I need thy presence every passing hour. What but thy grace can foil the Tempter's power? Who like thyself my guide and stay can be? Through cloud and sunshine, O abide with me! I fear no foe with thee at hand to bless: Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness. Where is death's sting, where, grave, thy victory? I triumph still, if thou abide with me. Hold thou thy cross before my closing eyes; Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies: Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee: In life and death, O Lord, abide with me! HENRY FRANCIS LYTE. * * * * * THE DISCIPLES AFTER THE ASCENSION. He is gone! beyond the skies, A cloud receives him from our eyes: Gone beyond the highest height Of mortal gaze or angel's flight: Through the veils of time and space, Passed into the holiest place: All the toil, the sorrow done, All the battle fought and won. He is gone; and we return, And our hearts within us burn; Olivet no more shall greet With welcome shout his coming feet: Never shall we track him more On Gennesareth's glistening shore: Never in that look or voice Shall Zion's walls again rejoice. He is gone; and we remain In this world of sin and pain: In the void which he has left, On this earth of him bereft, We have still his work to do, We can still his path pursue: Seek him both in friend and foe, In ourselves his image show. He is gone; we heard him say, "Good that I should go away"; Gone is that dear form and face, But not gone his present grace; Though himself no more we see, Comfortless we cannot be; No! his Spirit still is ours, Quickening, freshening all our powers. He is gone; towards their goal World and church must onward roll; Far behind we leave the past, Forward are our glances cast; Still his words before us range Through the ages, as they change: Wheresoe'er the truth shall lead, He will give whate'er we need. He is gone; but we once more Shall behold him as before, In the heaven of heavens the same As on earth he went and came. In the many mansions there Place for us he will prepare: In that world, unseen, unknown, He and we may yet be one. He is gone; but not in vain,-- Wait until he comes again: He is risen, he is not here; Far above this earthly sphere: Evermore in heart and mind, Where our peace in him we find, To our own eternal Friend, Thitherward let us ascend. ARTHUR PENRHYN STANLEY. * * * * * WRESTLING JACOB. FIRST PART. Come, O thou Traveller unknown, Whom still I hold, but cannot see; My company before is gone, And I am left alone with thee; With thee all night I mean to stay, And wrestle till the break of day.