I tremble as within my soul
I feel Thy Waters move.

Thou art a Sea without a shore;
Awful, immense Thou art;
A Sea which can contract Itself
Within my narrow heart.

And yet Thou art a Haven too
Out on the shoreless sea,
A Harbour that can hold full well
Shipwrecked humanity.

Thou art an unborn Breath unbreathed
On Angels and on men,
Subduing all things to Thyself,

We know not how or when.

Thou art a GOD of fire, that doth
Create while He consumes;
A GOD of Light, whose Rays on earth
Darken where He illumes!

All things, dread SPIRIT! to Thy Praise
Thy Presence doth transmute;
Evil itself:-Thy Glory bears

Its one abiding fruit!

O Light! O Love! O very GOD!
I dare no longer gaze
Upon Thy wondrous attributes
And their mysterious ways.

O SPIRIT, beautiful and dread!
My heart is fit to break ·

With love of all Thy Tenderness
For us poor sinners' sake.

Thy love of JESUS I adore ;
My comfort this shall be,

That when I serve my dearest LORD,
That service worships Thee.

I

THE WILL OF GOD.

WORSHIP Thee, sweet Will of God,
And all Thy ways adore,

And every day I live, I seem
To love Thee more and more.

Thou wert the end, the blessed rule
Of our SAVIOUR's toils and tears;
Thou wert the passion of His Heart
Those three and thirty years.

And He has breathed into my soul
A special love of Thee,
A love to lose my will in His,
And by that loss be free.

I love to see Thee bring to nought
The plans of wily men ;

When simple hearts outwit the wise,
O Thou art loveliest then!

The headstrong world, it presses hard
Upon the Church full oft,
And then how easily Thou turn'st
The hard ways into soft.

I love to kiss each print where Thou
Hast set Thine unseen Feet;

I cannot fear Thee, blessed Will;
Thine Empire is so sweet.

When obstacles and trials seem
Like prison-walls to be,
I do the little I can do,

And leave the rest to Thee.

I know not what it is to doubt;
My heart is ever gay;

I run no risk, for come what will,
Thou always hast Thy way.

I have no cares, O blessed Will!
For all my cares are Thine;
I live in triumph, LORD! for Thou
Hast made Thy triumphs mine.

And when it seems no chance or change
From grief can set me free,
Hope finds its strength in helplessness,
And gaily waits on Thee.

Man's weakness waiting upon GOD
Its end can never miss,
For men on earth no work can do
More Angel-like than this.

Ride on, ride on triumphantly,
Thou glorious Will! ride on;
Faith's pilgrim sons behind Thee take
The road that Thou hast gone.

He always wins who sides with GOD,
To him no chance is lost;

GOD'S Will is sweetest to him, when
It triumphs at his cost.

Ill that He blesses is our good,

And unblest good is ill;

And all is right that seems most wrong, If it be His Sweet Will.

THE THOUGHT OF GOD.

THE thought of GOD, the thought of Thee
Who liest in my heart,
And yet beyond imagined space
Outstretched and present art,—

The thought of Thee, above, below,
Around me, and within,

Is more to me than health and wealth,
Or love of kith and kin.

The thought of GOD is like the tree
Beneath whose shade I lie,
And watch the fleets of snowy clouds
Sail o'er the silent sky.

'Tis like that soft invading Light
Which in all darkness shines,

The Thread that through life's sombre web
In golden pattern twines.

It is a thought which ever makes
Life's sweetest smiles from tears,
And is a day-break to our hopes,
A sunset to our fears.

One while it bids the tears to flow,
Then wipes them from the eyes,
Most often fills our souls with joy,
And always sanctifies.

Within a thought so great, our souls
Little and modest grow,

And, by its vastness awed, we learn
The art of walking slow.

The wild flower on the mossy ground
Scarce bends its pliant form,
When overhead the autumnal wood
Is thundering like a storm.

So is it with our humbled souls
Down in the thought of GOD,
Scarce conscious in their sober peace
Of the wild storms abroad.

To think of Thee is almost prayer,
And is outspoken praise;
And pain can even passive thoughts
To actual worship raise.

O LORD! I live always in pain,
My life's sad undersong,
Pain in itself not hard to bear,
But hard to bear so long.

Little sometimes weighs more than much,

When it has no relief;

A joyless life is worse to bear

Than one of active grief.

And yet, O LORD! a suffering life
One grand ascent may dare;
Penance, not self-imposed, can make
The whole of life a prayer.

All murmurs lie inside Thy Will,
Which are to Thee addressed;
To suffer for Thee is our work,

To think of Thee our rest.