And friends, dear friends,--when it shall be That this low breath is gone from me, And round my bier ye come to weep, Let one, most loving of you all, Say, 'Not a tear must o'er her fall-- He giveth His beloved, sleep.' --_E. B. Browning._ How gentle God's commands! How kind his precepts are! Come, cast your burdens on the Lord, And trust his constant care. Beneath his watchful eye His saints securely dwell; That hand which bears all nature up Shall guard his children well. Why should this anxious load Press down your weary mind? Haste to your heavenly Father's throne And sweet refreshment find. His goodness stands approved, Unchanged from day to day: I'll drop my burden at his feet, And bear a song away. --_Doddridge._ BE STRONG. Be strong to _hope_, O Heart! Though day is bright, The stars can only shine In the dark night. Be strong, O Heart of mine, Look towards the light! Be strong to _bear_, O Heart! Nothing is vain: Strive not, for life is care, And God sends pain; Heaven is above, and there Rest will remain! Be strong to _love_, O Heart! Love knows not wrong; Didst thou love--creatures even, Life were not long; Didst thou love God in heaven, Thou wouldst be strong! --_Adelaide Procter._ THE SLEEP OF THE BELOVED. "So He giveth his beloved sleep." Ps. cxxvii. 2. Sunlight has vanished, and the weary earth Lies resting from a long day's toil and pain, And, looking for a new dawn's early birth, Seeks strength in slumber for its toil again. We too would rest; but ere we close the eye Upon the consciousness of waking thought, Would calmly turn it to yon star-bright sky, And lift the soul to Him who slumbers not. Above us is thy hand with tender care, Distilling over us the dew of sleep: Darkness seems loaded with oblivious air, In deep forgetfulness each sense to steep. Thou hast provided midnight's hour of peace, Thou stretchest over us the wing of rest; With more than all a parent's tenderness, Foldest us sleeping to thy gentle breast. Grief flies away; care quits our easy couch, Till wakened by thy hand, when breaks the day-- Like the lone prophet by the angel's touch,-- We rise to tread again our pilgrim-way. God of our life! God of each day and night, Oh, keep us still till life's short race is run! Until there dawns the long, long day of light. That knows no night, yet needs no star nor sun. --_Horatius Bonar._ SELF-DEPENDENCE. Weary of myself, and sick of asking What I am, and what I ought to be, At this vessel's prow I stand, which bears me Forwards, forwards, o'er the starlit sea. And a look of passionate desire O'er the sea and to the stars I send: "Ye who from my childhood up have calmed me, Calm me, ah, compose me to the end!