"Let me hide myself in thee,"

Felt her soul no need to hide;
Sweet the song as song could be,
And she had no thought beside;
All the words unheedingly

Fell from lips untouched by care,
Dreaming not they each might be
On some other lips a prayer
"Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in thee."

"Rock of Ages, cleft for me

'T was a woman sung them now, Pleadingly and prayerfully;

Every word her heart did know.
Rose the song as storm-tossed bird
Beats with weary wing the air;
Every note with sorrow stirred-
Every syllable a prayer,
"Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in thee."

"Rock of Ages, cleft for me,

Lips grown aged sung the hymn Trustingly and tenderly

Voice grown weak and eyes grown dim.

"Let me hide myself in thee"

Trembling though the voice and low,

Ran the sweet strain peacefully,

Like a river in its flow.

Sung as only they can sing

Who life's thorny paths have pressed;

Sung as only they can sing

Who behold the promised rest,

"Rock of Ages, cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in thee."

"Rock of Ages, cleft for me," Sung above a coffin-lid; Underneath all restfully

All life's joys and sorrows hid. Nevermore, O storm-tossed soul, Nevermore from wind or tide, Nevermore from billow's roll,

Wilt thou need thyself to hide. Could the sightless, sunken eyes, Closed beneath the soft gray hair, Could the mute and stiffened lips

Move again in pleading prayer; Still, aye still the words would be, "Let me hide myself in thee.”

ELLA MAUD MOORE.

NIGHT AND MORNING.

WAS it a lie that they told me,
Was it a pitiless hoax?

A sop for my soul and its longing

Only to cozen and coax?

And a voice came down through the night and rain :

They lied; thou hast trusted in vain.'

Must I vanish off-hand into darkness,

Blown out with a breath like a lamp? Have I nought in the future to look to Save rotting in darkness and damp? And the answer came with a mocking hiss: "Thou hast nothing to look to save this."

What of the grave and its conquest,
Of death and the loss of its sting?
Was it only the brag of a madman
Who believed an impossible thing?

And the voice returned, as the voice of a ghost:
"It was but a madman's boast."

Am I the serf of my senses?

Is my soul a slave without rights?
Are feeding and breeding and sleeping
My first and truest delights?

And the cruel answer cut me afresh:
"Thou art but the serf of thy flesh."

Is it all for nought that I travail,
That I long for leisure from sin,
That I thirst for the pure and the perfect,
And feel like a god within?

The voice replied to my passionate thought:
"Thy longing and travail is nought.”

Then I bowed my head in my anguish,
Folding my face in my hands,

And I shuddered as one that sinketh
In the clutch of quaking sands.
And I stared, as I clinched my fingers tight,
Out through the black, black night.

For life was shorn of its meaning,
And I cried: "O God, is it so?
Utter the truth though it slay me,
Utter it, yes or no!"

But I heard no answer to heal my pain,
Save the bluster of wind and rain.

And behold, as I sat in my sorrow,
A quick ray shot from the east,
Another and then another,

And I knew that the night had ceased.
And the dark clouds rolled away to the west
As the great sun rose from his rest.

And now, as the fair dawn broadened,
Strong and joyous and bright,

My whole soul swept to meet it,
Rapt with a deep delight;

And a new voice rang down the radiant skies:
'Rejoice; I have heard thee. Arise."

Good Words.

THE PRINCE OF PEACE.

DEATH sent his messengers before.
"Our master comes apace," they cried;
"Ere night he will be at the door

To claim thy darling from thy side."
I drove them forth with curses fell;

I drove them forth with jeer and scoff;
Not all the powers of heaven or hell

Combined should bear my darling off.

I armed me madly for the fight;

My gates I bolted, barred, and locked; At sunset came a sable knight,

Dismounted at my doors, and knocked. I answered not; he knocked again;

I braved him sole, I braved his band;
He knocked once more — - in vain, in vain;
My barriers crumbled 'neath his hand.

I rushed into the breach; I stood
Dazed with the flood of ebbing light;
"A victory over senseless wood

Adds scanty glory to thy might!
A stronger champion guards these walls-
A human love, a living heart;

And while each earthly bulwark falls,
It stays thee, awful as thou art!"

My sabre shivered on his mail,

My lance dropped headless at his feet;
I saw my darling's cheek grow pale,
I saw her turn, my foe to meet.
He passed, my lips alone could move;
Mad words of passion forth I hurled:
"They lied who said that God was love,
Who lets a tyrant rule the world.”

He gathered her to his embrace,
While yet I raved in my despair;
He raised his visor from his face,

I looked, and saw an angel there.
Such conquering love, such mercy rare,
Such heavenly pity in his eyes,
As surely Love Divine might wear
When He assumed our mortal guise.

He bent above her dear, dumb lips
Mine own, whom I had loved too well
And, struggling from life's last eclipse,
They smiled in peace ineffable.
Awe-struck I watched; he raised his head,
And then in tones like summer's breath,
"Am I a thing so vile," he said,

"I, whom ye men call shuddering Death?"

And sword and targe aside I flung,

Forgotten wrath, and loss, and pride; To his departing feet I clung,

"And me too, take me too," I cried; "Without her all is blank and black, With her and thee so fair - me too;" The solemn voice came ringing back, "Not yet, for thee is work to do."

The sunset sank from rose to gray;
His accents died away with it,
And from my soul, as from the day,
The glow and glory seemed to flit;
And 'mid my stronghold's shattered strength
I knelt alone, yet not alone;

Death's angel left me hope at length

Through tasks fulfilled to reach my own.

IF I SHOULD DIE TO-NIGHT.

If I should die to-night,

My friends would look upon my quiet face
Before they laid it in its resting-place,
And deem that death had left it almost fair;
And, laying snow-white flowers against my hair,
Would smooth it down with tearful tenderness,
And fold my hands with lingering caress,
Poor hands, so empty and so cold to-night!

If I should die to-night,

My friends would call to mind, with loving thought,
Some kindly deed the icy hands had wrought;
Some gentle word the frozen lips had said;
Errands on which the willing feet had sped;
The memory of my selfishness and pride,
My hasty words, would all be put aside,

And so I should be loved and mourned to-night.

If I should die to-night,

Even hearts estranged would turn once more to me,
Recalling other days remorsefully;

The eyes that chill me with averted glance
Would look upon me as of yore, perchance,
And soften, in the old familiar way;

For who could war with dumb, unconscious clay!
So I might rest, forgiven of all, to-night.

Oh, friends, I pray to-night,

Keep not your kisses for my dead, cold brow
The way is lonely, let me feel them now.
Think gently of me; I am travel-worn ;
My faltering feet are pierced with many a thorn.
Forgive, oh, hearts estranged, forgive, I plead!
When dreamless rest is mine I shall not need
The tenderness for which I long to-night.

ARABELLA E. SMITH.

THE BURIAL OF MOSES.

By Nebo's lonely mountain,
On this side Jordan's wave,

In a vale in the land of Moab
There lies a lonely grave;
And no man dug that sepulchre,
And no man saw it e'er;

For the "Sons of God" upturned the sod

And laid the dead man there.

;

That was the grandest funeral
That ever passed on earth
But no man heard the trampling,
Or saw the train go forth.
Noiselessly as the daylight

Comes when the night is done,

And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek
Grows into the great sun;

Noiselessly as the springtime

Her crown of verdure weaves,
And all the trees on all the hills

Put forth their thousand leaves: