III-WHEN THE WEARY, SEEKING REST.

THEN the weary, seeking rest,

WHEN

To Thy goodness flee;

When the heavy-laden cast

All their load on Thee;
When the troubled, seeking peace,

On Thy Name shall call ;

When the sinner, seeking life,
At Thy feet shall fall:

Hear then, in love, O Lord, the cry,
In heaven, Thy dwelling-place on high.

When the worldling, sick at heart,
Lifts his soul above;

When the prodigal looks back
To His Father's love;
When the proud man, in his pride,
Stoops to seek Thy face;

When the burdened brings his guilt
To Thy throne of grace;

Hear then, in love, O Lord, the cry,
In heaven, Thy dwelling-place on high.

When the stranger asks a home,
All his toils to end;

When the hungry craveth food,
And the poor a friend;
When the sailor on the wave

Bows the fervent knee:

When the soldier on the field

Lifts his heart to Thee:

Hear then, in love, O Lord, the cry,
In heaven, Thy dwelling-place on high.

When the man of toil and care
In the city crowd;
When the shepherd on the moor
Names the name of God;
When the learned and the high,

Tired of earthly fame,

Upon higher joys intent,

Name the blessèd Name:

Hear then, in love, O Lord, the cry,
In heaven, Thy dwelling-place on high.

When the child, with grave fresh lip
Youth, or maiden fair;
When the agèd, weak and grey,
Seek Thy face in prayer;
When the widow weeps to Thee,
Sad and lone and low;
When the orphan brings to Thee
All his orphan-woe:

Hear then, in love, O Lord, the cry,
In heaven, Thy dwelling-place on high.

When creation, in her pangs,

Heaves her heavy groan ;

When Thy Salem's exiled sons
Breathe their bitter moan;

When Thy widowed, weeping Church
Looking for a home,

Sendeth up her silent sigh

"Come, Lord Jesus, come :

Hear then, in love, O Lord, the cry

In heaven, Thy dwelling-place on high.

IV.-A FEW MORE YEARS SHALL ROLL.

A

FEW more years shall roll,

A few more seasons come,

And we shall be with those that rest

Asleep within the tomb :

Then, O my Lord, prepare

My soul for Thy great day;
O wash me in Thy precious Blood.
And take my sins away.

A few more suns shall set

O'er these dark hills of time;
And we shall be where suns are not,
A far serener clime.
Then, O my Lord, prepare

My soul for that blest day;
O wash me in Thy precious Blood,
And take my sins away.

A few more storms shall beat

On this wild rocky shore;

And we shall be where tempests cease,
And surges swell no more;

Then, O my Lord, prepare

My soul for that calm day;

O wash me in Thy precious Blood
And take my sins away.

A few more struggles here,

A few more partings o'er,

A few more toils, a few more tears,
And we shall weep no more

Then, O my Lord, prepare

My soul for that bright day; O wash me in Thy precious Blood, And take my sins away.

A few more Sabbaths here

Shall cheer us on our way,
And we shall reach the endless rest,
The eternal Sabbath-day:

Then, O my Lord, prepare

My soul for that sweet day; O wash me in Thy precious Blood, And take my sins away.

'Tis but a little while

And He shall come again,

Who died that we might live, who lives That we with Him may reign:

Then, O my Lord, prepare

My soul for that glad day;

O wash me in Thy precious Blood,

And take my sins away.

John Stuart Blackie.

1809-1895.

JOHN STUART BLACKIE is represented in another volume of the present Anthology by a selection of verse which was largely his own choice; but his "Songs of Religion and Life" (1876) give him claims to a place in any volume devoted to the sacred poetry of his time, hence two poems from that work are quoted here. Perhaps no better representation could be given of his fine manly religious spirit within the space than that afforded by the following lines entitled "The Laws of Nature" and the "Benedicite," given in the succeed. ing pages.

The fool hath in his heart declared,-by laws
Since time began,

Blind, and without intelligential cause,

Or reasoned plan,

All things are ruled. I from this lore dissent,

With sorrowful shame

That reasoning men such witless wit should vent
In reason's name.

O Thou that o'er this lovely world hast spread

Thy jocund light,

Weaving with flowers beneath, and stars o'erhead

This tissue bright

Of living powers, clear Thou my sense, that I

May ever find

In all the marshalled pomp of earth and sky

The marshalling mind!

257