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SHIPS AT SEA.
I have waited on the piers,
Gazing for them down the bay,
So I never quite despair,
Nor let hope or courage fail;
I shall buy then all I need,-
That is lost, that is lost.
Once, when I was pure and young,
Ere a cloud was o'er me flung,
Or a wrinkle creased my brow,
There was one whose heart was mine;
And though come my ships from sea,
They can bring no heart to me
The Teacher Taught.
'ER wayward children wouldst thou hold firm rule, And sun thee in the light of happy faces: Love, Hope, and Patience,-these must be the graces, And in thy own heart let them first keep school! For, as old Atlas on his broad neck places Heaven's starry globe, and there sustains it, so Do these upbear the little world below Of education-Patience, Hope, and Love! Methinks I see them grouped in seemly show,— The straitened arms upraised,-the palms aslope,And robes that touching, as adown they flow, Distinctly blend, like snow embossed in snow. O part them never! If Hope prostrate lie,
Love, too, will sink and die.
But Love is subtle; and will proof derive,
And the soft murmurs of the mother dove,
Woos back the fleeting spirit, and half supplies.
Thus Love repays to Hope what Hope first gave to Love! Yet haply there will come a weary day,
When, overtasked, at length,
Both Love and Hope beneath the load give way,
SAMUEL T. COLERIDGE.
ITH what clear guile of gracious love enticed,
I follow forward, as from room to room, Through doors that open into light from gloom, To find and lose, and find again the Christ!
He stands and knocks, and bids me ope the door;
Why should he seek a shelter sad with sin?
He knows what ways I take to shut my heart,
My foolish fastenings, or by force break through,
But nay, he will not choose to enter so,
He will not be my guest without consent,
Nor, though I say “Come in,” is he content; I must arise and ope, or he will go.
He shall not go; I do arise and ope,—
And cannot find it soon enough; my hand,
The door between is some command undone;
Which door, dear Lord? knock, speak, that I may know;
Hark, heart, he answers with his hand and voice
Oh, still small sign, I tremble and rejoice,
Nor longer doubt which way my feet must go.
Full lief and soon this door would open too,
Not spreading light, but lighting to the light-
Now he is here I seem no longer here!
This place of light is not my chamber dim,
It is not he with me, but I with him,
And host, not guest, he breaks the bread of cheer.
I was borne onward at his greeting,-he
Earthward had come, but heavenward I had gone;
I lie upon the bosom of my Lord,
And feel his heart, and time my heart thereby ;
A little while I lie upon his heart,
Feasting on love, and loving there to feast,
And then, once more, the shadows are increased Around me, and I feel my Lord depart.
Again alone, but in a farther place
I sit with darkness, waiting for a sign;
Again I hear the same sweet plea divine, And suit, outside, of hospitable grace.
This is his guile, he makes me act the host
So, on and on, through many an opening door
From brightening court to court of Christ, my King,
At last I trust these changing scenes will cease ;
No door beyond, that further glory hides.-
WILLIAM C. WILKINSON.
O, lovely Rose !
Tell her that wastes her time and me,
That now she knows,
When I resemble her to thee,
How sweet and fair she seems to be.
Tell her that's young,
And shuns to have her graces spied,
In deserts where no men abide,
Thou must have uncommended died.