FAITH'S ANSWER. CAROLINE WHITMARSH. STILL, as of old, thy precious word Wise men the secret dare not tell; Few years, no wisdom, no renown, Only my heart, Lord! to thy throne That child of thine I may go forth, And spread glad tidings through the earth, And teach sad hearts to know thy worth. Lord, here am I! Thy messenger, all-loving One! The errands of thy truth to run, No purse or scrip, no staff or sword; - FAITH'S ANSWER. 167 Be innocence my magic word. Young lips may teach the wise, Christ said; Yet teach me, Father! heed their sighs, And make me strong; that staff and stay, "Speak; for I hear!" make "pure in heart," I ask no heaven till earth be thine, Her sins wiped out, her captives free, Her voice a music unto thee, For crown, new work give thou to me! EARTH'S ANGELS. ANONYMOUS. WHY come not spirits from the realms of glory, To visit earth as in the days of old, The times of sacred writ and ancient story? Is heaven more distant? or has earth grown cold? Oft have I gazed, when sunset clouds, receding, And oft, when midnight stars in distant chillness Were calmly burning, listened late and long; But nature's pulse beat on in solemn stillness, Bearing no echo of the seraphs' song. To Bethlehem's air was their last anthem given, When other stars before the One grew dim? Was their last presence known in Peter's prison, Or where exulting martyrs raised their hymn? And are they all within the veil departed? There gleams no wing along the empyrean now; And many a tear from human eyes has started, Since angel touch has calmed a mortal's brow. EARTH'S ANgels. 169 No: earth has angels, though their forms are moulded But of such clay as fashions all below; Though harps are wanting, and bright pinions folded, We know them by the love-light on their brow. I have seen angels by the sick one's pillow, Theirs was the soft tone and the soundless tread; Where smitten hearts were drooping like the willow, They stood "between the weeping and the dead." And if my sight, by earthly dimness hindered, I doubted not, for spirits know their kindred, They smiled upon the wingless watchers there. There have been angels in the gloomy prison, In crowded halls,—by the lone widow's hearth; And where they passed, the fallen have uprisen, The giddy paused, the mourner's hope had birth. I have seen one, whose eloquence commanding Roused the rich echoes of the human breast, The blandishments of wealth and ease withstand ing That hope might reach the suffering and oppressed. And by his side there moved a form of beauty, Strewing sweet flowers along his path of life, And looking up with meek and love-lent duty; I called her angel, but he called her wife. O, many a spirit walks the world unheeded, "IT PROFITETH THEE NOTHING.” وو DISCIPLES' HYMN-BOOK. "My child, cleanse thou thy heart; this daily life Of alms and works, how can it profit thee, Except low down upon the altar burn The hidden fire of holy charity? "Leave here thy deeds,―go seek the inner shrine; There watch, and wait, and pray, and tend thy soul, |