel

That blue blade that the king's son bears—but this
Blunt thing!" he snapt and flung it from his hand,
And lowering crept away and left the field.
Then came the king's son, wounded, sore bestead,
And weaponless, and saw the broken sword,
Hilt buried in the dry and trodden sand,

And ran and snatched it, and with battle-shout
Lifted afresh he hewed his enemy down,
And saved a great cause that heroic day.

The Rainy Day

THE RAINY DAY

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

T

HE day is cold, and dark, and dreary;

It rains, and the wind is never weary; The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, But at every gust the dead leaves fall,

And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;

It rains, and the wind is never weary;

My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart, and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;

Thy fate is the common fate of all,

Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.

THE LATTICE AT SUNRISE

A

Charles Tennyson-Turner

S ON my bed at dawn I mused and prayed,
I saw my lattice prankt upon the wall,

The flaunting leaves and flitting birds

withal

A sunny phantom interlaced with shade.
"Thanks be to Heaven!" in happy mood I said;
"What sweeter aid my matins could befall
Than this fair glory from the East hath made?
What holy sleights hath God, the Lord of all,
To bid us feel and see! we are not free
To say we see not, for the glory comes

Nightly and daily, like the flowing sea;

His luster pierceth through the midnight glooms;
And, at prime hour, behold! He follows me
With golden shadows to my secret rooms!”

Beloved, It Is Morn

BELOVED, IT IS MORN
Emily Henrietta Hickey

B

ELOVED, it is morn!

A redder berry on the thorn,
A deeper yellow on the corn,
For this good-day new born.
Pray, Sweet, for me

That I may be

Faithful to God and thee.

Beloved, it is day!

And lovers work, as children play,

With heart and brain untired alway:

Dear love, look up and pray,

Pray, Sweet, for me

That I may be

Faithful to God and thee.

Beloved, it is night!

Thy heart and mine are full of light,

Thy spirit shineth clear and white:

God keep thee in His sight!

Pray, Sweet, for me

That I may be

Faithful to God and thee.