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In the dual heart of man,
Reconcile all difference,
And to them in Thee allied
Shall my soul be satisfied.
Scarcely Hope hath shaped for me
be. Other lips may well be bold; Like the publican of old,
I can only urge the plea,
Blest to me were any spot
mortal dreams come true With the work I fain would do ; Clothe with life the weak intent, Let me be the thing I meant; Let me find in Thy employ Peace that dearer is than joy; Out of self to love be led And to heaven acclimated, Until all things sweet and good Seem my natural habitude.
So we read the
prayer of him Who, with John of Labadie,
Trod, of old, the oozy rim
Of the Zuyder Zee.
Thus did Andrew Rykman pray,
Are we wiser, better grown, That we may not, in our day, Make his prayer our own?
THE CRY OF A LOST SOUL.*
N that black forest, where, when day is
done, With a snake's stillness glides the Amazon Darkly from sunset to the rising sun,
A cry, as of the pained heart of the wood,
* Lieut. Herndon's Report of the Exploration of the Amazon has a striking description of the peculiar and melancholy notes of a bird heard by night on the shores of the river. The Indian guides called it “ The Cry of a lost Soul”!