Saw ye my Saviour? Heard ye the glad sound? Felt ye the power of the Word? 'Twas the Truth that made us free, And was found by you and me In the life and the love of our Lord. Mourner, it calls you,--"Come to my bosom, Love wipes your tears all away, And will lift the shade of gloom, And for you make radiant room Midst the glories of one endless day." Sinner, it calls you,--"Come to this fountain, Cleanse the foul senses within; 'Tis the Spirit that makes pure, That exalts thee, and will cure All thy sorrow and sickness and sin." Strongest deliverer, friend of the friendless, Life of all being divine: Thou the Christ, and not the creed; Thou the Truth in thought and deed; Thou the water, the bread, and the wine. _LAUS DEO!_ The laying of the corner-stone of The Mother Church. Laus Deo, it is done! Rolled away from loving heart Is a stone. Lifted higher, we depart, Having one. _Laus Deo_,--on this rock (Heaven chiseled squarely good) Stands His church,-- God is Love, and understood By His flock. _Laus Deo_, night star-lit Slumbers not in God's embrace; Be awake; Like this stone, be in thy place: Stand, not sit. Grave, silent, steadfast stone, Dirge and song and shoutings low In thy heart Dwell serene,--and sorrow? No, It has none, _Laus Deo!_ _OUR NATIONAL THANKSGIVING HYMN_ God of the rolling year! to Thee we raise A nation's holiest hymn in grateful praise! Plenty and peace abound at Thy behest, Yet wherefore this Thy love? Thou knowest best! Thou who, impartial, blessings spreadst abroad, Thou wisdom, Love, and Truth,--divinely God! Who giveth joy and tears, conflict and rest, Teaching us thus of Thee, who knowest best! Ruler Supreme! to Thee we'll meekly bow, When we have learned of Truth what Thou doest now-- Why from this festive hour some dear lost guest Bears hence its sunlit glow--Thou knowest best! How have our honored dead fought on in gloom! Peace her white wings will spread over their tomb; Why waited their reward, triumph and rest, Till molds the hero form? Thou knowest best! Shades of our heroes! the Union now is one, The star whose destiny none may outrun; Tears of the bleeding slave poured on her breast, When to be wiped away, Thou knowest best! Thou who in the Christ hallowed its grief,-- O meekest of mourners, while yet the chief,-- Give to the pleading hearts comfort and rest, In that benediction which knoweth best! Lynn, Mass., _December 7, 1865_. _SATISFIED_ It matters not what be thy lot, So Love doth guide; For storm or shine, pure peace is thine, Whate'er betide.