His grateful bosom quickly learns Yields to His pleasure, and forgets The choice was not his own. CAROLINE FRY. HEAVENWARD! ONE hymn more, O my lyre! Oh! who the speed of bird and wind My resting-place and home in Thee? Thou, whom my soul, 'midst doubt and gloom, Adoreth with a fervent flame Mysterious Spirit! unto whom Pertain nor sign nor name! Swiftly my lyre's soft murmurs go, But as for me, O God! for me, Was not my spirit born to shine In dreams hath thirsted for so long- Oh! watchers of the stars at night, Thoughts of my soul, how swift ye go! Or arrows from the archers bow, To the far aim of your desire! Thought after thought, ye thronging rise Like spring-doves from the startled wood, Bearing like them your sacrifice Of music unto God! And shall these thoughts of joy and love All-moving Spirit!-freely forth At Thy command the strong wind goes; Nor art can stay, nor strength oppose, Once more within the hand divine; Lo, weary from its wandering, My spirit turns to Thine! Child of the sea, the mountain stream, And moans upon its mother's breast- O Thou who bid'st the torrent flow, Who lendest wings unto the wind— Mover of all things! where art Thou? Oh, whither shall I go to find The secret of Thy resting-place? Is there no holy wing for me, That, soaring, I may search the space Oh, would I were as free to rise As leaves on Autumn's whirlwind borne— -Lamartine. J. G. W. THY WILL BE DONE! WHEN I survey life's varied scene, Sweet rays of comfort shine between, Lord, teach me to adore Thy hand, And let me in this desert land A glimpse of Canaan know. And O! whate'er of earthly bliss Thy sovereign hand denies, Accepted at Thy throne of grace Let this petition rise: Give me a calm, a thankful heart, Let the sweet hope, that Thou art mine, Thy presence through my journey shine, And bless its happy end! ANNE STEELE, 1760. NATURE AND MAN. (WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING.) I HEARD a thousand blended notes, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts To her fair works did Nature link H |