He leads us on, By paths we did not know Upward He leads us, though our steps be slow, Though oft we faint and falter on the way, Though storms and darkness oft obscure the day, Yet when the clouds are gone We know He leads us on. He leads us on Through all the unquiet years; Past all our dreamland hopes, and doubts, and fears He guides our steps. Through all the tangled maze Of sin, of sorrow, and o'erclouded days We know His will is done; And still He leads us on. And He, at last, After the weary strife-- After the restless fever we call life-- After the dreariness, the aching pain, The wayward struggles which have proved in vain, After our toils are past-- Will give us rest at last. --_Unidentified._ NOTHING BUT LEAVES. Nothing but leaves: the spirit grieves Over a wasted life. Sins committed while conscience slept; Promises made, but never kept; Hatred, battle, and strife-- Nothing but leaves. Nothing but leaves: no garnered sheaves Of life's fair ripened grain; Words, idle words, for earnest deeds. We sow our seed--lo! tares and weeds: Go reap with toil and pain Nothing but leaves. Nothing but leaves: memory weaves No veil to sever the past; As we return our weary way, Counting each lost and misspent day, We find sadly, at last, Nothing but leaves. And shall we meet the Master so, Bearing our withered leaves? The Saviour looks for perfect fruit: We stand before Him, humbled, mute, Waiting the word He breathes-- Nothing but leaves. --_Unidentified._ BECAUSE HE FIRST LOVED US. I love Thee, O my God! but not For what I hope thereby, Nor yet because who love Thee not Must die eternally. I love Thee, O my God! and still I ever will love Thee, Solely because, my God, Thou art Who first has lovèd me! For me, to lowest depths of woe Thou didst Thyself abase; For me didst bear the cross, the shame, And manifold disgrace; For me didst suffer pains unknown, Blood-sweat and agony. Yea, death itself--all, all for me! For me, Thine enemy! Then shall I not, O Saviour, mine! Shall I not love Thee well? Not with the hope of winning heaven, Nor of escaping hell; Not with the hope of earning aught, Nor seeking a reward; But freely, fully, as Thyself Hast lovèd me, O Lord! --_Francis Xavier._ SONNET.