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In the dual heart of man,
And between the soul and sense

Reconcile all difference,
Change the dream of me and mine
For the truth of Thee and Thine,
And, through chaos, doubt, and strife,
Interfuse Thy calm of life.
Haply, thus by Thee renewed,
In Thy borrowed goodness good,
Some sweet morning yet in God's
Dim, æonian periods,
Joyful I shall wake to see
Those I love who rest in Thee,

And to them in Thee allied

Shall my soul be satisfied.

Scarcely Hope hath shaped for me
What the future life

may

be. Other lips may well be bold; Like the publican of old,

I can only urge the plea,
“Lord, be merciful to me!”
Nothing of desert I claim,
Unto me belongeth shame.
Not for me the crowns of gold,
Palms, and harpings manifold ;
Not for erring eye and feet
Jasper wall and golden street.
What Thou wilt, O Father, give!
All is gain that I receive.
If my voice I may not raise
In the elders' song of praise,
If I may not, sin-defiled,
Claim my birthright as a child,
Suffer it that I to Thee
As an hired servant be;
Let the lowliest task be mine,
Grateful, so the work be Thine
Let me find the humblest place
In the shadow of Thy grace :

Blest to me were any spot
Where temptation whispers not.
If there be some weaker one,
Give me strength to help him on;
If a blinder soul there be,
Let me guide him nearer Thee.
Make

my

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.*

IM

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,
The long, despairing moan of solitude
And darkness and the absence of all good,

* 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”!

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