When winds are raging o'er the upper ocean, And billows wild contend with angry roar, 'Tis said, far down beneath the wild commotion, That peaceful stillness reigneth evermore. Far, far beneath the noise of tempest dieth, And silver waves chime ever peacefully; And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth, Disturbs the Sabbath of that deeper sea. So to the soul that knows thy love, O Purest, There is a temple peaceful evermore. And all the babble of life's angry voices Dies hushed in stillness at its sacred door. Far, far away the noise of passion dieth, And loving thoughts rise ever peacefully; And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth, Disturbs that deeper rest, O Lord, in thee. O rest of rest! O peace serene, eternal! Thou ever livest, and thou changest never; And in the secret of thy presence dwelleth Fullness of joy, forever and forever. --Harriet Beecher Stowe. Life's burdens fall, its discords cease, I lapse into the glad release Of Nature's own exceeding peace. --John Greenleaf Whittier. BE STILL Let nothing make thee sad or fretful, Or too regretful; Be still. What God hath ordered must be right; Then find in it thy own delight, My will! Why shouldst thou fill to-day with sorrow About to-morrow, My heart? God watcheth all with care most true; Doubt not that he will give thee too Thy part. --Paul Fleming. SIT STILL (Ruth 3. 18.) Sit still, my child. 'Tis no great thing I ask, No glorious deed, no mighty task; But just to sit and patiently abide. Wait in my presence, in my word confide, "But oh! dear Lord, I long the sword to wield, Forward to go, and in the battle field To fight for thee, thine enemies o'erthrow, And in thy strength to vanquish every foe. "The harvest-fields spread out before me lie, The reapers toward me look, and vainly cry-- 'The field is white, the laborers are few; Our Lord's command is also sent to you,'" My child, it is a sweet and blessed thing To rest beneath the shadow of my wing; To feel thy doings and thy words are naught, To trust to me each restless, longing thought. "Dear Lord, help me this lesson sweet to learn, To sit at thy pierced feet and only yearn To love thee better, Lord, and feel that still Waiting is working, if it be thy will." THE QUIET MIND I have a treasure which I prize; The like I cannot find; There's nothing like it in the earth: It is a quiet mind. But 'tis not that I'm stupefied, Or senseless, dull, or blind: 'Tis God's own peace within my soul Which forms my quiet mind. I found this treasure at the Cross. 'Tis there to every kind Of heavy-laden, weary souls Christ gives a quiet mind.