The Shadow of the Rock! To weary feet, That have been diligent and fleet, The sleep is deeper and the shade more sweet. O weary, rest! Thou art sore pressed-- Rest in the shadow of the Rock! The Shadow of the Rock! Thy bed is made; Crowds of tired souls like thine are laid This night beneath the self-same placid shade. They who rest here Wake with Heaven near-- Rest in the Shadow of the Rock! The Shadow of the Rock! Pilgrim! sleep sound; In night's swift hours with silent bound, The Rock will put thee over leagues of ground, Gaining more way By night than day-- Rest in the Shadow of the Rock! The Shadow of the Rock! One day of pain, Thou scarce wilt hope the Rock to gain, Yet there wilt sleep thy last sleep on the plain; And only wake In Heaven's daybreak-- Rest in the Shadow of the Rock. --_F. W. Faber._ ELEGY. Sleep on my love, in thy cold bed, Never to be disquieted! My last good night! Thou wilt not wake Till I thy fate shall overtake, Till age, or grief, or sickness, must Marry my body to that dust It so much loves, and fill the room My heart keeps empty in thy tomb. Stay for me there; I will not fail To meet thee in that narrow vale; And think not much of my delay: I am already on the way, And follow thee with all the speed Desire can make, or sorrows breed. For hark! my heart, like a soft drum, Beats my approach, tells thee I come; And howe'er long my marches be, I shall at last lie down by thee. * * * * * Each minute is a short degree, And every hour a step toward thee; At night when I betake to rest, Next morn I rise nearer my west Of life, almost by eight hours' sail, Than when sleep breathed his drowsy gale. The thought of this bids me go on, And wait my dissolution With hope and comfort. Dear, forgive The crime: I am content to live Divided, with but half a heart, Till we shall meet and never part. --_Henry King._ REST YONDER. This is not my place of resting Mine's a city yet to come; Onwards to it I am hasting-- On to my eternal home. In it all is light and glory, O'er it shines a nightless day; Every trace of sin's sad story, All the curse, has passed away. There the Lamb, our Shepherd, leads us, By the streams of life along; On the freshest pastures feeds us, Turns our sighing into song. Soon we pass this desert dreary, Soon we bid farewell to pain; Never more be sad or weary, Never, never sin again. --_Horatius Bonar._ Soldiers of Christ, arise, And gird your armor on, Strong in the strength which God supplies, Through His eternal Son: