Yet if through earth's wide domains thou rovest, Sighing that they are not thine alone. Not those fair fields, but thyself thou lovest, And their beauty and thy wealth are gone. Nature wears the color of the spirit; Sweetly to her worshipper she sings; All the glow, the grace she doth inherit, Round her trusting child she fondly flings. HARRIET WINSLOW SEWALL. * * * * * PRAYER AND ANSWER. O God, I cannot walk the Way,-- The thorns, the thirst, the darkness, And bleeding feet and aching heart! I hear the songs and revels of the throng,-- They sneer upon my downcast face with scorn,-- Yet, O my God, I _must_ and shall walk with Thee! O God, I cannot take the Truth! Far easier honeyed hopes and falsehoods fair, But Truth,--the Truth is stern and strong and awful. It ploughs my soul with ploughshares flaming hot-- Yet give me Truth. I must have Truth, O God! O God, I cannot live the Life,-- The flinging all to death that life may come; The surging of Thy Spirit in my heart In fire and flame will all consume me,-- Yet, O my God, I cannot live without Thee! And as I agonized in dust and shame With tears and sighs in all the bitter prayer, I felt, as 't were, an arm that stole around me, And raised me to my feet. And at the touch, hope blossomed in my heart, And new-found strength in flood-tides thrilled and throbbed Through soul and limbs. I looked to see.... O tender lordly Face! It was Himself,--_the Way, the Truth, the Life_! OLIVER HUCKEL. * * * * * THE AIM. O thou who lovest not alone The swift success, the instant goal, But hast a lenient eye to mark The failures of th' inconstant soul, Consider not my little worth,-- The mean achievement, scamped in act, The high resolve and low result, The dream that durst not face the fact. But count the reach of my desire. Let this be something in Thy sight:-- I have not, in the slothful dark, Forgot the Vision and the Height. Neither my body nor my soul To earth's low ease will yield consent. I praise Thee for my will to strive. I bless Thy goad of discontent. CHARLES G.D. ROBERTS. * * * * * THE LOVE OF GOD SUPREME. Thou hidden love of God, whose height, Whose depth unfathomed no man knows, I see from far thy beauteous light, Inly I sigh for thy repose. My heart is pained, nor can it be At rest till it finds rest in thee. Thy secret voice invites me still The sweetness of thy yoke to prove, And fain I would; but though my will Be fixed, yet wide my passions rove. Yet hindrances strew all the way; I aim at thee, yet from thee stray.