aside to strengthen it till came the fateful day;
But God, who rules the nations, to whom all bow the knee,
Will say to them on judgment day, "_Ye did it not to Me._"

EYE HATH NOT SEEN

Somewhere in the realms supernal
Is a home prepared for me,
Where my joys shall be eternal,
And my spirit ever free;
Mortal vision helps not here,
God conceals it from my sight,
By effulgent beams of light;
Oh that He would bring it near!

But I hear a voice say, softly,
"Be content to leave it so,
For God's thoughts are far too lofty
For a man like thee to know;
Human spirits must be free
From their tenements of clay,
Ere they bear that full-orbed day,
Bide thy time and thou shalt see."

I cannot draw back the curtain
That conceals the glory land,
Yet my hope is sure and certain,
For the tracings of God's hand
On the outside do appear,
Like the cherubim of old,
Wrought in needle-work and gold,
Bringing all the glory near.

He who made the lovely flowers
Which adorn both shrub and tree,
Climbing vine, and shady bowers,
In this beauty speaks to me:
'Tis the curtain of His tent,
Hiding much, yet much reveals,
Type of the Elysian fields;
Glory streams thro' woof and rent.

WHAT LASTS?

The words we speak on the empty air,
Are never lost, but recorded there;
The process we may not comprehend,
Nor how the words with the air may blend,
But science shows what results may be;
Accept the fact, is enough for me.

The waves of sound may have died away
As ripples faint on a sheltered bay;
But though now faint will be heard again,
By God, ourselves, and the sons of men.
As sound e'en now may be multiplied;
The faintest moan like the roaring tide;
The housefly's tread with its tiny feet
Like tramp of horse on the stone-paved street.

So, though now faint, will those voices be,
When Christ shall come in His majesty;
Our quicken'd sense will the echo hear,
Like blast of horn to the timid deer.

In pleasant tones will the echoes be,
Of words of love and of happy glee,
Which we address to the friends we love,
Or offer up to our Lord above.

But, unlike those, all the echoes heard,
Of angry tones, and each sword-like word;
As we here mete to our fellow men,
The Judge shall mete in full measure then.

The thoughts we think may be lasting, too,
Though not inscribed on the azure blue;
On the tissued walls of the soul's great dome,
May be found those thoughts ne'er more t