Is it indeed thy peace? I have not tried To analyze my faith, dissect my trust, Or measure if belief be full and just, And therefore claim thy peace. But thou hast died, I know that this is true for me, And, knowing it, I come, and cast my all on thee. It is not that I feel less weak, but thou Wilt be my strength; it is not that I see Less sin, but more of pardoning love with thee, And all-sufficient grace. Enough! and now All fluttering thought is stilled, I only rest, And feel that thou art near, and know that I am blest. FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL. * * * * * LIVING WATERS. There are some hearts like wells, green-mossed and deep As ever Summer saw; And cool their water is,--yea, cool and sweet;-- But you must come to draw. They hoard not, yet they rest in calm content, And not unsought will give; They can be quiet with their wealth unspent, So self-contained they live. And there are some like springs, that bubbling burst To follow dusty ways, And run with offered cup to quench his thirst Where the tired traveller strays; That never ask the meadows if they want What is their joy to give;-- Unasked, their lives to other life they grant, So self-bestowed they live! And One is like the ocean, deep and wide, Wherein all waters fall; That girdles the broad earth, and draws the tide, Feeding and bearing all; That broods the mists, that sends the clouds abroad, That takes, again to give;-- Even the great and loving heart of God. Whereby all love doth live. CAROLINE S. SPENCER. * * * * * DEVOTION. The immortal gods Accept the meanest altars, that are raised By pure devotion; and sometimes prefer An ounce of frankincense, honey, or milk, Before whole hecatombs, or Sabæan gems, Offered in ostentation. PHILIP MASSINGER. * * * * * THE SEASIDE WELL. "Waters flowed over mine head; then I said, I am cut off."--LAMENTATIONS iii. 54. One day I wandered where the salt sea-tide Backward had drawn its wave, And found a spring as sweet as e'er hillside To wild-flowers gave. Freshly it sparkled in the sun's bright look, And mid its pebbles strayed, As if it thought to join a happy brook In some green glade. But soon the heavy sea's resistless swell Came rolling in once more, Spreading its bitter o'er the clear sweet well And pebbled shore. Like a fair star thick buried in a cloud, Or life in the grave's gloom, The well, enwrapped in a deep watery shroud, Sunk to its tomb.