PER PACEM AD LUCEM.

Per Pacem ad Lucem.

I

Do not ask, O Lord, that life may be
A pleasant road;

I do not ask that thou wouldst take from me
Aught of its load:

I do not ask that flowers should always spring
Beneath my feet;

I know too well the poison and the sting
Of things too sweet.

For one thing only, Lord, dear Lord, I plead,
Lead me aright—

Though strength should falter and though heart should

bleed,―

Through Peace to Light.

I do not ask, O Lord, that thou shouldst shed

Full radiance here;

Give but a ray
of peace that I
Without a fear.

may

tread

I do not ask my cross to understand,
My way to see;

Better in darkness just to feel thy hand,
And follow thee.

377

Joy is like restless day; but peace divine
Like quiet night;

Lead me O Lord-till perfect day shall shine—

Through Peace to Light.

ADELAIDE A. PROCTER.

"Follow Thou Me."

O

WHERE shall we follow thee, Saviour beloved? To Kedron, where oft thou hast thoughtfully roved? Each rill of enjoyment that winds through our care, Is Kedron, if thou wilt but walk with us there.

O where shall we follow thee, Jesus our friend?
To Bethany, whither thy feet loved to tend?
Our fireside is Bethany, peaceful and blest;
And ne'er will we wander, with thee for a guest.

O where shall we follow thee, Master adored?
To the Beautiful City, that knew not her Lord?
Alas for our streets full of evil and pain!
Toil with us for cities wept over in vain!

O where shall we follow thee, Leader divine?
To Tabor, where thou in white glory didst shine?
Thy face in the sin-sick and weary we see,
When Love is the Tabor we stand on with thee.

O where shall we follow thee, tenderest Guide?
To the sweet mournful garden down Olivet's side?
Ah, here is Gethsemane-here where we mourn:
Here strengthen us, thou who our sorrow hast borne !

O where shall we follow thee, dear Lamb of God?
Up Golgotha's death-steep, for us meekly trod?
The thorns pierce our temples; the cross bears us down ;
Like thine make our Calvary garland our crown!

O where shall we follow thee, conquering Lord?
To Paradise, unto us outcasts restored?
'Tis Paradise, Lord, in thy presence to be:
And, living or dying, we're ever with thee!

LUCY LARCOM.

PRESUMPTION AND DESPAIR.

Presumption and Despair.

O

NE time I was allowed to steer
Through realms of azure light:
Henceforth I said, I need not fear
A lower, meaner flight;
But here shall evermore abide
In light and splendor glorified.

My heart one time the rivers fed,
Large dews upon it lay;
A freshness it has won, I said,

Which shall not pass away; But what it is, it shall remain, Its freshness to the end retain.

But when I lay upon the shore,

Like some poor wounded thing,
I deemed I should not evermore
Refit my shattered wing;

Nailed to the ground and fastened there,
This was the thought of my despair.

And when my very heart seemed dried,
And parched as summer dust,
Such still I deemed it must abide,

No hope had I, no trust
That any power again could bless
With fountains that waste wilderness.

But if both hope and fear were vain,
And came alike to naught,
Two lessons we from this may gain,
If ught can teach us aught:-
One lesson rather to divide
Between our fearfulness and pride.

RICHARD CHEVENIX TRENCH.

379

Extreme Unction.

Go

'O! leave me, Priest; my soul would be Alone with the consoler, Death; Far sadder eyes than thine will see

This crumbling clay yield up its breath : These shriveled hands have deeper stains

Than holy oil can cleanse away—

Hands that have plucked the world's coarse gains, As erst they plucked the flowers of May.

Call, if thou canst, to these gray eyes

Some faith from youth's traditions wrung; This fruitless husk which dustward dries,

Has been a heart once, has been young; On this bowed head the awful Past

Once laid its consecrating hands; The Future in its purpose vast

Paused, waiting my supreme commands.

But look! whose shadows block the door?
Who are those two that stand aloof?
See on my hands this freshening gore

Writes o'er again its crimson proof!
My looked-for death-bed guests are met;—
There my dead Youth doth wring its hands,
And there, with eyes that goad me yet,
The ghost of my Ideal stands!

God bends from out the deep and says"I gave thee the great gift of life Wast thou not called in many ways?

Are not my earth and heaven at strife? I gave thee of my seed to sow,

Bringest thou me my hundred-fold ?" Can I look up with face aglow,

And answer, "Father, here is gold?"

EXTREME UNCTION.

I have been innocent; God knows
When first this wasted life began,
Not grape with grape more kindly grows
Than I with every brother-man;
Now here I gasp; what lose my kind,

When this fast-ebbing breath shall part?
What bands of love and service bind

This being to the world's sad heart?

Christ still was wandering o'er the earth
Without a place to lay his head;
He found free welcome at my hearth,

He shared my cup and broke my bread;
Now, when I hear those steps sublime,

That bring the other world to this, My snake-turned nature, sunk in slime, Starts sideways with defiant hiss.

Upon the hour when I was born,

God said, "Another man shall be;"
And the great Maker did not scorn
Out of himself to fashion me;
He sunned me with his ripening looks,

And Heaven's rich instincts in me grew,
As effortless as woodland nooks

Send violets up and paint them blue.

Yes, I who now, with angry tears,
Am exiled back to brutish clod,

Have borne unquenched for fourscore years
A spark of the eternal God;

And to what end? How yield I back
The trust for such high uses given ?
Heaven's light hath but revealed a track
Whereby to crawl away from heaven.