God of the chrysalis, Grant that my grave may be a cell of bliss. God of the butterfly, Help me to vanquish Death, although I die. --Frederic Lawrence Knowles. O JESUS CHRIST, GROW THOU IN ME O Jesus Christ, grow thou in me, And all things else recede! My heart be daily nearer thee, From sin be daily freed. Each day let Thy supporting might My weakness still embrace; My darkness vanish in thy light, Thy life my death efface. In thy bright beams which on me fall Fade every evil thought; That I am nothing, Thou art all, I would be daily taught. More of thy glory let me see, Thou holy, wise and true, I would thy living image be, In joy and sorrow too. Fill me with gladness from above, Hold me by strength divine; Lord, let the glow of thy great love Through my whole being shine. Make this poor self grow less and less; Be Thou my life and aim; Oh, make me daily through thy grace More meet to bear thy name! Let faith in Thee and in thy might My every motive move; Be thou alone my soul's delight, My passion and my love. --Henry B. Smith. DAY BY DAY Looking upward every day, Sunshine on our faces, Pressing onward every day Toward the heavenly places; Growing every day in awe, For thy name is holy; Learning every day to love With a love more lowly. Walking every day more close To our Elder Brother; Growing every day more true Unto one another; Every day more gratefully Kindnesses receiving, Every day more readily Injuries forgiving. Leaving every day behind Something which might hinder; Running swifter every day, Growing purer, kinder-- Lord, so pray we every day; Hear us in thy pity, That we enter in at last To the holy city. --Mary Butler. Better to have the poet's heart than brain, Feeling than song; but, better far than both, To be a song, a music of God's making. Or but a table on which God's finger of flame, In words harmonious of triumphant verse, That mingles joy and sorrow, sets down clear That out of darkness he hath called the light. It may be voice to such is after given To tell the mighty tale to other worlds. --George Macdonald. FREE FROM SIN The bird let loose in eastern skies, When hastening fondly home, Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies Where idle warblers roam; But high she shoots through air and light Above all low delay, Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, Nor shadow dims her way.