To that love which can forgive; To that judgment which is just ; Which can pity all my weakness;

Which hath seen the life-long strife Of passions fiercer than the knife; Known the desolating bleakness Of my desert path through life, God of love!

I must perish in my youth;
And had I been better taught,
And did Virtue as it ought,
And had grey-haired Wisdom ruth,
I should not have fallen so low.
'Tis the power of circumstance,
'Tis the wretch's dire mischance,
To be born to sin and woe.

Pity Thou my ignorance,

God of love!

REJOICING IN HEAVEN.

YOUNG spirit, freed from bondage,
Rejoice! Thy work is done;
The weary world is 'neath thy feet;
Thou, brighter than the sun!

Arise, put on the garments

Which the redeeméd win.

Now, sorrow hath no part in thee,
Thou, sanctified from sin!

Awake, and breathe the living air
Of our celestial clime!

Awake to love which knows no change,
Thou, who hast done with time!

Awake! Lift up thy joyful eyes,
See, all heaven's host appears;

And be thou glad exceedingly,

Thou, who hast done with tears.

Awake! descend! Thou art not now
With those of mortal birth;

The living God hath touched thy lips,
Thou, who hast done with earth!

THE GRAVE'S VICTOR.

YES, than earth's mightiest mightier, O Grave, thou hast thy vanquisher! Long in thy night was man forlorn, Long didst thou laugh his hope to scorn : Vainly Philosophy might dream :Her light was but the meteor gleam,

Till rose the Conqueror of Death, -
The humble Man of Nazareth:
He stood between us and despair;
He bore, and gave us strength to bear;
The mysteries of the grave unsealed,
Our glorious destiny revealed;

Nor sage nor bard may comprehend
The heaven of rest to which we tend.
Our home is not this mortal clime;
Our life hath not its bounds in time;
And death is but the cloud that lies
Between our souls and paradise.

O Grave! well might each thoughtful race Give thee the high and holy place : Mountains and groves were meet for thee, Thou portal of eternity!

Philip James Bailey.

SONG OF THE SAINTS.

FROM "FESTUS."

CALL all who love Thee, Lord! to Thee;
Thou knowest how they long

To leave these broken lays, and aid
In Heaven's unceasing song;

How they long, Lord! to go to Thee,
And hail Thee with their eyes, -
Thee in Thy blessedness, and all
The nations of the skies.

All who have loved Thee and done well, Of every age, creed, clime,

The host of saved ones from the ends

And all the worlds of time:

The wise in matter and in mind,
The soldier, sage, and priest,
King, prophet, hero, saint, and bard,
The greatest soul and least.

The old and young and very babe,
The maiden and the youth,
All re-born angels of one age -

The age of Heaven and truth;
The rich, the poor, the good, the bad,
Redeemed alike from sin;

Lord! close the book of time, and let
Eternity begin.

THIS LIFE'S ULTIMATE KNOWLEDGE.

AND as the vesper hymn of Time precedes
The starry matins of Eternity

And daybreak of existence in the Heavens, -
To know this, is to know we shall depart
Into the storm-surrounding calm on high,
The sacred cirque, the all-central infinite
Of that self-blessedness wherein abides
Our God, all kind, all loving, all beloved;
To feel life one great ritual, and its laws
Writ in the vital rubric of the blood,
Flow in obedience and flow out command,