O Joy that seekest me through pain, I cannot close my heart to thee; I trace the rainbow through the rain, And feel the promise is not vain, That morn shall tearless be. O Cross that liftest up my head, I dare not ask to fly from thee; I lay in dust life's glory dead, And from the ground there blossoms red Life that shall endless be. --George Matheson. EAST LONDON 'Twas August, and the fierce sun overhead Smote on the squalid streets of Bethnal Green, And the pale weaver, through his windows seen In Spitalfields, look'd thrice dispirited. I met a preacher there I knew, and said: "Ill and o'erworked, how fare you in this scene?" "Bravely!" said he; "for I of late have been Much cheered with thoughts of Christ, _the living bread_." O human soul! as long as thou canst so Set up a mark of everlasting light Above the howling senses' ebb and flow To cheer thee, and to right thee if thou roam-- Not with lost toil thou laborest thro' the night! Thou mak'st the heaven thou hop'st indeed thy home. --Matthew Arnold. PRECIOUSNESS OF CHRIST Jesus, the very thought of thee With sweetness fills the breast; But sweeter far thy face to see, And in thy presence rest. No voice can sing, no heart can frame, Nor can the memory find, A sweeter sound than thy blest name, O Saviour of mankind! O hope of every contrite heart! O joy of all the meek! To those who ask how kind thou art, How good to those who seek! But what to those who find? Ah, this Nor tongue nor pen can show; The love of Jesus, what it is, None but his loved ones know. Jesus, our only joy be thou, As thou our prize wilt be; In thee be all our glory now, And through eternity. --Bernard of Clairvaux, tr. by Edward Caswall. A LITTLE TALK WITH JESUS A little talk with Jesus, How it smooths the rugged road! How it seems to help me onward, When I faint beneath my load; When my heart is crushed with sorrow, And my eyes with tears are dim, There is naught can yield me comfort Like a little talk with him. Ah, this is what I'm wanting-- His lovely face to see; And, I'm not afraid to say it, I know he's wanting me. He gave his life my ransom, To make me all his own, And he'll ne'er forget his promise To me his purchased one. I cannot live without him, Nor would I if I could; He is my daily portion, My medicine and food. He's altogether lovely, None can with him compare; Chiefest among ten thousand, And fairest of the fair.