IX.

SONGS OF REMEMBRANCE.

"I will remember Thee, in the night-watches."

"Here then inscribe them-each red-letter day!
Forget not all the sunshine of the way

By which the Lord hath led thee! answered prayers,
And joys unasked; strange blessings, lifted cares,-
Grand promise echoes! Thus each page shall be
A record of God's faithfulness to thee.'

"O Life and Love! O happy throng
Of thoughts, whose only speech is song."

HIDE thee awhile, call back the troublous past;

How many times we have been wakened thus, while I,

Entered the dreadful shadow, all aghast,

And found beyond it a far brighter sky;

How oft the low black clouds above me lay,
And some sweet wind of God blew them away.

Hide thee awhile, call back the happy past:

Thy many marvelous mercies: thy delicious days, When sorrow watched thee from afar, nor cast One shadow o'er love's many changing ways; All eyes have wept; life no new sorrow has; Times come and go; but God is where He was.

So, soul, come with me, and be sure we'll find
A little sanctuary, wherein dwell faith and prayer,
Then, if misfortune come, cast doubt behind;

We shall have strength to fight, or strength to bear;

No prisoners of evil fate are we,

For in our breast we carry Hopeful's key.

AMELIA E. BARR.

UM up at night what thou hast done by day;

SUM up at what thou that host by

Dress and undress thy soul.

GEORGE HERBERT.

'HE things o'er which we grieved, with lashes

THE

wet,

Will flash before us out of life's dark night,

As stars shine most in deeper tints of blue.

THEY are poor

That have lost nothing: they are poorer far
Who, losing, have forgotten; they most poor
Of all, who lose and wish they might forget.

For life is one, and in its warp and woof
There runs a thread of gold that glitters fair,
And sometimes in the pattern shows most sweet
Where there are somber colors. It is true

That we have wept. But oh! this thread of gold,
We would not have it tarnish; let us turn
Oft and look back upon the wondrous web,
And when it shineth, sometimes we shall know
That memory is possession.

When I remember something which I had,
But which is gone, and I must do without,
I sometimes wonder how I can be glad ;

Even in cowslip time, when hedges sprout,
It makes me sigh to think on it,—but yet
My days will not be better days, should I forget.

When I remember something promised me,

But which I never had, nor can have now, Because the promiser we no more see

In countries that accord with mortal vow ;When I remember this, I mourn—but yet My happier days are not the days when I forget.

JEAN INGELOW.

ROM the mountain-side of years,

FRO

Up which I came and failed or won,

The places watered by my tears

Seem sweet as gardens in the sun.