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Yet this word the Master said,
Long ago and far away,
Silent and forgotten lay
Buried with the silent dead, —
Where the sands of Egypt spread,
Sea-like, tawny billows heaping
Over ancient cities sleeping ;
While the River Nile between
Rolls its summer flood of green,

Rolls its autumn flood of red,— There the word the Master said, Written on a frail papyrus, scorched by fire,

wrinkled, torn, Hidden in God’s hand, was waiting for its resurrection morn.

Hear the Master’s risen word!
Delving spades have set it free,—
Wake ! the world has need of thee,—

Rise, and let thy voice be heard,

Like a fountain disinterred,
Upward springing, singing, sparkling;
Through the doubtful shadows darkling;
Till the clouds of pain and rage
Brooding o’er the toiling age,

As with rifts of light are stirred

By the music of the Word;

Gospel for the heavy-laden, answer to the

labourer’s cry ;

"Raise the stone, and ihoa sbalf find Me; cleave the

'wood, and there am I."

LEGEND w

THE TOILING OF FELIX

BSTEN, ye who look for Jesus, long to see Him close to you,

To a legend of this saying ; how one tried, and found it true.

Born in Egypt, ’neath the shadow of the crumbling gods of night,

He forsook the ancient darkness, turned his young heart toward the Light.

Felix was the name they gave him, when his faith was first confessed ;

But the name was unavailing, for his life was yet unblessed.

Seeking Christ, in vain he waited for the vision of the Lord;

Vainly pondered all the volumes where the creeds of men were stored ;

Vainly shut himself in silence, keeping vigil night and day;

Vainly haunted shrines and churches where the Christians came to pray.

One by one he dropped the duties of the common life of care ;

Broke the human ties that bound him; laid his spirit waste and bare ;

Hoping that the Lord would enter to that empty dwelling-place,

And reward the loss of all things with the vision of His face.

Still the blessed vision tarried; still the light was unrevealed ;

Still the Master, dim and distant, kept His countenance concealed. '

Fainter grew the hope of finding, wearier grew the fruitless quest;

Prayer, and penitence, and fasting gave no comfort, brought no rest.

In the darkness of the temple, ere the lamp of faith went out,

Felix knelt before the altar—lonely, sad, and full of doubt.

“ Hear me, O thou mighty Master,” from the altar-step he cried,

“ Let my one desire be granted, let my hope be satisfied !

“ Only once I long to see thee, in the fulness of Thy grace :

Break the clouds that now enfold Thee, with the sunrise of Thy face!

“ All that men desire and treasure have I counted loss for Thee;

Every task have I forsaken, save this one— my Lord to see.

“ Loosed the sacred bands of friendship, solitary stands my heart;

Thou shalt be my sole companion when I see Thee as Thou art.

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