THE GAIN OF LOSS O thou so weary of thy self-denials, And so impatient of thy little cross, Is it so hard to bear thy daily trials, And count all earthly things a gainful loss? Canst thou forget thy Christian superscription, "Behold, we count them happy which endure"? What treasure wouldst thou, in the land Egyptian, Repass the stormy water to secure? And wilt thou yield thy sure and glorious promise For the poor, fleeting joys earth can afford? No hand can take away the treasure from us That rests within the keeping of the Lord. A STRANGE BOON Oft when of God we ask For fuller, happier life, He sets us some new task Involving care and strife; Is this the boon for which we sought? Has prayer new trouble on us brought? This is indeed the boon, Though strange to us it seems; We pierce the rock, and soon The blessing on us streams; For when we are the most athirst, Then the clear waters on us burst. We toil as in the field Wherein, to us unknown, A treasure lies concealed Which may be all our own. And shall we of the toil complain That speedily will bring such gain? We dig the wells of life, And God the waters gives; We win our way by strife, Then he within us lives; And only war could make us meet For peace so sacred and so sweet. --Thomas Toke Lynch. STILL HOPE! STILL ACT! Still hope! still act! Be sure that life The source and strength of every good, Wastes down in feeling's empty strife, And dies in dreaming's sickly mood. To toil in tasks however mean For all we know of right and true-- In this alone our worth is seen, 'Tis this we were ordained to do. So shalt thou find, in work and thought: The peace that sorrow cannot give; Though grief's worst pangs to thee be taught, By thee let others nobler live. Oh, wait not in the darksome forest, Where thou must needs be left alone, But e'en when memory is sorest, Seek out a path and journey on! Thou wilt have angels near above By whom invisible aid is given; They journey still on tasks of love, And never rest except in heaven. --John Sterling. THEY SHALL NOT OVERFLOW In the floods of tribulation, While the billows o'er me roll, Jesus whispers consolation And supports my fainting soul; Sweet affliction That brings Jesus to my soul. Thus the lion yields me honey, From the eater food is given; Strengthened thus I still press forward, Singing on my way to heaven. Sweet affliction, Helping speed me on to heaven. So in darkest dispensations Doth my faithful Lord appear, With his richest consolations To reanimate and cheer; Sweet affliction, Thus to bring my Saviour near.