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THE LIGHT ABOVE US.

THE LIGHT ABOVE US.

LIFE OF MADAME GUYON.

THERE is a light in yonder skies,
A light unseen by outward eyes;
But clear and bright to inward sense
It shines the star of Providence.

The radiance of the central throne,
It comes from God, and God alone
The ray that never yet grew pale,
The star that "shines within the veil.”

And faith, unchecked by earthly fears,
Shall lift its eye, though filled with tears,
And while around 'tis dark as night,
Untired shall mark that heavenly light.

THE VOICE OF THE ROD.

REV. THOMAS BROOKS.

the

As the word hath a voice, the Spirit a voice, and conscience a voice, so the rod hath a voice. Afflictions are the rod of God's anger, the rod of his displeasure, and his rod of revenge: he gives a commission to this rod to awaken, to reform his people, or else to revenge the quarrel of his covenant upon them, if they will not hear, and kiss the rod, and sit mute and silent under it. "The Lord's voice crieth unto the city, and the man of wisdom shall see thy name; hear ye rod, and who hath appointed it." (Mic. iv. 9.) God's rods are not mutes; they are speaking as well as smiting; every twig hath a voice. Ah, soul, saith one twig, thou sayest it smarts; well, tell me, is it good provoking a jealous God? (Jer. iv. 18.) Ah, soul, saith another twig, thou sayest it is bitter, it reacheth to thy heart; but hath not thine own doings procured these things? (Rom. iv. 21.) Ah, soul, saith another twig, where is the profit, the pleasure, that you have found in wandering from God? (Hos. iii. 7.) Ah, soul, saith another twig, was it not best with you when you were high in your communion with God, and humble and close in your walking with God? (Mic. iv. 8.) Ah, Christian, saith another twig, wilt thou search thy heart, and try thy ways,

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THE VOICE OF THE ROD.

and turn to the Lord thy God? (Lam. iii. 40.) Ah, soul, saith another twig, wilt thou die to sin more than ever? (Rom. xiv. 7, 8;) and to the world more than ever? (Gal. vi. 14;) and to relations more than ever, and to thyself more than ever? Ah, soul, saith another twig, wilt thou live more to Christ, and cleave closer to Christ, and prize Christ more, and venture further for Christ than ever? Ah, soul, saith another twig, wilt thou love Christ with a more inflamed love, and hope in Christ with a more raised hope, and depend upon Christ with a greater confidence, and wait upon Christ with more invincible patience? Now, if the soul be not mute and silent under the rod, how is it possible that it should ever hear the voice of the rod, or that it should ever hearken to the voice of every twig of the rod? The rod hath a voice that is in the hands of earthly fathers; but children understand it not, till they are hushed and quiet, and brought to kiss it, and sit silently under it: no more shall we hear or understand the voice of the rod that is in our heavenly Father's hand, till we come to kiss it, and sit silently under it.

DIRGE.

MISS LANDON.

LAY her in the gentle earth,
Where the summer maketh mirth,
Where young violets have birth,
Where the lily bendeth.
Lay her there, the lovely one,
With the rose her funeral stone,
And for tears such showers alone

As the rain of April lendeth.

From the midnight's quiet hour
Will come dews of holy power
O'er the sweetest human flower
That was ever loved.

But she was too fair and dear

For our troubled pathway here;
Heaven, that was her natural sphere,
Has its own removed.

"We are forbidden to murmur, but we are not forbidden to regret; and whom we love tenderly while living we may still pursue with an affectionate remembrance, without having any occasion to charge ourselves with rebellion against the sovereignty that appointed a separation.” – COWPER.

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O, STAY THOSE TEARS.

O, STAY THOSE TEARS.

ANDREWS NORTON.

O, STAY thy tears! for they are blest
Whose days are past, whose toil is done :
Here midnight care disturbs our rest,
Here sorrow dims the noonday sun.

For laboring virtue's anxious toil,
For patient sorrow's stifled sigh,

For faith that marks the conqueror's spoil,
Heaven grants the recompense

- to die.

How blest are they whose transient years
Pass like an evening meteor's flight!
Not dark with guilt, nor dim with tears;
Whose course is short, unclouded, bright.

How cheerless were our lengthened way,
Did Heaven's own light not break the gloom,
Stream downward from eternal day,

And cast a glory round the tomb!

Then stay thy tears; the blest above
Have hailed a spirit's heavenly birth,

Sung a new song of joy and love;

And why should anguish reign on earth?