Tracing out Wisdom, Power, and Love
In earth or sky, in stream or grove !
Or by the light thy words disclose
Watch Time's full river as it flows,
Scanning thy gracious Providence,
Where not too deep for mortal sense ;-
When with dear friends sweet talk I hold,
And all the flowers of life unfold ;
Let not my heart within me burn,
Except in all I Thee discern.
When the soft dews of kindly sleep
My wearied eyelids gently steep,
Be my last thought, How sweet to rest
For ever on my Saviour's breast.
Abide with me from morn till eve,
For without Thee I cannot live;
Abide with me when night is nigh,
For without Thee I dare not die.
If some poor wandering child of thine
Have spurned, to-day, the voice divine;
Now, Lord, the gracious work begin,
Let him no more lie down in sin.
Watch by the sick; enrich the poor
With blessings from thy boundless store:
Be every mourner's sleep to-night
Like infant's slumbers, pure and light.
Come near, and bless us when we wake,
Ere through the world our way we take:
Till in the ocean of thy love
We lose ourselves in Heaven above.

KEBLE.

RESIGNATION.

LORD, it belongs not to my care

Whether I die or live;
To love and serve thee is my share,

And this thy grace must give.
If life be long, I will be glad

That I may long obey:
If short-yet why should I be sad,

That shall have equal pay ?

Christ leads me through no darker rooms

Than he went through before; He that into God's kingdom comes,

Must enter by that door.
Come, Lord, when grace hath made me meet

Thy blessed face to see;
For if thy work on earth be sweet,

What will thy glory be?

Then I shall end my sad complaints,

And weary sinful days;
And join with the triumphant saints,

That sing Jehovah's praise.
My knowledge of that life is small,

The eye of faith is dim;
But 'tis enough that Christ knows all,
And I shall be with him.

BAXTER.

FOR GOOD FRIDAY.

By the cross unheeded sighing,
Where her holiest Son hung dying,

The afflicted Mother stood.

Through her heart, with sorrows riven, Sharp the destined sword was driven,

Sharp beyond her worst forebode.

Blest of women-with what anguish
Did her soul within her languish,

Mother of the Holiest One!

How she watched, in bitterest moaning, Fainting, sickening, trembling, groaning,

All the tortures of her Son!

Lives there one, who, coldly gazing,
Tearless eyes could stand upraising,

From the crowd that mocks below,

To the cross, where, broken-hearted,
From the Son the Mother parted,

Clings and weeps his speechless woe?

Wounded for the world's transgression, Murdered to make intercession,

Scourged by those he came to save,

That sweet Son, by most forsaken,
She still watched in death-throes shaken,

Till his spirit up he gave.

Eja Christe,* fons amoris,
Me sentire vim doloris

Fac, ut tecum lugeam :

Sancte Pater, istud agas
Crucifixi fige plagas

Cordi meo validè.

Tui nati vulnerati,
Tam dignati pro me pati,

Pænas mecum divide.

Fac me juxta crucem flere,
Crucifixo condolere,

Donec ego vixero.

Flens cum flente Matre stare, Me cum illâ sociare

In planctu desidero.

Fac ut portem Christi mortem, Passionis fac consortem,

Et plagas recolere.

Flammis ne urar succensus
Per te, Jesu, sim defensus

In die judicii.

Quando corpus morietur,
Fac ut animæ donetur
Paradisi gloria.