ALMOST HOME. FROM earth retiring, Heavenward aspiring, All my long day's work below now done; Calmly reclining, All unrepining, Jesus, let me lean on Thy love alone. On love relying, Thy love undying, Not a shade can fall upon my soul ; Here am I resting, The joy foretasting Of the life beyond this life's dark goal. Thine arms embracing, Each shadow chasing, Chains of flesh now cease my soul to hold; Pilgrim staff breaking, Royal badge taking, Earth's torn raiment all exchanged for gold. No more low caring, No more wayfaring ; These soiled sandals loosed and flung away, Done with the soiling, Done with the toiling, All my burdens lay I down for aye. Ended the jarring, Past all the warring, Quit I gladly life's rude war-array, Victory crying, Enemies flying, Thus my armour put I off for aye. Pain yet assails me, Strength ofttimes fails me, Yet my weakness is my strength and rest; Light o'er me stealing, Softly revealing Scenes of glory up among the blest. Head no more sinking, Eyes no more shrinking, From the world's gay glitter here below; Life's cup just draining, Time's star fast waning: Christ Jesus, receive my soul ! to Thee I go. Earth is retreating, Heaven is to me greeting, Hope is lighting up new scenes above; Tranquilly lying, Peacefully dying, Jesus beckons upward to His love. BONAR. AFFLICTION. IF affliction grasp thee rudely, And present the rack and cup, Drink the draught, and brave the torture, Still look up, for One there liveth One who knows each human sorrow, THE BATTLE OF SADOWA. July 3, 1866. THE sun arose in glorious might, And shed his beams of beauteous light There Prussia's gathered soldiers stand Hark! hark! and hear the cannon's roar, The battle now is raging sore And deadly is the strife; Bloody and desperate is the fight, And now upon the crimson ground, The warrior no more shall wield The hero's course is run; Upon the sultry, fetid air Listen the widow's heart is rent- Oh! desolate is the peasant's cot, Great God of peace, do Thou be nigh, Look on her lonely, sacred grief, Restrain this war; give peace, we pray, In friendship's sacred fold to dwell, To Thy great throne of light. EMMA MOODY. SADDENED MEMORIES. WHO that a watcher doth remain Or who that weeps beside a bier And yet anon and he must start O hearts of ours so weak and poor, While every sadder, wiser thought, O Thou who dost our weakness know, Grant Thou that we may long retain ARCHBISHOP TRENCH. |