ONLY waiting, till the shadows
Are a little longer grown ;
Only waiting, till the glimmer
Of the day's last beam is flown ;
Till the light of earth is faded
From the heart once full of day; Till the stars of heaven are breaking Through the twilight soft and gray. Only waiting, till the reapers
Have the last sheaf gathered home; For the summer-time is faded,
And the autumn winds have come. Quickly, reapers,-gather quickly
These last ripe hours of my heart; For the bloom of life is withered, And I hasten to depart.
Only waiting, till the shadows
Are a little longer grown ; Only waiting, till the glimmer
Of the day's last beam is flown. Then, from out the gathered darkness Holy, deathless stars shall rise, By whose light my soul shall gladly Tread its pathway to the skies.
FAREWELL, brother! deep and lowly
Rest thee on thy bed of clay.
Kindred saints and angels holy
Bore thy heavenward soul away.
Sad, we gave thee to that number
Laid in yonder icy halls,
Where, above thy peaceful slumber,
Many a shower of sorrow falls.
Hear our prayer, O God of glory,
Lowly breathed in sorrow's song! Bleeding hearts lie bare before thee, Come in holy trust made strong. Hark! a voice moves nearer, stronger, From the shadowy land we dread: "Mortals, upward! seek no longer Those that live among the dead!"
Farewell, brother! soon we meet thee
Where no cloud of sorrow rolls:
For glad tidings float, how sweetly!
From the glorious land of souls.
Death's cold gloom-it parts asunder:
Lo! the folding shades are gone.
Mourner, upward! yonder, yonder,
God's broad day comes pouring on!
O THOU, lover of my soul,
Let me to thy bosom fly,
While the nearer waters roll,
While the tempest still is high.
Hide me, O my Father! hide,
Till the storm of life be past;
Safe into the haven guide;
Oh, receive my soul at last!
Other refuge have I none;
Helpless hangs my soul on thee;
Leave, oh, leave me not alone!
Still support and comfort me.
All my trust on thee is stayed,
All my help from thee I bring;
Cover my defenceless head
With the shadow of thy wing.
Wilt thou not regard my call?
Wilt thou not accept my prayer?
Lo! I sink, I faint, I fall;
Lo! on thee I cast my care:
Reach me out thy gracious hand,
While I of thy strength receive:
Hoping against hope I stand;
Dying, and, behold! I live.
Thou, O God, art all I want;
More than all in thee I find :
Raise the fallen, cheer the faint,
Heal the sick, and lead the blind.
Thou of life the fountain art;
Freely let me take of thee;
Spring thou up within my heart:
Rise to all eternity.
749. The Christ in Heaven.
He is gone; a cloud of light
Has received him from our sight;
High in heaven where eye of men
Follows not, nor angels' ken:
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; toward 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.
WHERE is he that came to save?
Where is he that lived to bless?
Lying in the silent grave,
Sorrow-stricken hearts confess.
In the grave, yet not to earth
Wholly sink heroic lives,
While the memory of their worth
In the heart of man survives.
Watching weary nights in tears,
Thinking of the words he said,
Lo! to them again appears
Image of the sacred dead.
Round the holy sepulchre
Never-dying glories shine;
Midst its hallowed silence stir
Echoes of a voice divine.
Oft in weakness, fear, and gloom,
Now, as then, despairing eyes,
Turning to the Master's tomb,
See, with joy, his spirit rise,-
Rise triumphant from its dust,
Rise again to save and bless,
Spirit of immortal trust,
Breath of truth and holiness.
Seth Curtis Beach. 1877.
75 I. “Suffer the Little Children to come unto me.” THEY are going, - only going:
Jesus called them long ago;
All the wintry time they're passing
Softly as the falling snow.
When the violets, in the spring-time,
Catch the azure of the sky,
They are carried out to slumber
Sweetly where the violets lie.
They are going, - only going,-
When with summer earth is drest,
In their cold hands holding roses
Folded to each silent breast;
When the autumn hangs red banners
Out above the harvest sheaves,
They are going, ever going,
Thick and fast, like falling leaves.
All along the mighty ages,
All adown the solemn time,
They have taken up their homeward
March to that serener clime,
Where the watching, waiting angels
Lead them from the shadow dim,
To the brightness of his presence,
Who has called them unto him.
Patriarch, and holy prophet,
Who prepared the way of Christ,
King, apostle, saint, and martyr,
Confessor, evangelist,
Saintly maiden, godly matron,
Widows who have watched to prayer,
Joined in holy concert, singing
To the Lord of all, are there. Marching with thy cross their banner, They have triumphed, following Thee, the Captain of Salvation,
Thee, their Saviour and their King. Gladly, Lord, with thee they suffered; Gladly, Lord, with thee they died; And by death to life immortal
They were born, and glorified. Now they reign in heavenly glory:
Now they walk in golden light; Now they drink, as from a river,
Holy bliss and infinite;
Love and peace they taste for ever,
And all truth and knowledge see
In the beatific vision
Of the Father and of thee.
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