"FOR THINE OWN SAKE, O MY GOD." 425

"FOR THINE OWN SAKE, O MY GOD."

【EARIED of sinning, wearied of repentance,

Wearied of self, I turn, my God, to Thee; To Thee, my Judge, on Whose all-righteous sentence Hangs mine eternity:

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I turn to Thee, I plead Thyself with Thee,—
Be pitiful to me.

Wearied I loathe myself, I loathe my sinning,
My stains, my festering sores, my misery :
Thou the Beginning, Thou ere my beginning
Didst see and didst foresee

Me miserable, me sinful, ruined me,—
I plead Thyself with Thee.

I plead Thyself with Thee Who art my Maker,
Regard Thy handiwork that cries to Thee;
I plead Thyself with Thee Who wast partaker
Of mine infirmity,

Love made Thee what Thou art, the love of me,—
I plead Thyself with Thee.

UNTIL THE DAY BREAK.

WHEN will the day bring its pleasure?

When will the night bring its rest?

Reaper and gleaner and thresher

Peer toward the east and the west :

The Sower He knoweth, and He knoweth best.

Meteors flash forth and expire,
Northern lights kindle and pale;
These are the days of desire,

Of eyes looking upward that fail;
Vanishing days as a finishing tale.

Bows down the crop in its glory

Tenfold, fiftyfold, hundredfold;
The millet is ripened and hoary,

The wheat ears are ripened to gold :—
Why keep us waiting in dimness and cold?

The Lord of the harvest, He knoweth

Who knoweth the first and the last :

The Sower Who patiently soweth,

He scanneth the present and past:

He saith, “What thou hast, what remaineth, hold fast."

Yet, Lord, o'er Thy toil-wearied weepers.

The storm-clouds hang muttering and frown: On threshers and gleaners and reapers, O Lord of the harvest, look down;

Oh for the harvest, the shout, and the crown!

"Not so," saith the Lord of the reapers, The Lord of the first and the last : "O My toilers, My weary, My weepers,

What ye have, what remaineth, hold fast.

Hide in My heart till the vengeance be past."

A

A HOPE CAROL.

NIGHT was near, a day was near,
Between a day and night

I heard sweet voices calling clear,

Calling me :

I heard a whirr of wing on wing,
But could not see the sight;
I long to see my birds that sing,
I long to see.

Below the stars, beyond the moon,
Between the night and day

I heard a rising falling tune
Calling me :

I long to see the pipes and strings
Whereon such minstrels play;
I long to see each face that sings,
I long to see.

To-day or may be not to-day,
To-night or not to-night,

All voices that command or pray

Calling me,

Shall kindle in my soul such fire
And in my eyes such light

That I shall see that heart's desire

I long to see.

"OF HIM THAT WAS READY TO PERISH."

LORD, I am waiting, weeping, watching for Thee:

My youth and hope lie by me buried and dead, My wandering love hath not where to lay its head Except Thou say "Come to Me."

My noon is ended, abolished from life and light,
My noon is ended, ended and done away,

My sun went down in the hours that still were day,
And my lingering day is night.

How long, O Lord, how long in my desperate pain Shall I weep and watch, shall I weep and long for Thee?

Is Thy grace ended, Thy love cut off from me? How long shall I long in vain ?

O God Who before the beginning hast seen the end, Who hast made me flesh and blood, not frost and

not fire,

Who hast filled me full of needs and love and

desire

And a heart that craves a friend,

Who hast said "Come to Me and I will give thee rest,” Who hast said "Take on thee My yoke and learn

of Me,"

Who calledst a little child to come to Thee,

And pillowedst John on Thy breast;

Who spak'st to women that followed Thee sorrowing, Bidding them weep for themselves and weep for

their own;

Who didst welcome the outlaw adoring Thee all alone,

And plight Thy word as a King,—

By Thy love of these and of all that ever shall be,
By Thy love of these and of all the born and unborn,
Turn Thy gracious eyes on me and think no scorn
Of me, not even of me.

Beside Thy Cross I hang on my cross in shame,
My wounds, weakness, extremity cry to Thee:
Bid me also to Paradise, also me
For the glory of Thy Name.

CHRISTMAS CAROLS.

I.

WHOSO hears a chiming for Christmas at the

nighest,

Hears a sound like Angels chanting in their glee, Hears a sound like palm boughs waving in the highest, Hears a sound like ripple of a crystal sea.

Sweeter than a prayer-bell for a saint in dying,
Sweeter than a death-bell for a saint at rest,
Music struck in Heaven with earth's faint replying
"Life is good, and death is good, for Christ is Best."