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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 thou shalt find Me; cleave the

wood, and there am I."

LEGEND
THE TOILING OF FELIX

TISTEN, 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 crum

bling 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 com

mon life of care ; Broke the human ties that bound him; laid his

spirit waste and bare ;

SP

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, soli.

tary stands my heart; Thou shalt be my sole companion when I see

Thee as Thou art.

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