e of Christ that comforted Tennyson when he wrote the words
of that beautiful poem:

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And, may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea.

* * * * *

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And, may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;

For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar.

--_Alfred Tennyson_

Some one has called the fourth verse of the Psalm a song of the waters.
Did you ever hear singing on the water? There is something wonderful
about it. The water seems to take all harshness out of the music, and
puts something exquisitely beautiful into it. Here then is "a psalm of
the waters," a song for the believer to sing when his feet are touching
the margin of the river: "When thou passest through the waters, I will
be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee....
For I am the +LORD+ thy God."

Here, too, is "a song in the night." Sing it, Christian pilgrim, when
earth's last hour is at hand. Sing it as you enter the valley. Sing it
as the darkness deepens. Sing it when the light of earth's day begins to
fade. Sing it when the earth is receding, heaven is opening and God is
calling you. Sing it until the glory of the eternal morn breaks upon
thine enraptured vision. Sing it until your feet stand upon that golden
shore against which death's chilly wave never again shall dash, and
where death is no more. Sing it, sing this song of the waters--"Yea,
though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no
evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me."

Why be afraid of Death as though your life were breath!
Death but anoints your eyes with clay. Oh glad surprise!

Why should you be forlorn? Death only husks the corn.
Why should you fear to meet the thresher of the wheat?

Is sleep a thing to dread? Yet sleeping, you are dead
Till you awake and rise, here, or beyond the skies.

Why should it be a wrench, to leave your wooden bench?
Why not with happy shout run home when school is out?

The dear ones left behind? O foolish one and blind.
A day--and you will meet--a night--and you will