Life and Death.

"WHAT is life, Father?"

"A battle, my child,

Where the strongest lance may fail;
Where the weariest eyes may be beguiled,
And the stoutest heart may quail;
Where the foes are gathered on every hand,
And rest not day nor night;

And the feeble little ones must stand
In the thickest of the fight."

"What is death, Father?"

"The rest, my child,

When the strife and the toil are o'er,

And the angel of God, who, calm and mild,
Says we need fight no more;

Who driveth away the demon band,

Bids the din of the battle cease;

Takes the banner and spear from our failing hand And proclaims an eternal peace."

"Let me die, Father! I tremble, I fear,

To yield in that terrible strife!"

LIFE AND DEATH,

23

"The crown must be won for Heaven, my dear,

In the battle-field of life.

My child, though thy foes are strong and tried,
He loveth the weak and small;

The angels of Heaven are on thy side,
And God is over all!"

The Householder.

WRITTEN AFTER READING THE TWENTIETH CHAPTER OF THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO ST. MATTHEW.

O THOU blest Householder!-the starry dawn,
The light crepuscular, the roseate morn
Long since have melted into day!
Long since the glow of youth's third hour,
And the bird's song, and fancy's magic power,
Have traceless, soundless, pass'd away.

Ent'reth the sun into his zenith height,
Ent'reth the mortal into manhood's might,
Op'neth once more the vineyard gate,
And laborers are call'd!-but Honor's dream
Entranced my soul, and made religion seem
As naught,-glory was man's estate!

The ninth hour found me in "the market-place," Stern passion ruled my heart, care mark'd my face,

How could I hear thy blessed call?

To glitter, to achieve, to lose, to gain,

Form'd every hope or thought, delight or pain, And the vain world was still my all!

THE

HOUSEHOLDER.

25

The tenth hour sounded in my startled ear!
Thy gracious Spirit touch'd my heart with fear!
The "harvest ended" with the day!

That thought imbued my mind! "not saved?" too late?

I left the throng-I sought the vineyard gate, 'Twas shut! Death-struck, I turn'd away.

Low sank the sun adown the western sky,
And all my cherish'd joys were vanity!

Now, neither Earth nor Heaven was mine! Rejected, lost, abandon'd, and forlorn,

Of God, it seem'd, not loved, of Hell the scorn! No hope, or human, or divine,

Brighten'd my sad, cold, doubting, desert mind! The world, a wilderness! Heaven's self unkind! "Blackness of darkness" was my way! Slow struck the eleventh!-Thy light around me broke!

And deep into my soul these words were spoke: "Why stand ye idle all the day?"

"Enter and work throughout the waning hour." Lord of the vineyard, grant thy servant power To labor, love Thee, and obey!

Let every thought or word, deed, wish, be Thine! Thine be all honor, glory, praise divine!

And let Thy pardon close my day.

Nearer to Thee.

NEARER, my God, to thee

Nearer to thee!

E'en though it be a cross

That raiseth me,

Still all my song shall be,

Nearer, my God, to thee

Nearer to thee!

Though like a wanderer,
The sun gone down,
Darkness comes over me,
My rest a stone;

Yet in my dream I'd be

Nearer, my God, to thee

Nearer to thee!

There let the way appear

Steps unto heaven;

All that thou sendest me

In mercy given ;

Angels to beckon me

Nearer, my God, to thee

Nearer to thee!