Before Thee, in an evil day, Our country's bleeding heart we lay, And dare not ask Thy hand to stay; But, through the war-cloud, pray to Thee For union, but a union free, With peace that comes of purity! That Thou wilt bare Thy arm to, save And, smiting through this Red Sea wave, Make broad a pathway for the slave! For us, confessing all our need, We trust nor rite nor word nor deed, Nor yet the broken staff of creed. Assured alone that Thou art good To each, as to the multitude, Eternal Love and Fatherhood,-- Weak, sinful, blind, to Thee we kneel, Stretch dumbly forth our hands, and feel Our weakness is our strong appeal. So, by these Western gates of Even We wait to see with Thy forgiven The opening Golden Gate of Heaven! Suffice it now. In time to be Shall holier altars rise to Thee,-- Thy Church our broad humanity White flowers of love its walls shall climb, Soft bells of peace shall ring its chime, Its days shall all be holy time. A sweeter song shall then be heard,-- The music of the world's accord Confessing Christ, the Inward Word! That song shall swell from shore to shore, One hope, one faith, one love, restore The seamless robe that Jesus wore. HYMN FOR THE HOUSE OF WORSHIP AT GEORGETOWN, ERECTED IN MEMORY OF A MOTHER. The giver of the house was the late George Peabody, of London. Thou dwellest not, O Lord of all In temples which thy children raise; Our work to thine is mean and small, And brief to thy eternal days. Forgive the weakness and the pride, If marred thereby our gift may be, For love, at least, has sanctified The altar that we rear to thee. The heart and not the hand has wrought From sunken base to tower above The image of a tender thought, The memory of a deathless love! And though should never sound of speech Or organ echo from its wall, Its stones would pious lessons teach, Its shade in benedictions fall. Here should the dove of peace be found, And blessings and not curses given; Nor strife profane, nor hatred wound, The mingled loves of earth and heaven. Thou, who didst soothe with dying breath The dear one watching by Thy cross, Forgetful of the pains of death In sorrow for her mighty loss, In memory of that tender claim, O Mother-born, the offering take, And make it worthy of Thy name, And bless it for a mother's sake! 1868. A SPIRITUAL MANIFESTATION. Read at the President's Levee, Brown University, 29th 6th month, 1870. To-day the plant by Williams set Its summer bloom discloses; The wilding sweethrier of his prayers Is crowned with cultured roses. Once more the Island State repeats The lesson that he taught her, And binds his pearl of charity Upon her brown-locked daughter. Is 't fancy that he watches still His Providence plantations? That still the careful Founder takes A part on these occasions. Methinks I see that reverend form, Which all of us so well know He rises up to speak; he jogs The presidential elbow.