d we see thee suffering nigh,
And passed thee with unheeding eye?
Great God of judgment, say!"

Ah! little dream our listless eyes
What glorious presence they despise
While, in our noon of life,
To power or fame we rudely press.--
Christ is at hand, to scorn or bless,
Christ suffers in our strife.

And though heaven's gates long since have closed,
And our dear Lord in bliss reposed,
High above mortal ken,
To every ear in every land
(Though meek ears only understand)
He speaks as he did then.

"Ah! wherefore persecute ye me?
'T is hard, ye so in love should be
With your own endless woe.
Know, though at God's right hand I live,
I feel each wound ye reckless give
To the least saint below.

"I in your care my brethren left,
Not willing ye should be bereft
Of waiting on your Lord.
The meanest offering ye can make--
A drop of water--for love's sake,
In heaven, be sure, is stored."

Oh, by those gentle tones and dear,
When thou hast stayed our wild career,
Thou only hope of souls,
Ne'er let us cast one look behind,
But in the thought of Jesus find
What every thought controls.

As to thy last Apostle's heart
Thy lightning glance did then impart
Zeal's never-dying fire,
So teach us on thy shrine to lay
Our hearts, and let them day by day
Intenser blaze and higher.

And as each mild and winning note
(Like pulses that round harp-strings float
When the full strain is o'er)
Left lingering on his inward ear
Music, that taught, as death drew near,
Love's lesson more and more:

So, as we walk our earthly round,
Still may the echo of that sound
Be in our memory stored:
"Christians, behold your happy state;
Christ is in these who round you wait;
Make much of your dear Lord!"

JOHN KEBLE.

* * * * *

"ROCK OF AGES."

"Such hymns are never forgotten. They cling to us through our
whole life. We carry them with us upon our journey. We sing
them in the forest. The workman follows the plough with sacred
songs. Children catch them, and singing only for the joy it
gives them now, are yet laying up for all their life food of
the sweetest joy."--HENRY WARD BEECHER.

"Rock of Ages, cleft for me,"
Thoughtlessly the maiden sung.
Fell the words unconsciously
From her girlish, gleeful tongue;
Sang as little ch