Another to my cherished flock Shall break the bread of peace! Yes, though my fleeting hours be told Though I, the watchman, sleep, A better watch I leave fold my "The Shepherd of the sheep!" 'Tis now our well-remembered nights, Begun and closed in prayer, Our Sabbaths on the snowy heights, Our mutual toil and care, Our glorious hope and sympathy, Our vows before the shrine, Come, like the dayspring from on high, And cheered I am! My fever's dream my last fond theme Pray for your pastor— pray! Pray for the church your faith hold fast! Strive on, as ye have striven; So shall we meet, to form at last One family in heaven! "WHERE is thy home?" I asked a child, Who, in the morning air, Was twining flowers most sweet and wild In garlands for her hair. 66 My home," the happy heart replied, And smiled in childish glee, "Is on the sunny mountain side, Where soft winds wander fiee." When every word is joy and truth, "Where is thy home?" I asked of one Who bent, with flushing face, To hear a warrior's tender tone The home of her young spirit meek Ah! souls that well might soar above, And build their hopes on human love, "Where is thy home, thou lonely man? I asked a pilgrim gray, Who came with furrowed brow, and Slow musing on his way : wan, He paused, and with a solemn mien "The land I seek thou ne'er hast seen, O, blessed, thrice blessed, the heart must ve LESSON XLVI. Thought and Deed. KENNEDY. FULL many a light thought man may cherish, When by the wind the tree is shaken, The tree may fall and be forgotten, The world is with creation teeming, And things that are destroyed in seeming, And nature still unfolds the tissue Of unseen works by spirit wrought; And thou mayst seem to leave behind thee Yet O, be sure thy sin shall find thee, LESSON XLVII. Night. J. MONTGOMERY. NIGHT is the time for rest; How sweet, when labors close. To gather round an aching breast The curtain of repose, Stretch the tired limbs, and lay the head Upon our own delightful bed! Night is the time for dreams; The gay romance of life, When truth that is and truth that seems, Blend in fantastic strife; Ah, visions less beguiling far Than waking dreams by daylight are. Night is the time for toil; To plough the classic field, Intent to find the buried spoil Its wealthy furrows yield; Till all is ours that sages taught, Night is the time to weep ; To wet with unseen tears Those graves of memory where sleep The joys of other years Hopes that were angels in their birth, Night is the time to watch; On ocean's dark expanse To hail the Pleiades, or catch The full moon's earliest glance, That brings unto the homesick mind All we have loved and left behind. Night is the time for care; Brooding on hours misspent, To see the spectre of despair Come to our lonely tent; Like Brutus, 'midst his slumbering host, Startled by Cæsar's stalwart ghost. Night is the time to muse; Then from the eye the soul Takes flight, and with expanding views Beyond the starry pole, Descries athwart the abyss of night The dawn of uncreated light. Night is the time to pray; Our Savior oft withdrew To desert mountains far away; |