THE SON.

FATHER I wait thy word. The sun doth stand
Beneath the mingling line of night and day,
A listening servant, waiting thy command
To roll rejoicing on its silent way;

The tongue of time abides the appointed hour,
Till on our ear its solemn warnings fall;
The heavy cloud withholds the pelting shower,
Then every drop speeds onward at thy call;
The bird reposes on the yielding bough,
With breast unswollen by the tide of song,
So does my spirit wait thy presence now
To pour thy praise in quickening life along,
Chiding with voice divine man's lengthened sleep,
While round the Unuttered Word and Love their
vigils keep.

IN HIM WE LIVE.

FATHER! I bless thy name that I do live, And in each motion am made rich with thee, That when a glance is all that I can give, It is a kingdom's wealth if I but see; This stately body cannot move, save I Will to its nobleness my little bring; My voice its measured cadence will not try, Save I with every note consent to sing; I cannot raise my hands to hurt or bless, But I with every action must conspire; To show me there how little I possess, And yet that little more than I desire; May each new act my new allegiance prove, Till in thy perfect love I ever live and move.

ENOCH.

I LOOKED to find a man who walked with God,
Like the translated patriarch of old; -

Though gladdened millions on his footstool trod,
Yet none with him did such sweet converse hold;
I heard the wind in low complaint go by

That none its melodies like him could hear;
Day unto day spoke wisdom from on high,

Yet none like David turned a willing ear;
God walked alone unhonored through the earth;
For him no heart-built temple open stood,
The soul forgetful of her nobler birth

Had hewn him lofty shrines of stone and wood,
And left unfinished and in ruins still

The only temple he delights to fill.

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THE MORNING WATCH.

'Tis near the morning watch, the dim lamp burns But scarcely shows how dark the slumbering street; No sound of life the silent mart returns;

No friends from house to house their neighbors greet;

It is the sleep of death; a deeper sleep
Than e'er before on mortal eyelids fell;
No stars above the gloom their places keep;
No faithful watchmen of the morning tell;
Yet still they slumber on, though rising day
Hath through their windows poured the awakening
light;

Or, turning in their sluggard trances, say

"There yet are many hours to fill the night;" They rise not yet; while on the bridegroom goes 'Till he the day's bright gates forever on them close!

THE LIVING GOD.

THERE is no death with Thee! each plant and tree
In living haste their stems push onward still,
The pointed blade, each rooted trunk we see
In various movement all attest thy will;
The vine must die when its long race is run,
The tree must fall when it no more can rise;
The worm has at its root his task begun,
And hour by hour his steady labor plies;
Nor man can pause but in thy will must grow,
And, as his roots within more deep extend,
He shall o'er sons of sons his branches throw,
And to the latest born his shadows lend;
Nor know in thee disease nor length of days,
But lift his head forever in thy praise.

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