But the acceptance, that must be, MY CHRIST, by thee. ROBERT HERRICK. * * * * * PEACE. Sweet Peace, where dost thou dwell? I humbly crave. Let me once know. I sought thee in a secret cave; And asked if Peace were there. A hollow wind did seem to answer, "No! Go, seek elsewhere." I did; and, going, did a rainbow note: "Surely," thought I, "This is the lace of Peace's coat. I will search out the matter." But, while I looked, the clouds immediately Did break and scatter. Then went I to a garden, and did spy A gallant flower,-- The crown-imperial. "Sure," said I, "Peace at the root must dwell." But, when I digged, I saw a worm devour What showed so well. At length I met a reverend, good old man; Whom when for Peace I did demand, he thus began: "There was a prince of old At Salem dwelt, who lived with good increase Of flock and fold. "He sweetly lived; yet sweetness did not save His life from foes. But, after death, out of his grave There sprang twelve stalks of wheat; Which many wondering at, got some of those To plant and set. "It prospered strangely, and did soon disperse Through all the earth. For they that taste it do rehearse, That virtue lies therein,-- A secret virtue, bringing peace and mirth, By flight of sin. "Take of this grain, which in my garden grows, And grows for you: Make bread of it; and that repose And peace which everywhere With so much earnestness you do pursue, Is only there." GEORGE HERBERT. * * * * * PEACE. Is this the peace of God, this strange sweet calm? The weary day is at its zenith still, Yet 't is as if beside some cool, clear rill, Through shadowy stillness rose an evening psalm. And all the noise of life were hushed away, And tranquil gladness reigned with gently soothing sway. It was not so just now. I turned aside With aching head, and heart most sorely bowed; Around me cares and griefs in crushing crowd. While inly rose the sense, in swelling tide, Of weakness, insufficiency, and sin, And fear, and gloom, and doubt in mighty flood rolled in. That rushing flood I had no power to meet, Nor power to flee: my present, future, past, Myself, my sorrow, and my sin I cast In utter helplessness at Jesu's feet: Then bent me to the storm, if such his will. He saw the winds and waves, and whispered. "Peace, be still!" And there was calm! O Saviour, I have proved That thou to help and save art really near: How else this quiet rest from grief and fear And all distress? The cross is not removed, I must go forth to bear it as before, But, leaning on thine arm, I dread its weight no more.