Floods of tribulation heighten, Billows still around me roar; Those who know not Christ they frighten; But my soul defies their power: Sweet affliction, Thus to bring my Saviour near. In the sacred page recorded, Thus His word securely stands; "Fear not; I'm, in trouble, near thee, Naught shall pluck thee from my hands." Sweet affliction, Every word my love demands. All I meet, I find, assists me In my path to heavenly joy, Where, though trials now attend me, Trials never more annoy. Sweet affliction, Every promise gives me joy. Wearing there a weight of glory, Still the path I'll ne'er forget, But, exulting, cry it led me To my blessed Saviour's seat; Sweet affliction, Which hath brought me to his feet. --Pearce. Glory to God--to God! he saith, Knowledge by suffering entereth, And life is perfected by death. --Elizabeth Barrett Browning. HIS WAYS I asked for grace to lift me high, Above the world's depressing cares. God sent me sorrows,--with a sigh I said, He has not heard my prayers. I asked for light, that I might see My path along life's thorny road; But clouds and darkness shadowed me When I expected light from God. I asked for peace, that I might rest To think my sacred duties o'er, When lo! such horrors filled my breast As I had never felt before. And O, I cried, can this be prayer Whose plaints the steadfast mountains move? Can this be heaven's prevailing care? And, O my God, is this thy love? But soon I found that sorrow, worn As duty's garment, strength supplies, And out of darkness meekly borne Unto the righteous light doth rise. And soon I found that fears which stirred My startled soul God's will to do, On me more real peace conferred Than in life's calm I ever knew. Then, Lord, in thy mysterious ways Lead my dependent spirit on, And whensoe'er it kneels and prays, Teach it to say, "Thy will be done!" Let its one thought, one hope, one prayer, Thine image seek, thy glory see; Let every other wish and care Be left confidingly to thee. --John Samuel Bewley Monsell. COMPENSATION Not in each shell the diver brings to air Is found the priceless pearl, but only where Mangled, and torn, and bruised well-nigh to death, The wounded oyster draws its laboring breath. O tired and suffering soul! gauge here your gain; The pearl of patience is the fruit of pain. --Caroline Atherton Mason. THE DARK ANGEL