22

22

PILGRIM SONG.

Our joys they will not share-
Yet sing, that they may catch the song
Of Heaven, and the happy throng

That now await us there!

Come, gladly, let us onward-
Hand in hand still go,
Each helping one another
Through all the way below.
One family of love,—

Oh, let no voice of strife be heard,
No discord, by the angel-guard
Who watch us from above!

O brothers! soon is ended
The journey we've begun―

Endure a little longer,

The race will soon be won!
And in the land of rest,

In yonder bright, eternal home,

Where all the Father's loved ones come,

We shall be safe and blest!

NOT VERY FAR.

Bonar.

SURELY yon Heaven, where angels see God's face, Is not so distant as we deem

From this low carth!-Tis but a little space,

The narrow crossing of a slender stream ;-
'Tis but a mist which winds might blow aside.
Yes, these are all that us of earth divide
From the bright dwellings of the glorified ;—
The Land of which I dream.

These peaks are nearer Heaven than earth below,
These hills are higher than they seem;
'Tis not the clouds they touch, nor the soft brow
Of the o'erbending azure, as we deem :

"Tis the blue floor of Heaven that they upbear,
And, like some old and wildly rugged stair,
They lift us to the land where all is fair,-
The Land of which I dream.

These ocean waves, in their unmeasured sweep, Are brighter, bluer than they seem;

True image here of the celestial deep,

Fed from the fullness of the unfailing stream;

24

NOT VERY FAR.

Heaven's glassy sea of everlasting rest,

With not a breath to stir its silent breast,

The sea that laves the land where all are blest,-
The Land of which I dream.

And these keen stars, the bridal gems of night,
Are purer, lovelier than they seem;
Filled from the inner fountain of deep light,
They pour down Heaven's own beam;

Clear, sparkling, from their throne of glorious blue,
In accents ever ancient, ever new,

Of the glad home above, beyond my view,

The Land of which I dream.

This life of ours, these lingering years of earth,
Are briefer, swifter, than they seem;

A little while, and the great second birth

Of Time shall come,-the prophets' ancient theme.
Then He, the King, the Judge, at length shall come,
And from this desert, where we sadly roam,

Shall give the Kingdom, for our endless home,-
The Land of which I dream!

THAT CITY!

Helen L. Parmlee.

I KNOW the walls are jasper,
The palaces are fair,

And to the sounds of harpings
The saints are singing There;
I know that living waters

Flow under fruitful trees;
But oh, to make my heaven,
It needeth more than these!

Read in the sacred story,

What more doth it unfold, Beside the pearly gateways And streets of shining gold?

No temple hath That city,
For none is needed There,

No sun nor moon enlighteneth ;-
Can darkness then be fair?

Ah, now the bright revealing,
The crowning joy of all!
What need of other sunshine

Where God is all in all?

26

26

THAT CITY!

He fills the wide ethereal
With glory all His own.―
He, whom my soul adoreth,

The Lamb amidst the throne!

O Heaven, without my Saviour,
Would be no heaven to me;
Dim were the walls of jasper—
Rayless the crystal sea.
He gilds earth's darkest valleys
With light, and joy, and peace;
What then must be the radiance

When Night and Death shall cease?

Speed on, O lagging moments!
Come, birthday of the soul!
How long the night appeareth,

The hours, how slow they roll!
How sweet the welcome summons
That greets the willing bride!
And when mine eyes behold Him,
"I shall be satisfied."