WIMBORNE. 118 & 10s. GREATOREY's Col. (by permission).

270.

8 D. ROBBINS.

The Compass.
1 Thou art, O God! my East. In thee I dawned;

Within me ever let thy day-spring shine;
Then, for cach night of sorrow I have mourned,

I'll bless thee, Father, since it seals me thine.
2 Thou art, O God! my North. My trembling soul,

Like a charmed needle, points to thee alone;
Each wave of time, each storm of life, shall roll

My trusting spirit forward to thy throne.
3 Thou art, O God! my South. Thy fervent love

Perennial verdure o'er my life hath shed;
And constant sunshine from thy heart of love,

With wine and oil thy grateful child hath fed.
4 Thou art, O God! my West. Into thy arms,

Glad as the setting sun, may I decline;
Baptized from carthly stains and sin's alarms
Re-born, arise in thy new heavens to shine.

271.

J. VERY

“I wait for the Lord; my soul doth wait."
1 Fatuer, I wait thy word. The sun doth stand

Beneath the mingling line of night and day,
A listening servant, waiting thy command
To roll rejoicing on its silent way.

1 Ix holy books we read how God hath spoken

To holy men in many different ways;
But hath the present worked no sign nor token?

Is God quite silent in these latter days ?
2 The word were but a blank, a hollow sound,

If he that spake it were not speaking still;
If all the light and all the shade around

Were aught but issues of Almighty Will.
8 So, then, believe that every bird that sings,

And every flower that stars the elastic soil,
And every thought the happy summer brings,

To the pure spirit is a word of God.