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And if my heart and flesh are weak
To bear an untried pain,

The bruised reed He will not break
But strengthen and sustain.

WHITTIER.

WHAT a his way with me.

HAT a strange Being holds me in his might,

Oh! what if fear should, after all, be right?
Then what a terror nearing God must be !
With such unfailing gifts of life and light,
Why should I dread the Giver's self to see?

I went my daily ways thus questioning,
My foremost care a cagèd soul of song
That met me always with a frightened wing,
As fearing I had come to do it wrong.
Often I said: How passing strange a thing,
When I have fed its little life so long!"

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But lo! a marvel even greater yet,

The timid creature, wildly beating first, Sank, on a sudden, close as it could get,

And still,—as though its very heart had burst; While on my own such steadfast eyes were set

As dared me, in their trust, to do my worst.

Between the bars was thrust its ventured breast,
Whose plumy, golden curve now hardly stirred;
Then was my long pent tenderness expressed
In touches like the softest whispered word.
Ah, life-long trembler, needlessly distressed,
Me and my love you know at last, poor bird!

A new and grateful joy ran through my heart,
And wet my unsealed eyes like any woe;
But with what rapture fell my lips apart :

"I thank thee, Father, I have learned Thee so ! As I, to this frail thing, to me Thou art,

And through my own, the heart of God I know!

CHARLOTTE FISKE BATES.

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"Make the house where gods may dwell Beautiful, entire and clean."

"Whatsoever road I take, joins the highway That leads to Thee!"

"Rest is not quitting this busy career, Rest is the fitting of self to one's sphere."

SONGS IN THE HOUSE OF MY PIL,

GRIMAGE.

"There's a song in the air, there's a star in the sky."

O

PEN the western gate,

And let the daylight go,

In pomp of royal state

In rose and amber glow.

It is so late, so late,

The birds sing sweet and low,

Open the western gate,

And let the daylight go.

Lay down thy daily toil,

Glad of thy labor done,
Glad of the night's assoil,

Glad of thy wages won;
With hearts that fondly wait,
With grateful hearts aglow,

Pray at the western gate

And let the daylight go.

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