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161

REST

When God at first made Man,

Having a glass of blessings standing by,
Let Us (said He) pour on him all We can;
Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie,
Contract into a span.

So strength first made a way,

Then beauty flowed, then wisdom, honor, pleasure;
When almost all was out, God made a stay,
Perceiving that alone of all His treasure
Rest at the bottom lay.

For if I should (said He)

Bestow this jewel also on my creature,
He would adore My gifts instead of Me,
And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature;
So both would losers be.

Yet let him keep the rest,

But keep them with repining restlessness;
Let him be rich and weary, that at least,
If goodness lead him not, yet weariness
May toss him to My breast.

GEORGE HERBERT

162

PROVIDENCE

God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants His footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never-failing skill,

He treasures up His bright designs,
And works His sovereign will.

Ye fearful souls, fresh courage take;
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by fearful sense,
But trust Him for His grace;
Behind a frowning Providence
He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;

The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.

Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan His work in vain;
God is His own interpreter,

And He will make it plain.

WILLIAM COWPER

163

LIVE NOT TO YOURSELVES

On a frail little stem in the garden hangs the opening rose. Go ask it why it hangs there! "I hang there," says the beautiful flower, "to sweeten the air which man breathes, to open my beauties, to kindle emotion in his eye, to show him the hand of his God who pencilled each leaf, and laid them thus on my bosom. And, whether you find me here to greet him every morning, or whether you find me on the lone mountain-side, with the bare possibility that he will throw me one passing glance, my end is the same. I live not to myself.”

Beside yon highway stands an agèd tree, solitary and alone. You see no living thing near it and you say, Surely that must stand for itself alone. "No," says the tree; " God never made me for a purpose so small. For more than a hundred years I have stood here. In summer I have spread out my arms, and sheltered the panting flocks which hastened to my shade; in my bosom I have concealed and protected the brood of young birds, as they lay and rocked in their nests; in the storm I have more than once received in my body the lightning's bolt, which had else destroyed the traveller; the acorns which I have matured from year to year have been carried far and wide, and groves of forest oaks can claim me as their parent.

"I have lived for the eagle which has perched on my top; for the humming-bird which has paused

and refreshed its giddy wings ere it danced away again like a blossom of the air; for the insect that has found a home within the folds of my bark; and, when I can stand no longer, I shall fall by the hand of man, and I will go to strengthen the ship which makes him lord of the ocean, and to his dwelling to warm his hearth and cheer his home. I live not to myself."

On yonder mountain-side comes down the silver brook, in the distance resembling a ribbon of silver, running and leaping as it dashes joyously down. Go ask it what it is doing. "I was born," says the brook, "high up in the mountains, but there I could do no good; so I am hurrying down, running where I can and leaping where I must, but hastening down to water the sweet valley, where the thirsty cattle may drink, where the lark may sing on my bank, where I may drive the mill for the accommodation of man, and then widen into the great river, and bear up his steamboats and shipping, and finally plunge into the ocean, to rise again in vapor, and perhaps come back again in the clouds to my own native mountain, and live my short life over again. Not a drop of water comes down my channel in whose bright face you may not read, 'None of us liveth to himself.''

Speak now to that solitary star that hangs in the far verge of heaven, and ask it what it is doing there. Its voice comes down the path of light, and cries, "I am a mighty world! I was stationed here at the creation. Aye, I was there—

'When the radiant morn of creation broke, And the world in the smile of God awoke, And the empty realms of darkness and death

Were moved through their depths by His mighty breath,

And orbs of beauty and spheres of flame

From the void abyss by myriads came.'

"Here, among the morning stars, I hold my place, and help to keep other worlds balanced and in their places. I send my bright beams down to earth, and the sailor takes hold of the helm, and fixes his eye on me, and finds his way home across the ocean. Of all the countless hosts of my sister stars, who walk forth in the great space of creation, not one, not one, lives or shines for himself alone."

And thus God has written upon the flower that sweetens the air, upon the breeze that rocks that flower upon its stem, upon the raindrops which swell the mighty river, upon the dew-drop that refreshes the smallest sprig of moss that rears its head in the desert, upon the vast ocean, upon every pencilled shell that sleeps in the caverns of the deep, as well as upon the mighty sun which warms and cheers the millions of creatures that live in its light-upon all hath He written, "None of us liveth for himself."

REV. JAMES TODD

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